"I think it was the new microwave."

"All due respect, sir—no shit, Shirogane."

"Like you knew."

"Unlike some of us, I'm watching the news instead of stupid soaps when I get time for television. I told you not to go near that microwave with your cell phones!"

"Doesn't matter how far away you are, so long as it's running."

"Why on earth did you not have it thrown out?!"

"It was expensive! Besides, who would believe that crap!?"

"People who don't get transported to alternate realities, obviously!"

"Spoiler alert, you watching the news on TV was part of the problem too, dipshit."

"I always thought microwave popcorn was inferior to stovetop popcorn, anyway."

"Sougo? Officially banned from the microwave."

"Oh whatever for."

"Please, you're more likely than not to throw a spoon in there and come whining to me, It's making weird noises, Hijikata-san, I don't know, can you check it out, don't I look all innocent—"

"That's not a bad idea."

"Except for the part where it is, because half of HQ is liable to blow up with me."

"You've got to break some eggs, Hijikata-san."

It was a shame Saitō had been dismissed—someone had to fetch Shimada before he got too far on the road—since observing the tama interact freely was rather educational. But he'd catch up easily enough, now that he'd been given carte blanche to research the situation. He probably wouldn't rejoin them upon his return, but would no doubt root himself somewhere nearby, sucking everything up like the little sponge he was.

"Oi Tosshi," said Sougo, "ever notice danna's got the same Nezumi haircut you had?"

"Don't call me Tosshi. Way the hell back in chapter one, by the way."

Toshizō prickled. "What's this about a rat haircut?"

"Not rat," Tōshirō explained desperately, "Nezumi. I think it's a character. Wait—Sougo, you saw that?"

"I did grow up with girls. Nice try with this I think business, though."

He reddened slightly but pressed his fists to his hips to simulate self-assurance. "Tosshi can appreciate fine storytelling. He is not above BL."

"I'm still not following," said Toshizō through gritted teeth.

"Oi, Tosshiiii, you're pissing him off."

"I said don't call me that! I cut it all off after we left Kondō's dōjō," he said to Toshizō.

"So you have worn your hair this same way."

"Down to the stupid fringe on the sides. Doesn't that piss you off?"

"Hasn't bothered me yet." The acute angles of his brows went unnoticed.

"Maybe it's because I started smoking," Tōshirō mused. "Hair really retains that smell."

"Seems bad for you."

"Is it ever. But sometimes you just feel like destroying yourself, you know?"

"Sometimes others feel like destroying you," Toshizō growled. The Okitas nodded gravely.

"You started it, Sougo."

"I can finish it," said Toshizō. Sougo's mouth twitched in what could have been a smile.

"What the hell," Tōshirō pouted, "even I hate me in other universes."

Sougo hummed, and Toshizō looked up to find the kid peering at him, chin in hand. "And I like you in other universes." All of which Toshizō found wildly upsetting.

"No, I still sorta hate him," said Souji.

"I meant me—Sougo—personally. I think Hijikata Toshizō isn't too bad. If you still hate him, though, I'd be willing to make a trade."

Toshizō crossed his arms, slipping his hands into his sleeves and sighing angrily, as Souji appeared to give the idea some serious thought. "Hijikata Tōshirō seems to have a knack for stress relief, unlike this uptight princess. I wouldn't be opposed."

The Kondōs were patting the air, trying to temper the ever-intensifying mood sparking between Hijikatas. "Let's not be hasty."

Sougo looked at his own counterpart. "And your mage is stupid."

Souji pointed at Kondō, who puffed up and grinned famously. Toshizō pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nah," said Sougo. "The black and gold getup is too fetching, the mage only seals it. Okita Souji's hair, however, is still stupid."

"Fine," said Souji, "what's your stress relief?"

He shrugged. "I like pointing bazookas at Hijikata-san's face."

"What's that?"

"Oh. It's like a huge gun that shoots rockets instead of bullets."

Souji's eyes widened with horrifying excitement. "So you just openly make attempts on his life?"

"He's the great oni no fukuchou, he's sharp enough to dodge them. And if he doesn't, well, that's his own fault."

Souji lifted a brow. "That's certainly true. . . ."

"Sougo-kun. Stop giving him ideas."

Tōshirō snorted. "Seems like about the right time to be saying I told you so."

"You shut up. And you two, do refrain from discussing murdering us."

"You can't stop the signal. Doesn't matter how innocent it sounds, it's code for something that'll kill you."

Hyperbolic though it seemed, it was hard not to take Sougo on his word, especially with Tōshirō failing to deny the claims. Toshizō even felt a twinge of pity for him. "How do you get anything done?"

