a/n: I recently had a conversation with my outline about a week ago and it went something like this:

Me: My readers want sex scenes. I have like, five reviews saying how much they want puff-puff action.
My outline: There's no room for them.
Me: Yeah but I also want to write them.
My outline: Bitch you haven't been following me for a while now, why are you talking to me now?!
Me: Oh yeah, fair enough...

Anyways, I put a poll on my twitter with just one question - "Should I write a sex scene?" and the results were unequivocal. You have been warned.

20. reconciliation

Contrary to popular belief, Tokugawa Sadasada had not died from old age. It had been from an assassination.

The Tendoshu Elders had been offended by his lack of respect over the years, flouting his authority one too many times for their liking, and had commanded Oboro to kill the puppet leader. If anything, he was happy to comply.

And so, Oboro had delivered a message to the older man, telling him that he needed to speak to him, privately. Having been the Shogun's personal lapdog for quite some time, he knew the castle like the back of his hand, and had slipped in unobtrusively without any witnesses to see him by accident in the dead of night.

It had been a simple matter for him to close off the circulation in Sadasada's body using the power of his Hakkei, making it unnecessary to use excess force. Such things would have been more difficult had the former Shogun was younger, but he had lived in the lap of luxury since then, and his instincts for predicting his death were dulled by years of complacency. By the time he'd realized what was happening to him, he had already collapsed halfway to the floor, and Oboro had picked him up, tucking him into his bed as if he was only in a deep sleep.

The head of the Naraku wasn't one to pontificate about whether his actions were right or wrong; he had no use for such mental exercises as a lifelong assassin.

But this particular murder had brought him more than a bit of grim satisfaction, having had to obey the man for the last ten years.

After all, the only person he'd vowed to follow had been the same. The same resolute desire to protect, and to kill in his stead, had been cemented by the one and only Yoshida Shoyou, and there had been no one else good enough to replace his memory.

-x-

Takasugi hadn't hesitated to unsheathe his sword, letting the metal clang against Oboro's sharp staff.

"This must be my lucky day," he drawled, a maniacal grin stretching across his delicate features. "To avenge Shoyou-sensei, on these very grounds? How... poetic."

The sounds of their weapons, clashing so violently, could've been heard a kilometer away.

"You're fighting the wrong man," Oboro had replied, though he returned every parry of Takasugi's in equal measure. "I'm not your enemy - "

Takasugi didn't bother responding to such a ridiculous claim. With a vicious swing, he'd cut off Oboro's arm with a violent thwack, the limb careening in the air before it dropped the ground with a dull thud, the blood trickling down to the soil, staining it a dark, sluggish red. Before the assassin could react, the tip of Takasugi's blade rested against Oboro's neck.

Oboro had simply given the ground a rudimentary gaze before looking at him impassively with the reaction of someone who did not just lose an arm.

"Any last words?" Takasugi asked calmly, his hand still gripping his sword. But his lone eye had narrowed in suspicion.

"Is an arm enough to satiate your lust for blood, commander?" Oboro asked. "I didn't come here to fight. I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't care," he replied, but his arm was shaking; a chill had run down from his neck down to the base of his spine. "Why are you here? Wasn't burning this place down enough for you?"

The assassin paused. And then he said, "I'll have you know that doing so was one of the biggest regrets of my life. I was supposed to be your master's first student."

Takasugi still wouldn't lower his sword; his guard was still up, knowing that even a wounded animal was capable of killing in its midst. "So explain why the hell you would dare walk here, or trample on what Sensei would hold dear."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty," he sneered. "Working for the government behind the shadows, killing off the samurai because it doesn't suit the Bakufu's agenda... Cowards, all of you."

"I was the one who killed Tokugawa Sadasada," Oboro said. The crow had came back to rest on his uninjured shoulder. "That should make me as same as you. I'm just as guilty of the same crimes as the Shiroyasha, the Rampaging Noble, and you... the leader of the Kiheitai."

The confession was enough for Takasugi to take a step back. As an excellent judge of character, he couldn't detect any lies coming from the man. But...

