He was gone. Hijikata was shaking all over until his teeth chattered; he desperately clamped them shut. His fingernails splintered the wooden floor as he clenched his fists into tight, white balls. His breathing was irregular, stalling. It was fast – so fast that oxygen didn't seem to be reaching his head and he felt dizzy. Why was he still laying there? He had to get him back. Fingers bloodied and sore, he scampered to the front door which was now just an open wound to the house. Without pausing to grasp his shoes, Hijikata dashed down the stairs and into the street. Damn, he wished he could see past all those stars. He searched up and down the street but the dark blanket falling across his vision impaired him. Where was he? Where?! He couldn't let him go. He stumbled but he'd be damned if he fainted now. He followed his gut and headed right, stumbling on heavy feet and still it felt like the wind had been sucked out of him. He must have crashed into three people already because it was just so hard to stay balanced. Maybe he could if he stood still; no, that was not an option. He'd forge onwards – literally blind – because he could not lose him.
He'd be killed.
Damn, damn, damn. Why had things turned out like this? Why was Gintoki labelled a criminal and Hijikata, justice? The two of them were the same. They had killed people, they had saved people, they had loved and hurt people, they were human. What right did they have to take him away? They didn't. And Hijikata was going to use all his power to free Gintoki. He needed him. What would he do without him? He was kind, so criminally kind; he'd throw himself into the noose to protect his family. Even though he was a selfish bastard who'd eat the last mochi without offering it out, even though he'd use every last penny of someone else's and then not thank them, Gintoki was altruistic beyond repair – right down to his DNA. And he was intelligent when he wanted to be. And funny. And sweet. And forgiving. And modest. And he could set Hijikata's blood pumping with a smile.
Hijikata imagined the black hood lowering over Gintoki's eyes and collapsed onto his hands and knees. He couldn't help the wheezes, the whines that escaped his mouth as his breathing escalated into choking. Something was coming out of his mouth but he knew he hadn't thrown up. A hand on his back, he didn't know whose, and questions dancing through his ears. Voices circling him. People crowding him in a dark fencing on all sides. Closing in. They were touching him.
"STOP!"
He didn't want them touching him. He could feel heat on his feet. Burning. Fire. Flames. Then the soft drip, drip, drip of water. Drip. Drip. Drip. DRIP. DRIP. DRIPDRIPDRIP.
"STOP IT!"
A huge ocean of water washed over him, cold and thick, filling his mouth, then his throat, then his lungs until he choked hard but was left without air to breathe back in. The weight on the back of his head was unrelenting, freezing him there until sheer panic surged through his very blood. He needed to breathe. He needed to breathe. He needed to breathe!
"Mr Policeman?" A familiar voice mumbled from above the surface. The sound of the waves began to fade; they retreated back to the light. It called him to the earth under his fingers. Gintoki? "Did you have too much to drink, ooooi~?" His breathing slowed until it was manageable. He had the strength to look up, taking in two curious blue eyes and a head of orange hair. "You look awful."
"K-... Kagura?"
"Want to come in and sober up, useless human being?"
"Where's … Where's Gintoki?!"
"Gin-chan?" Kagura looked puzzled. "Wasn't he with you? I mean, he was all bubbly last night telling me all sorts of things I didn't care about. Like where you two were going, what he wanted to eat... It was truly sickening."
"He was … taken ..." Hijikata began to reach for his phone on impulse. He was beginning to think logically. Call Kondo. He needed to tell him. Hijikata worked for the police, for Christ's sake. He could let a petty criminal off the hook. He'd sell himself to the goddamn shogun if he had to. The shogun! "K-kagura! Didn't the yorozuya meet with the shogun?!"
"Sho-chan? Yeah, we got him blind drunk and stripped him to his mini-shogun. What's wrong?"
"I need to speak to him! I need to -!"
"Oi!" Kagura yelled as he dropped forwards. She managed to catch him by the collar before he hit the floor. He was exhausted. He felt light-headed. Yet even so, he was dialling Kondo's number on instinct and pressed the phone to his ear. "What happened to Gin-chan?!" Kagura shook him hard, seeming to have caught onto the urgency of the situation. Hijikata, feeling much more composed, met her eyes bluntly:
"He has been taken for execution. Come on, we're going to my barracks."