He frowned dismissively. "I refuse to believe you have no vices. You don't drink?"

Harada lifted a finger in a rather know-it-all fashion. "More accurately, he can't drink."

"Shut up."

"Ah? You don't smoke either. Women?"

"Hardly," said Souji. "He passes out love letters like candy."

"Hey—!"

"He writes love letters?" asked Tōshirō.

"No, I mean the letters he gets."

"You cold bastard, you give away girls' love letters?"

"No, that's not—"

"I mean, it could be pretty funny, depending on who receives it. Like charity panties."

"Now you see why I did it," Sougo muttered.

"I do not give away girls' love letters."

"Explain how our guys end up with them, then."

"You, Souji, you steal them!"

"Ah, you need proof for that kind of accusation."

"I've seen you doing it."

"You've seen me rifle through your things in search of something else, but have you seen me actually take anyth—ah! That's it, that's his vice!"

"What?"

"Writing this shitty p—"

"Seppuku," Toshizō blurted.

"What? What for?"

Sougo leaned into Souji, mouth covered by a hand but making no amendments to the usual tenor and volume of his voice. "They're more alike than you know."

"Preemptive," said Toshizō, icy. The ease with which Sougo pissed him off—it cemented the claim that he was Okita. Because few people could so reliably piss him off. "To prevent me from fighting you, breaking one of the regulations myself." He also did not approve of this budding alliance.

"I don't give a shit which of your own damn rules you break, make me."

"I swear to all that is good I will kill you." Fuck if he was going to let that little secret slip so soon.

"That's more like it, fukuchou. But you've been saying that for over a decade already. I fight back a lot harder now than when I was nine, you know, you should have followed through before I mastered the sword. Though I suppose that was a rather short window of time. . . ."

"Toshizō-kun," said Tōshirō thoughtfully. "How do you manage without any vices?"

"I manage. Maybe you are slightly more stressed than I am," he added, glancing pointedly at Sougo. "How do you allocate tasks to your assistants?"

"Assistants," Tōshirō snorted, before his face blanked. "You have assistants? Plural?"

"In a sense. There is Yamazaki-kun, of course. One of the captains is particularly suited to diplomacy, and there is a young . . . outsider who—well—"

"Don't you guys have a Saitō?" asked Souji, rescuing him from having to explain the concept of Yukimura. Most constructive thing he'd done all goddamn week.

"Not ringing a bell," said Tōshirō.

"No Saitō? Kinda shy, but could dice you up before you get the chance to blink?"

"Uh. . . ." Tōshirō scratched at his neck. "I believe we've met, yes."

"It seems to have been quite the traumatic experience," said Toshizō, "so I'd say you were indeed properly introduced to ours."

"You're a bastard for that, by the way."

Isao tilted his head. "Wasn't Saitō the one with the spidery bangs in Rur—"

He suddenly cupped his hands over his mouth, as Tōshirō had slapped him upside the head—"They don't have TV!"—the effect being a sorely bitten tongue. Harada laughed heartily, and even Kondō-san grinned.

"I don't think Saitō shows until much later in the manga," said Sougo.

"You mean in Rurouni Kenshin?"

"No."

"So you have no assistants at all?" Toshizō asked.

"Well, technically I do, but he's not—he's. . . ." After some time struggling to find the right adjective for his assistant, Tōshirō sighed. "No. I don't have assistants."

/ / / / /

The weather was calm, the city was quiet; nothing urgent interrupted the afternoon, allowing it to pass with conversation that gradually warmed. With the exception of the Kondōs—who were huddled together on the edge of the room yapping away like lifelong BFFs—most of them weren't yet comfortable enough to say much about their personal lives. But the politics of their worlds proved a positive place to start. It was little surprise, to Tōshirō at least, that the same ruffians plagued the haku as plagued his own world. But it was something of a shock to realize that people dropped like flies here. Takasugi had died some months ago, Sakamoto mere days ago. These were huge names—it was nigh unbelievable that they'd both fallen so recently. It was as if Tōshirō had arrived at a flashpoint. Or else very near one.

"What about Katsura?" he asked.

"Still on the loose," said Toshizō. "What about you?"

"As ever."

"Too bad. I was hoping for some pointers."

"Well . . . something tells me my Katsura's a little different than yours."

"How so?"

"He's hardly a problem," said Tōshirō. "He's got ideals and he can give you the slip, but he's too crazy to be any real threat. Now Takasugi—"

"Still alive?"

"He's crazy in a whole other way. A very dangerous way."