"Why would you do that?"

"It's what Shoyou-sensei would have wanted."

Takasugi laughed darkly. "Sensei would have never wanted Gintoki to cut off his head. The Shoyou-sensei that I knew would have never wanted the likes of you to burn down his school - "

"You don't understand," Oboro insisted. "I was trying to protect him - I was trying to protect all of you - "

"How dare you say that. You killed my men, let us murder him in cold blood, and watched like it was nothing," the commander said, his voice thick from the unwanted rage that had started to bubble up inside of him. "You stood there, and forced us - forced Gintoki to - to - "

Even saying the truth out loud was too painful to continue. His throat had suddenly formed a lump.

"He's not dead," Oboro said, and finally, his arm was starting to grow back. He lifted the remains of his sleeve, rolling it up. "I'll prove it to you."

With morbid fascination, Takasugi saw the muscles forming out of nowhere, tying together with the ligaments before an entirely new limb had been rebuilt, looking as normal as any other arm did.

Instead of reacting like most other people, he'd simply blinked, filing the information away for future use.

"Are you a god, then?"

He'd seen plenty of Amanto with different abilities back in the day, but regenerating limbs that quickly, even for Yatos, was not possible.

Oboro chuckled. "No one would pray for me. I am but a quasi-immortal as of now," the assassin explained. "If you chose cut off my head right now, it would take me two or three days to regrow it, but I wouldn't die."

"... Is that what happened to Sensei?"

"Yes."

"Is he alive, then?"

"Yes."

And finally, Takasugi lowered his weapon, sheathing his sword back into its hilt.

"Explain."

"Sensei's greatest wish was to die," Oboro said. "I'm trying to make that happen. Before the Shiroyasha cut off his head, Shoyou specifically asked to meet you three before he perished."

Something wasn't adding up. "I thought you said he was alive."

Oboro's eyes had grown even more weary. "Utsuro has always been alive. Shoyou-sensei is simply a fragment of his being."

During the last few years that the Naraku held Shoyou-sensei in captivity, Oboro had noticed that he'd struggle to remain himself, unable to restrain Utsuro's alter ego at times. Death had only been chosen as a last resort; when Oboro had reported to him that the Bakufu were actively looking for the few Jouishishi left and would stop at nothing to make it happen, the teacher had used it as his last bargaining chip.

My life, for theirs. Can you protect them when I die, Oboro?

It had been two birds, one stone. Yoshida Shoyou, a simple man and not, had held out as best as he could until it was too late. He was either fighting against the government, against the higher ups, or against himself, right until the bitter end.

I promise to you that I will.

"I don't understand," Takasugi finally said, and this time there was no malice in his words.

Oboro sympathized with him. "It's a long story."

Then with a punch to the commander's temple, he knocked him out, and Takasugi crumpled at his feet, unconscious.

"Sorry," he said to the unresponsive body. "But you wouldn't come to where I am if I didn't do this to you. It wouldn't be wise to talk here."

With ease, he lifted Takasugi's body, and carried him to his spaceship resting on the other side of Shoka Sonjuku.

-x-

By the time Kankou and Kouka had come out of the house, the sun was starting to set, and neither of them looked particularly happy.

Kagura had been cheerful at the sight of them, though, and started to chatter excitedly to the both of them, showing her newly formed cat's cradle.

"Look what Gin-chan taught me!"

"How lovely," Kouka had said, smiling and patting her daughter's head with affection. Turning to Gintoki, she told him, "Thank you."

"It wasn't anything special," he said, shrugging. He always had a soft spot for children.

"Papi, are you staying here tonight?" Kagura asked, holding his hand now, string mostly forgotten. "Mami would be sad if you don't."

"Of course I am," he answered her, but there'd been a pang of guilt in his expression. "But I have to leave in the morning."

"But... "

"Papi has to fetch your big brother from Earth," he said. "Now that Mami knows where he is, it makes my job easier."