"This looks bad, Katsura-san." Katsura put down the novel he had been reading half-heartedly. The talk of the men around him stunted his reading ability and he found himself distracted by their chatter. "They've already taken down three extremists."
"We're not extremists, we're joui."
"Joui extremists."
"With any luck," Katsura ignored him and began to fold the book back up, taking care to slip a scrap of paper between the open pages, "the bakufu really will take out Skylark."
"What?" One of his men frowned. "What do you mean? Aren't they on our side?"
"I banished them from my faction because of their actions. Those guys have been twisted by the need for revenge, rather than the will to do good. They just want to see everyone related to the bakufu burned. We, on the other hand, are the jouishishi."
"Still, we share the same enemies?"
"But more importantly, not the same methods." Katsura lectured, using his finger to emphasise his words. "If you side with them, then you agree with the inhumane torture they put the vice-commander of the shinsengumi through?"
"W-well," the man stammered, "No, but ..."
"The ends do not justify the means. We're not a peaceful organisation, but we will not commit evil to get what we desire."
"I … understand."
"But, Katsura-san," another member piped up, "why did you ban them? You kicked them out before the incident with the vice-commander. Something must have happened." Katsura nodded, allowing his eyes to fall to the floor as he sunk into thought. He recalled it with startling clarity, specifically so because it served as the focal point for his recent guilts. Katsura had known the lengths that Skylark would go to. Because he had not done anything about it, they had committed such an act. As a result, Katsura had inadvertently participated in hurting his friend, as well as endangering everyone he worked with. The incident with Hijikata had spurred an extremist movement against the joui, one which made their plight even harder. Katsura's head had always been on the chopping board, but now his comrades were also being hunted like deer.
His stomach twinged a little. Gintoki had been angrier than Katsura ever recalled seeing him. He didn't know the specifics, but he knew that Gintoki had gotten close to the vice-commander. To the point where he had made that face … He knew he needed to act, not just to redeem himself but to protect his bushido.
The day he had discovered the lengths Skylark would go to had shaken his resolve. The group had come to him with a perfectly formulated plan to capture and maul the wife and daughter of a government official with no real goal in mind. They listed the possible benefits: torture would reveal information they knew; bargaining material etc. However, the thing that struck Katsura the most was that these were sideline benefits and it was blatantly clear that these men were deriving pleasure from torturing an innocent woman and her teenage daughter. That their revenge could cause so much pain, it thrilled them.
Katsura could no longer see his men as fellows. He began to suspect that some of his men were not following him for the glory of restoring their nation – something that should have occurred to him before now was that some of these men were insane. They were not passionate for change, but to satisfy their traumas of the war. Revenge was high on their agenda, and peace didn't even rank. He already knew that his men had lost wives and children, brothers and mothers in the battle against the amanto … they had suffered torturous events, as had he. Yet, never in his years of terrorism, had he suspected his men of ill intent. Never, ever, had he considered his brethren bad people.
Until now.
And it turned out that flushing his organisation of these men was not a way to be rid of them. Karma was a nasty existence.
"Katsura-san! Phone call!"
"What do you mean, phone call? No one should have my number!"
"He says he's from the yorozuya."
"Pass it me." He instructed instantly. Gintoki never called. In fact, Katsura had wondered if Gintoki had even bothered to keep the memo with his number on, despite the effort that had gone into that chibi drawing of Elizabeth in the corner. "Hello?"
"It's Shinpachi." The voice said. He sounded meek. "Gin-san has been taken by SparrowHawk. Katsura-san … t-they're going to execute him." The voice fell silent. "Katsura-san … please, help us."
"Stay strong, my friend." He replied as calmly as he could possibly manage. "I'll send someone to pick you up."