"Smooth voice, though," said Harada. "Real deep and careless, know what I mean?"

Tōshirō plucked a cigarette from the pack with his lips. "Sounds like someone we know."

"Watch it," Sougo said to Harada, "she hasn't played that one yet."

"Wha—who? What?"

Across the room, Kondō-san's voice suddenly rose several decibels. "Isami-san, you're married?! What's her name, you have to tell me her name!"

Tōshirō jumped up and thrust an arm in front of Isami. "Don't. It'll either encourage or destroy him, and it has no business doing either."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been after this lady—"

"She's playing hard to get," Kondō said, perhaps less confidently than he intended.

Tōshirō was starting to feel strange, but couldn't put his finger on how or why, so he decided to ignore it. "She flattens you every time you show your face," he said, tapping ashes into an empty sake cup. "That's impossible to get." He really would have to stop, preferably with a few cigarettes remaining for dire emergencies. Soon he'd give his pack to Yamazaki for safekeeping. Just—not yet.

"I don't know," said Isami, "it doesn't sound all bad. If she despised you, would she spend such time and attention, ah, flattening you?"

"You know, Isami-san," he said, nodding however at his own men, "you have a great point."

Tōshirō rolled his eyes. "Why did we follow these dumbasses." Toshizō all but facepalmed in agreement.

"They both have girl names," said Sougo. "Think that means anything?"

"Actually—do you mind if I step out?" Tōshirō nodded toward the door to the courtyard. His skin was crawling all over, desperately needed some air. Something was—something was hurting.

"I'd prefer if you did," said Toshizō. "Don't want the smell to permeate the tatami." Asshole. At least it would be cold outside, and quiet. Maybe it could shake him up, reset him.

Once the shōji snapped shut behind him, Tōshirō took a long, long drag that burned through maybe a third of what remained and held it in, letting it burrow into his brain. He was nearing nirvana when Kondō-san spooked the shit out of him by grabbing his elbow and whispering, "Is it weird if I think he's great?"

Tōshirō shook him off just as he spotted some random sandals on a little stair and stepped into them. "You just like what he said about Otae-san." They were surprisingly cool, rather than cold. Another third of the paper burned though; the clouds of his breath had tripled in size out in the frosty air of an overcast day.

"Might be a little egocentric of you, kyokuchou," he heard. Sougo too, of course Sougo had followed. "But Isami is pretty great, so I can hardly fault you."

"And he's got a kid! A little girl! And he's stuck here with all these men, isn't it tragic?"

"Yes, he seems quite distraught," Tōshirō said, hopping down onto the flagstones below. In his periphery he finally noticed the quiet guy—Saitō, was it?—sitting against the wall outside the room, faithful little guard that he was. "Aren't you cold? And usually sitting seiza?" The guy shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed to be seen looking so improper. He pulled the scarf up over his nose and gave a little shake of the head.

Kondō frowned. "You're not being fair, Toushi. Isami-san's got a lot on his mind right now."

And probably hella mistresses too, he thought as Kondō waved away a mass of smoke. "Oi, give that back." This one was going down so fast that after years of tolerance, Tōshirō was actually getting something of a buzz.

"You know, some people hide their pain with a smile, rather than a veil of cigarette smoke."

"Cut the poetry, Kondō-san, you're creeping me out."

"Can you imagine? Having a family you can't even be with most of the time?"

"At least he gets to try," Tōshirō said, chucking his spent cigarette at the ground and giving it a good stomp. So that's why I feel like shit. He couldn't tell if the geta teeth actually smashed it, but slamming his foot down felt fucking great.

"Oh, Toushi, I'm—"

"It's fine, Kondō-san."

"No, that was—I was being insensitive—"

"Just drop it, okay?" He snatched the butt off the ground and stuffed it in his sleeve. "It's my own goddamn fault, we all know that, don't we? He's trying, you're trying—" He stepped out of the sandals again and went right up to Saitō. "Can you take me somewhere? I need—" he glanced guiltily at Kondō and Sougo—"I need some space." Saitō looked only a little suprised, promptly nodding him back inside.

"Fukuchou, may I escort this man to the kitchen?" Technically he had asked, but his stride as he breezed easily through the room said that he was telling rather than asking.

And all Tōshirō caught as he gave a quick bow was, "Uh—sure, Saitō, but what—" before chasing after his new savior.

Saitō dropped a tub of dry rice before Tōshirō, along with a bucket of water and a strainer. With a hilariously stern focus, he salted his hands and began pressing prepared rice into hefty shapes. The tasuki tied around his sleeves, instead of giving him a sweet domesticated look, made Tōshirō pretty certain he was in the room with a goddamn butcher. When Saitō felt himself being stared at, he redirected Tōshirō's attention to his own task with a curt nod.