"'Kay," Kagura had agreed easily. "Will Gin-chan be going too?"

"Of course he is. He's from Earth, you know!"

Kagura gave him a big smile. "Oh, right!" She tugged on his sleeve, and told him, "If you see 'Nii-chan before Papi does, tell him that we really miss him, okay?"

He smiled back, but his was noticeably smaller in size. "Of course."

-x-

The days had passed by uneventfully after the two of them had left Rakuyo. Kankou had given a wad of bills as a form of payment for accompanying him through space the last couple of days, insisting that someone who'd commit their life to such a dangerous endeavor ought to be compensated properly. He hadn't complained, but the location left much to be desired, even if it was technically the safest place for a war criminal like him to stay for a night or so.

He was in Yoshiwara again. It was the last place he'd wanted to be.

Gintoki had been watching her from a distance from a rooftop; and though she was always thoughtful enough to conceal herself as the eternal guardian of the city, he could feel her presence looming over him at all times. His senses had been honed to a fault; and now he couldn't see wisps of smoke without thinking of her.

Once upon a time, he'd been the one hoping for a glimpse of her; a shadowy mystery to the patrons who came in and out of the city. That still hadn't changed, he thought ruefully to himself. If he had his own way, he wouldn't even be here in the first place, but Umibouzu had been insistent on stopping here, if only to see his errant son.

Idly, he swirled the sake around in his cup, but the alcohol wasn't enough to calm his nerves down.

If she was smart enough, she'd keep away from him. But she was also unpredictable in ways; and he wasn't sure what the move would be if she caught him trespassing here on her territory.

Would she cut him up? Or would she cry at the sight of him? Either way, he'd welcome it in any case, knowing that he'd deserved every bit of guilt that ate him from the inside out.

-x-

Bleh... I'm never drinking again.

He stumbled out of the establishment, a hand resting against the wall of an alley in between buildings. Where was Kankou, anyways? Deciding it was better to lay low for now, he waited for a while, hoping he'd sober up sooner than later.

Then he could feel someone walking towards him in the dark.

He grinned. He would have recognized the scent of smoke and flowers from anywhere by now.

Like lightning, his hands twisted her wrists, clamping them down before she could react; his knee jamming her waist so that she was temporarily paralyzed, pinned helplessly to the wall of the alleyway. A kunai had slipped from her sleeves, falling to the ground with an empty clang.

Alcohol could dull his instincts by a fraction, but not by much. To his surprise, she returned his smile with one of her own.

"Thought you woulda killed me by now," he breathed, his eyes adjusting to the shadows.

"Gintoki, I'm smarter than that," she said, but her eyes were kind.

He let go of her.

"I'm not gonna ask you why you're here," she said, and right before she took out her pipe, had swiped her weapon from the ground, tucking it back into her sleeve. "But you oughtta be careful. There are some people who are looking for you, and they want your head on a pike."

Hiccuping slightly, he smiled at her.

By all means, most women - if they had been rejected the way she had been - would have at least slapped him on sight. But here she was - a little sad, to be sure, but ultimately had chosen to extend an olive branch to the likes of him, even though he'd been less than honorable. If he was a weaker sort of man, he would've said sorry, but that would have defeated the point of his actions. He never liked to give false hope in the first place; that'd been Tatsuma's job back when they had to rally up morale for their troops when they were still fighting for an untenable cause.

"Then get lost," he said, and turned around, but his voice didn't quite have the bite he was looking for. "I don't want your pretty head on a stick, either. Would be a damn shame."

"Can't get lost here," she said softly. "It's too small for that, even for drunkards like you."

Damn her, he thought. The problem with Tsukuyo was that she was too intelligent for her own good; her analytical mind would have drawn the conclusion that he'd done what he did to protect her. Not that he cared, or anything sappy like that.

He took a step forwards, intending to go somewhere else; understanding that if he wanted to keep the ruse of estranged lovers, he knew that he had to get far away from her. Otherwise his poor decision making skills would take over, and he'd hate himself in the morning.