Gintoki had seen plenty of cells before, mostly from the inside. This particular one was a shoddy excuse of a prison. He was cramped into a small container-like space, a battery hen ready to be exploited. Other criminals (though the meaning of that word had become much looser) surrounded him on literally all sides: there was a man above him that kept banging on the floor and shouting nonsense. It had been a bit intimidating at first, now though, it was like being stuck in front of a kid on an aeroplane. Thud. Thud. Thud. Pointless chatter. Thud. Thud. More shouting. And if that kid didn't stop kicking his seat, Gintoki was going to punch him so hard, he'd return to his mother's womb.
One by one, they were being extracted from their cells and 'interviewed'. Some of them came back in worse shape than others, but all of them had added a few bruises to their skin pallet. Basically, the message was: do what we say and you won't get hurt. Yet. He'd seen it all before. If you told them what they wanted to know, admitted to your sins and minded your please and thank you's, they'd go easy on you. If you caused trouble, you'd get what was coming to you. Human rights ceased to exist when you were a terrorist, guilty or not. The problem was, Gintoki knew himself to be a stubborn person, regardless of the threat to keeping all his teeth. The only surprising aspect for Gintoki at the moment was Zura's absence. That guy had been round enough prisons to start a review service and especially liked to turn up when Gintoki had gotten himself into mischief. He was also a very slippery man, which meant as easily as he slipped into jail, he could slip back out. One of his most useful talents. It wouldn't be long until the guy started interfering anyway – he wouldn't stand by as his comrades are incarcerated.
The bloke in the cell next to Gintoki's had just returned silently to his pit, and Gintoki got the feeling it wouldn't be long until they squeezed him out of his cell. He needed to get his story straight before then: there was a lot at stake. And a huge part of that required him to predict what was going on outside …
The whole thing was such a pain.
Obviously, the fact that he'd been linked to so many shinsengumi missions would be revealed. They'd get a slap on the wrist for letting a terrorist help them so often. If that was as far as it went, Gintoki would be relieved. And surprised. How explicit had his relationship with Hijikata been? Would they find out? And if so, did he go down the route of absolute innocence, or criminalise himself to turn Hijikata into the victim?
Like he thought, this was definitely a pain.
A face appeared at his cell bars so Gintoki replied with the blankest expression he could pull off. The amanto snorted like a walrus, sending vapour of god-knows-what splaying everywhere and Gintoki had to hide a grimace.
"You're up next, Shiroyasha."
"What do I get if I win?" He obligingly heaved himself out of the small space and let them handcuff him without a fuss, sneaking in as big a stretch as he could to ease his aching muscles.
"You get to keep your fingernails." He was surrounded by at least three amanto with one to his back leading the way with less-than gentle pushes.
"I guess that's a good enough deal." Gintoki replied.
They meandered hallways to the interrogation room and it was basic: grey walls, a desk, two chairs, the occasional blood spatter for décor. Gintoki was seated (passive on his side) and the door was pulled shut with a very permanent-sounding click.
"I like what you've done with the place." He said, looking round to take in the emptiness.
"Please don't make this difficult for yourself." The amanto opposite him said, softly. He noticed that the number of enemies had whittled themselves down to just two. His second enemy spoke in gruff tones:
"If not, we'll start breaking things."
"Can I make a guess on who's the bad cop now?" Gintoki did often wonder if he should shut his mouth on occasions like this. He could practically see Hijikata by his side, jabbing him with a sharp elbow. Yet, knowing Hijikata would be just as stubborn in his place made him smile a little. He'd probably glare both of the amanto down with eyes like blizzards, keeping his chin high in their air and swear words perched on the end of his tongue.
"Something funny?" The slighter amanto asked. He didn't seem amused himself. Gintoki chose not to reply in this case and it probably served him well, since whenever he opened his mouth, people tended to get angry at him (for some reason). "First, let us confirm that you are the shiroyasha?"
"Sakata Gintoki is the name."
"But you are, in fact, the shiroyasha?"
"People have called me hundreds of things. I haven't copyrighted any of it."
"Can you give me a straight answer for the recording?"
"If Sakata Gintoki is the Shiroyasha, then yes, I am." Gintoki eyed the device beside them with distaste. He didn't like being recorded: it didn't give him much leeway. If he fucked up, it'd be extremely irreversible.