"Is washing rice one of your regular jobs, Saitō-san?"

"No."

Frowning, Tōshirō scooped some into the strainer, dipped it slowly in the water, and watched starch swim out in white waves. He poked at the grains that floated on top, making sure to wet every one of them so they all sank.

"You seemed to need it."

"What?"

He nodded again at Tōshirō's hands; the feeling was so familiar and soothing that without realizing it, he'd been squeezing the rice in his fist just for the hell of it. "Huh."

Before long he had a bucketful of pearly, opaque water. "Pain in the ass, how do you do this without proper plumbing . . . ?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

"You can dump it out over there."

Tōshirō refilled his bucket with clear water from the pump and dunked the strainer a few more times. "You're sort of like the power behind the throne around here, aren't you?"

"You give me far too much credit." He held out a perfectly triangular onigiri, which Tōshirō gratefully accepted.

"I don't know. You're my favorite so far."

"I'm not sure if that should flatter me."

Tōshirō picked up his buckets, plopping them down next to Saitō and resuming his work. "How much do you know, anyway? About us." Saitō said nothing, but the look on his face suggested he wasn't sure what the hell he knew. "But you're in the inner circle?"

"It appears that way, yes."

"Is there anything you want to ask?"

Saitō gave him a sidelong glance. "Why volunteer an audience with me?"

"I don't know. You seem smart, responsible with your information."

"The others aren't?"

"I don't see them as spending a lot of time or energy synthesizing data."

"I suppose that is more my forte."

"Figured. So, shoot. Unless—I mean, you probably don't trust me. Just ask Toshizō I guess—"

"Who are you people?"

Tōshirō sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Your interrogative iai is baller."

"While we're on the subject—allow me to apologize for my behavior yesterday."

He shrugged. "We gave you plenty reason to feel anxious."

"I took my assumptions too far and treated you like prisoners. It has become clear that at least that is not the case."

"Yeah. Well. I don't think any of us are sure what we are. We did come here as prisoners."

"So I have gathered."

"What else?"

"That you refer to fukuchou by his given name."

"S'at bug you?"

"Yes, a bit."

"Jeez, aren't you precious. Well—I guess you could say we're like long-lost relatives. In a way."

"So your name suggests. Though I suspect things are not strictly as they seem."

"No they are not."

"Where did you all come from?"

"In relation to you guys? That—we're not sure."

Saitō narrowed his eyes.

How to explain this to someone outside the core four? It was tough enough convincing them once, but shit could go sideways if he went about it the wrong way now. Saitō's opinions seemed to carry some real weight, and if he was of the opinion that Tōshirō was off his goddamn rocker, Toshizō might be of a mind to listen, whispers be damned. "Okay. Do you ever think about space?"

"I must confess that I do not."

"There's a lot of weird stuff out there."

"You mean to say you speak from experience."

"I do, actually."

"Then you'll forgive me if I cannot believe you."

"I don't expect you to, but entertain the concept for a minute. If a man had access to the technology to reach space, do you think it's at least possible he might discover other things?"

"Of course."

"That he might fall victim to as-yet unknown forces?"

"Should they exist, it's possible."

"That if he could travel space, that maybe he could transcend realities as well?"

Saitō's head angled ever so slightly to one side.

"That too much of a leap?"

"I have no way of knowing, so I cannot answer."

"That's fair. See—you're a healthy skeptic."

"You're implying this is what happened to you and your men."

"We think so. Maybe."

"That you are from another reality where space travel, at least, is possible."

"Not only possible, but pedestrian. What we do know is, that's the state of things where we came from, and it's sure as hell not the case for you guys."

"How can that be possible?"

"The technology was brought to us."

"From yet another reality."

"No—ah, who knows, maybe somewhere down the line. But we got it from other beings with the capability."

"Space men."

"Well, you make it sound crazy—"

"It is."

"Yes, I understand that. But look at me. I'm a class-A addict that's only ever known the sword. My guys are basically the same—stupid, flawed barbarians. Every one of us. And none of us clever enough to have made this up. It's just our reality—ask anything you can come up with about it, and we'll all give you the same answer."

"What did your friend tell Kondō-san?"

"That's not really . . . come on, man."

Saitō gave a little nod with the barest grin, which seemed to mean he'd been knowingly trolling. Some regular jokesters here. "Your space men," he said. "What are they called?"