But then, she had to go and open her mouth, making an offer he couldn't refuse.

"Wanna stay at my place?" she asked. "To sober up before you go, I mean. Wouldn't want ya to blow your cover by accident."

He'd known it'd be a mistake, but for some reason, it was impossible to turn it down.

-x-

Hinowa and Seita had been sleeping, and so she'd put a finger over her mouth, telling him to be quiet.

It wasn't necessary, considering he wasn't that intoxicated; he moved with a grace that came naturally to him as a master of his own movements. Sliding the door to her own bedroom, she gestured towards a cushion next to a small table, which he promptly sat on. A small scroll with the symbol of "Duty" hung from her wall, and there was a vanity dresser with a lacquered comb resting on top, placed in the far corner of her room.

The futon hadn't been set out yet, which ... admittedly wasn't what he was looking for.

There was a certain emotional intimacy to all of this, Gintoki thought. The last time they had spent in bed together was in a nondescript inn, but it had been... fine. The incident could have been an easy case of two ships passing by in the night; they'd known what they were getting into, and hadn't expected anything more than what fate could have allowed them to back then. But...

The stakes were somehow even higher now, even more so than when he'd been on the cusp of being executed that day in prison.

"I still have a shift to finish," she said, her eyes lowered. It was hard to read her tone, but he thought there might have been a trace of longing tucked in between the lines.

He said nothing to that, but it didn't seem like she expected an answer. She opened the closet, and took out a futon, spreading it on the tatami mats while studiously avoiding his gaze.

"There's a bathroom two doors from your left if you need it," she said. Once she had risen up to blow out the light from her lantern, it had struck him how unfair this situation was - in fact, it was almost cruel of him to remain here as a reminder of something she couldn't quite have, just yet.

He didn't want her to be hurt like this. She shouldn't have left herself hanging out to dry like that.

"I should leave," he said abruptly.

She paused, but turned her head, tilting it back; her eyes were soft and kind. "Don't worry about me, or what I said back there. After all, I was the one who was selfish," she said. "I shouldn't have imposed my will on you like that. I'm just glad you're alive."

Only someone like her could turn something as incredible as falling in love with him into a huge burden. Goddamn it.

"You're not selfish."

Her eyes widened.

Really, being a war hero was probably one of the most overrated things anyone could be. And here he was, desperately trying to be cooler than her - but that was just not going to happen if Tsukuyo kept thinking of herself as a martyr. She wouldn't let it go; and he knew she wouldn't bother trying to find some other regular schmuck who wouldn't mind being a househusband once in a while while she brought in the bacon, fighting crime one day at a time. They were extraordinarily stubborn in that sense.

He would have given his title up if he didn't have to pretend that this wasn't killing him inside. It would've been nice, he thought, if he was just another regular person, with a regular job. Maybe he would have been a kickass merchant like the way he knew Sakamoto would be one day, or a teacher, like Shoyou-sensei, both jobs that wouldn't have the lives of the universe resting on his shoulders. If he couldn't even admit he loved her before the end of the fucking galaxy, then what was the point of all this? A practice in self flagellation?

"One day, when I get off this saving-the-world shtick, I'll get my priorities in check," he said dryly. You're one of them, he wanted to add, but didn't.

She chuckled at that and then told him fondly, "Good night, Gintoki."

Before he could reply, she had already left the room, closing the door shut so that the light from outside wouldn't peek through. Though he wanted to call her name, he didn't. Instead, he just looked at the ceiling, feeling oddly spurned.

-x-

He'd slept enough - fitfully, in short bursts at a time, half-convinced that Utsuro was going to break into the room and murder him - but by the time she'd come back, he'd been sober enough to wait patiently for her, the booze finally leaving his system. Judging from the angle of the moonlight, he guessed that the time must have been three or four o'clock in the morning.

She had thought he was asleep, but had slipped inside the room regardless, tired and worn. She took a long glance at him; he kept his eyes carefully shut.