"If that's true, then there's not much to discuss. You were already put up for trial and sentenced to death. If you have escaped your punishment, that is an injustice." Gintoki's wrists began to burn under his handcuffs. "However, for the sake of a fair trial, we need to talk about what happened after that point."
"There's not much point if you're going to knock me off anyway."
"Like I said," the good cop flipped through a few pages in front of him until he found the one he was searching for, "you're up for re-trial and it's my job to make sure we have enough information for a fair trial."
As the man lowered his head to scan through the white sheet on his desk, Gintoki let slip a shaky breath. It was rare for him to be so discomposed. He placed blame with the face of Hijikata in his head – just knowing what his death would do to him … The kids were young, they'd live to forget him. They had a tight-knit of family around them: Otose, Otae, even Sadaharu. Without him, they'd be fine, eventually. But as he imagined his head rolling to the floor, the one thought he couldn't shake was his frail, shattered partner. And as he chewed on his lip, he began to realise that he wasn't thinking about Hijikata at all – he was thinking about himself. How much he wanted to be there. How much he wanted to live. He still had so many hours he wanted to spend with him.
He had changed. He couldn't accept death any more.
But it was unacceptable for him to put the shinsengumi at risk.
"Can you confirm that you know members of the shinsengumi on a personal level?"
"...Yes."
It was a dark night. The glow of the moon was almost completely blocked out by thick, black clouds, laid across the sky like a suffocating blanket around the earth. Hijikata was still awake. It was getting closer to morning than evening; he hadn't slept yet. Not that he had tried.
Three days ago, the message came through. And not without trying his hardest to change things, the date still sat before him, solid and unwavering. The paper, without a single crinkle or tear, laid on his desk, the date flashing black numbers that burned into his brain.
He stared at it, unable to absorb the information.
His door was wide open to let in fresh air, yet he hadn't touched a single cigarette. Not today; not for the last three days. He didn't know what he was flushing from his room, but it wasn't disappearing. It still hung around. Thick. Choking. Kondo had come in a few hours ago and made him promise to rest, but his eyes bulged in the darkness. How could he close them like this? He didn't feel tired. Every second of every day, he felt empty – not as though he was vacant of emotion: it'd probably best be described as feeling like everything had been sucked out of him. The futon was laid out, but since Gintoki wasn't laid in it, the comfort that usually sang him to sleep was cold instead. He didn't want to go near it. He couldn't rest knowing what was to come. If he slept now, eight hours would pass by and he'd be eight whole hours closer to the date.
He wanted to be on his feet, making changes, though he was frozen by the knowledge he could do nothing. People didn't listen to him until after 6am. From now until the morning, all he could do was wait. Why did people sleep? What a waste of precious time. He still had things to do, people to talk to, minds to change. And if he had to, he'd charge in there with Sougo's mortar and blast the whole prison into pea-sized shards of concrete.
The paper was still there.
He looked at it, willing himself to wake up. He had never considered escapism, never believed that anything could be achieved by pretending his problems didn't exist; the thought was tempting now. He was searching for a recess to crawl into in his mind and never return from. If he could erase the last year and start again, he'd pay any sum. He didn't even want to believe that he couldn't, because if that was true …
the 17th would come.
…
At some point in the night, the sun had risen and it was only when Hijikata heard the soft shik of the door closing that he realised he must have fallen to sleep. He felt betrayed by his own body and immediately stirred. His eyes opened to Kondo frozen mid-step, obviously trying not to waken him. He had a blanket between his hands ready to cover him up, casting an awkward smile as Hijikata awoke. He realised he had fallen asleep right where he sat, directly in front of his desk on the cold floor. For a second, he was angry that Kondo was obviously attempting to let him sleep some more: how could he when the date still glared at him? That anger was quickly suffocated. He didn't have the energy to keep it up.
"You've still got time. I'll wake you up in an hour."
"No," he got to his feet and waved away Kondo's offer. "I'm up."
"Tosshi … you look tired. Just rest a bit longer and-"
"Today's the day, right? I won't be able to sleep."
"... Okay."
Kondo was reluctant, but it was clear that he understood. Without blinking, Hijikata dressed into his uniform and allowed Kondo to open the door for him and lead him to breakfast.
Today was the day.