"Amanto, on the whole. But there are many different kinds. Some look like us. Some look just like oni. Some look like humanoid dogs, or frogs, or gorillas. We're still not convinced Kondō-san isn't a gorilla."

Saitō just looked at him.

"That was a joke."

Silence.

"Tough crowd."

"Amanto."

"Yes."

"The kanji for which, I presume, amount to 'space men'."

"You little . . . you are just—"

"Why tell me all of this?"

Tōshirō had to give it to him; timing was everything in iai and karuta and comedy, and Saitō had it down. "You're the power behind the throne, aren't you? Toshizō is apparently running a zoo here, so your job is to save him some time by eliminating the chaff. Right?"

"Please at least use an honorific."

"You won't like what I pick."

"Am I to understand that you and he are the same person?"

"That's the going theory, anyway. I can't speak to our pasts, but I, uh . . . I do see some startling similarities in the present."

Saitō was quiet for a time, brow furrowed in thought. It would be difficult for him to accept any of this, but as a curious person it would be impossible to bypass this puzzle. Already Tōshirō could see him picking out all the edge pieces, working to fit them into the border the rest of the story would slowly fill. "What exactly happened the night you arrived?"

"Oh. Now that's a better question than 'how did you get here'. We haven't really gotten to discuss that yet. And there was a lot of drinking, so. . . ."

"Do your best."

"Sure. Uh—it was definitely a night in. That's the first remarkable thing. I think I was fighting with Sougo, worse than usual. But Kondō-san was having none of it, so he got a bunch of us together. That's the other thing, that I remember way more people being together at HQ than ended up here. I think. Or did we go out . . . ? Nn. We definitely drank at home, and once the pre-gaming warmed us up we decided we'd hit the town. I'm not sure we actually made it out, though. . . . Hell, I don't know. I remember being on the streets, but that's sort of how we got apprehended."

"How were you dressed?"

"Like this. Yukata, casual hakama."

"Not warmly, then."

"Oh. No, I guess not. But it's late spring where we came from."

"So whether or not you left your base, you would have been dressed like that."

"You're talking like you're on board with all this."

"I am entertaining the concept."

Pretty open-minded, for a butcher. "So you think we were on the streets at home, or else we'd have noticed the weather here."

"Perhaps."

"But when you're that plastered. . . ."

Saitō hummed. "True."

"Wait—no, I did notice, later on. Because it was so hot in the room where we first met your guys. Suffocating in there. When we ran and got caught I remember thinking at least I won't bake to death out here. And I watched Sougo slip on some ice, it was glorious, like slow-motion—"

"You're certain you cannot recall what happened between your headquarters and meeting the Shinsengumi here?"

"Yeah, but in all honesty I'm more curious about your half of the equation. Drunk is really the best explanation, but Toshizō doesn't drink, right?"

"Nor does Kondō-san. Why?"

"Wow. Even better. So far they haven't been able to explain how we all woke up in that tearoom together."

"You what?"

"Yeah."

"They said they were on patrol that night."

"That may be what's called an exaggeration, my friend. Might wanna ask again, now that you're in the loop." Saitō hesitated. If Toshizō really had overtly lied to him. . . . "I didn't just shake your foundations, did I?"

He said nothing.

So now I'm a class-A prick. "Look, don't take it so hard, man. It's not that Toshizō doesn't trust you, it's obvious that he does. The problem was how to explain me. Because I'm nonsense."

"Perhaps you're right," he said carefully. The fact that Toshizō did end up including him seemed to be of little consolation.

"Hey," Tōshirō said, hoping to distract him. "Can you tell me a little bit about your guys now?"

Saitō peeked up through his bangs. "Possibly."

"Who's the giant?"

"Shimada."

"What's he do? He's not a captain, is he?"

Saitō said nothing.

Guess not. "But Toshizō trusts him enough to guard us, too. Is he like Susumu?"

"I cannot reveal the positions of those you do not already—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. How about Harada and Nagakura, what's up with them?"

"You already know that they are captains."

"I mean, what's their deal? Do they not get along at all? Lover's quarrel? Or what?"

Saitō didn't blink. "You're on thin ice, Tōshirō-san."

He stared down into his bucket, stark white spots blooming on the soaking rice grains. "I'll shut up."

"Indeed."

A/N: "I do not give away girls' love letters." — Historical Hijikata *super* did this. He was reportedly gorgeous (that "like an actor" thing in Hakuōki is not a modern concept), knew it, and used his powers for evil, i.e. getting all the tail. See Kaze Hikaru for more details. Seriously, if you're not reading that manga, what are you even doing with your life. Itou's shenanigans are to die for.