Quietly, she started taking off her clothes - not quite stripping nude, but close enough. She carefully took off the obi that held her tanto swords, placing them gently on her dresser before moving on to her kimono, placing the garment on the rack with quick, practiced movements.

There was something inherently voyeuristic about this, but he chose to conveniently ignore that train of thought for the time being. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before; and yet...

Bathed in the moonlight, her body had the ethereal beauty of a goddess, and he'd held his breath as she slowly raised her arms, taking care to be quiet as she slid the clips out of her hair, running her fingers through her blonde mane as it fell to her shoulders. Whoever had named her must have been a prophet of some sort, for she was the living embodiment of the moon herself.

Sitting down, she'd taken a bottle of lotion from the vanity in front of the mirror, squeezing a small dollop into her palms before spreading it onto her skin, first rubbing it onto her arms before moving to her neck and then her torso, where her breasts - full and heavy - heaved up and down. It was impossible for him to stop looking, his throat hitching at the sight of her.

Then she caught him staring, and he froze, like a deer in headlights.

"Thought you were asleep," she said sharply.

He'd long given up any pretense of dormancy, and finally pulled himself to a sitting position, pushing back his blanket. "The problem with booze is that it gets you to sleep easily, but you don't stay asleep for long."

She grabbed her nightgown, slipping it on in a hurry.

"I'll sleep in the next room," she said, her voice flustered.

"Tsukuyo. Stop it."

It'd only been a few hours, and he was already tired of the rules he'd imposed on himself.

"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea," she insisted.

"Then why the hell did you invite me here?" There was a small lick of anger in his voice, and for a moment, he'd wonder if this had all been on purpose, to drive him so mad that only one conclusion could have been drawn. He could have excused the invitation as a fluke, but as for the undressing, the sensual caresses on her skin, the unspoken looks of longing that he tried his damnedest to ignore... That was different. For someone who had practically claimed to give up her womanhood, she sure had a funny way of showing it.

"Because I... "

The words lingered in the air, and she swallowed, before forcing herself to continue. She wasn't keen on repeating her own mistakes. "... I was happy to see you again. I didn't think you were going to make it out alive, or come back here. So when I saw you... " One of her arms folded over her chest protectively. "Maybe I wanted you to myself, just for a little while, before you went away again."

The silence between them stretched a beat too long, but then he simply told her, "So come here."

And she did.

He reached out for her face, and was struck, as he always was once within proximity, by her beauty. A thumb ran down her scar, making her shiver involuntarily.

Their first kiss of the evening was careful, as if they were connected by a tenuous strand that would snap at any given moment. Belatedly, she realized that her first kiss with this man was with the Shiroyasha, the second had been simply Sakata Gintoki, but now the lines between the duality of him had blurred entirely. His hand landed on the back of her neck, fingers pressed into her nape, and the careful kiss went deep and insistent.

But eventually, she leaned into him, because there'd always been a part of her that hadn't wanted to hold back. The war might have been over, with him classified as missing in action, but that didn't change the fact that this might have well been the very last time she would be able to see him again; things would never go back to normal as they were. She was done holding back, kissing him dirty and rough with things unsaid, and he'd been volleying back with equal fervor.

They'd never needed an explanation; just an opportunity to connect in those spaces in between.

She had the weight of a city looming on her shoulders; he'd been connected by misfortune to the fate of the universe. And still, he'd been drawn to places he had no right to be. Whether that had been in a family, or the arms of death, that wouldn't have stopped him from being there unless lightning struck him dead.

-x-

This time, it's not a promise, or making a beautiful memory with no strings or expectations attached. It's somewhere in the middle; and when he pushes her onto the futon, he doesn't hesitate to be a little more aggressive than usual, his mouth open and teeth nipping against her shoulders, leaving tiny marks on her alabaster skin. Their clothes have long been shed; now there is no going back. His fingers grip against her waist, leaving bruises that he'll know will hurt tomorrow morning, but she barely reacts except to dig in her nails deeper, right on his back.

After all, the two of them can handle it. Goodbyes ought to be rough, after all.

Against her better judgment, she closes her eyes, and lets him take over. Lets him make amends for breaking her heart; and maybe his too if they don't manage to fix the Armageddon before one of them dies in the process. He slides into her, stretching her out while she gasps under the palm of his hand. After a few strokes in, he returns it back to her hip, trying to establish a tempo that suits the situation; he goes harder, faster. Rougher.

She mouths his name, right before he hits in her in all the right spots, and suddenly her throat emits a sound between a choke and a sob.

"Fuck," he says in the heat of the moment, and she grips him even harder, all while he's pounding her so hard that its hard for either of them to breathe. He says her name, over and over again, as if he never wants this to end. In between those quiet, unspoken pleas for forgiveness, she kisses him; her lips cool and placating.

It's okay, she'd say, if he had the ears to listen. I'm here, whether you need me or not.

But it's hard for her to keep her mind clear, and eventually she loses control, coming with an intensity greater than all of their past encounters. When he shortly follows her, spilling his load onto her stomach, their mouths collide, tears streaming from her eyes by the force of her orgasm.

It's sticky, and the sweat coats her skin, but she doesn't have enough energy to wipe it off right at this moment.

Instead, she studies him, even though she's exhausted; he's still breathing hard and for a split-second, she feels like an impartial observer to this strange duet.

But then he looks at her with a half-smile on his lips, leaning over to give her another kiss, and for a minute, everything seems all right again.

-x-

Hinowa's shop had been lucky enough to have indoor plumbing, saving both of them the headache of having to manually heat up the bath to wash away the sticky fluids off of their bodies. Unlike most traditional homes, the tub was bigger than average, specifically designed with Hinowa's disability in mind. It was big enough for the two of them to fit comfortably and for a while they sat in silence, her back facing him, luxuriating in the hot water. She was fighting the urge to nod off, right before he reached for a bottle of shampoo, squeezing a bit into the the palms of his hand.

"Hold still," he said, and gently began to run his fingers through her hair, letting it foam naturally in her blond tresses.

She blinked, as his fingers rubbed tiny circles around her scalp, taking care to avoid her eyes. It was... oddly comforting.

Lulled into a sense of peace that she hadn't felt for a long while, she cleared her throat.

"I didn't expect you to come back here."

"A lot has happened," he answered cautiously, and had been internally debating how much to tell her. The story was outlandish at best, but at least it was the truth. And she'd of all people deserved honesty.

"I figured," she said. "Men like you tend to be busy with saving the world."

He laughed uneasily at that. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"No," she admitted. "I think you're doing what you're supposed to be doing. Am I wrong?"

"I am... but that doesn't mean I like it." He could think of a million things he'd rather be doing than to go on a suicidal, and frankly, idiotic mission to kill his teacher again, and one of the first things on his list involved staying in bed with a certain courtesan.

She smiled, shrugging as if to say Oh, well.

Thankfully, she changed the subject.

"I kept your letters, you know."

He didn't respond immediately, but had stopped his fingers from moving on her scalp. "Why didn't you burn them?"

"I thought I'd get a good price for the Shiroyasha's autograph on the black market."

Scowling, he yanked on a strand of her hair, causing her to wince.

"Ouch! Dammit, Gintoki - "

"And here I thought you were going to say something nice and sentimental, like how much you lov - "

She splashed water in his face. The look on him had been worth it, before he started splashing water right back at her, and she laughed, escaping it by submerging her golden head underwater.

When she popped back to the surface, she'd blinked the water from her eyelashes to see he'd been giving her that mysterious, ghost of a smile.

"When this whole thing is over, I'll have something important to tell you," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

She didn't pry, but smiled all the same.

-x-

When he leaves in the early morning, she's still sleeping, and he allows one last look at her face before carefully placing a kiss on her forehead.

He slips out, and hopes it won't be the last time he'll see her.

-x-

- tbc -

-x-

a/n: Music inspiration for this chapter - "Writing's On the Wall" by Sam Smith.

As always, thank you for reading. Let me know what you think!