Sougo knew. Toshizō could probably count on Sagaru figuring it out too, if he didn't already know. Isao he was less sure about.
But what plagued him was why Sougo wished to keep this information from his fukuchou. Was he in the early stages of the illness, wishing not to cast suspicion on himself? If his personality were at all like Souji's—which it was—he'd certainly be trying to keep his condition under wraps until it became glaringly obvious. But if that were the case, it didn't make sense that he had mentioned Tōshirō specifically, and not both of his superiors. What you tell one, you effectively tell the other—was it as simple as that? Or would the illness be more significant to Tōshirō somehow?
Having been abruptly dragged back to Toshizō's quarters, Tōshirō was a little moody, but fuck him. Toshizō was determined to get more than three hours of rest, for once, so while it wasn't time yet for lights out, it'd been dark for hours already and fuck everyone else also, he was going to sleep, damn it. Without thinking he asked, "What is your relationship to Sougo?" And how is this my business, anyway?
"What the hell do you mean?"
"I can't decide if you're close, or if you hate each other."
Tōshirō shrugged. "Both, I guess."
Gods I'm so sleep-deprived. "That's a load of bullshit."
"What? We work closely, which means we know a lot about each other, which means we hate each other."
"Point taken." He shouldn't have let it bother him—Toshizō had plenty secrets of his own, at this point he should've been willing to allow the tama a few. At least, logically. "Don't you wonder what Sougo-kun said?" he asked, before he could bite his tongue.
"Not really," said Tōshirō, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "I try not to concern myself with anything Sougo says."
Given Sougo's pastimes, that was only minimally surprising. "But it convinced us you weren't complete liars."
"Okay, well, I don't think it was necessary to throw shade there. But he's good at what he does, and sometimes I even trust his judgement. If I'm not involved, I've learned to not get myself involved. Honestly that guy's more dangerous to his allies than to strangers or enemies."
"What do you mean?"
"He has a way with emotional trauma. Ask Yamazaki, Sougo nearly ruined his life in one of those new episodes."
"Have you had any problems with him?"
"Oh, incessant."
"I mean, where his work is concerned. Has he been unable to perform at times?" Stop it, Toshizō.
"Unable, no. Unwilling—he's one of the laziest jerks I know."
"Are you sure the two aren't linked?" Not your business, Toshizō.
"What, like he's lying? No way, he's an absolute monster—"
A tentative rapping on the door cut him off. "Hijikata-san?"
Yukimura. Toshizō sighed. "Come on in."
Tōshirō hummed as the door slid open. "Eh? Who's this?"
"A page," Toshizō said quickly. "A very trustworthy one."
"The, uh—young outsider assistant?"
"The same. He's too young to join but quite committed to the cause. Now—" he turned to Yukimura, moving carefully to her knees. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Pardon the intrusion, Hijikata-san. Okita-san said you had a guest, that I should bring you some tea."
There were indeed two teacups beside the little pot on her tray. Damn it, Souji. "Just how poor is your memory?"
"I'm sorry?" she said, grasping the teapot uncertainly.
"I clearly recall giving you strict orders regarding these very guests."
She flushed deeply, but to her credit didn't waver as she poured both cups of tea. "I didn't realize these were the same guests."
He growled a sigh. "You should be more careful about what Souji tells you to do. You know how he likes to play with people, me especially."
With an embarrassed frown, Yukimura pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply over her lap. "I apologize, Hijikata-san."
"Tch—sit up already, would you."
As she did, Tōshirō held his chin in one hand, peering suspiciously at the girl's knees. "Eh. . . ."
Oh shit, thought Toshizō, shit—her seiza! It had been hard enough for him to break her of bowing with her hands in her lap like a lady, but it'd completely escaped him to require her to sit like a man. The Shinsengumi weren't a group to entertain guests with any frequency, and Yukimura rarely even engaged with most members below the level of captain, so the way she sat hadn't been an issue before. Now. . . .
"Well," Toshizō sighed. "I guess that cat's out of the bag."
"I guess it is."
Yukimura looked between the two of them for a few perplexed seconds. "Did I do something else wrong?"
"Not a thing, kiddo," said Tōshirō, giving her a light slap on the back. "Though I'd add not to let this clown order you around, either."
"Tōshirō. If you wouldn't mind."
"Oh but I would."
"Dismissed, Yukimura-kun."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, come on, Toshizō, what's the harm—"
"Do shut up."
"You know I'm going to grill you the second you send her away, right, Toshizō-kun?"
Yukimura's hands flew to cover her mouth, but before she could apologize for no reason at all, Toshizō said, "We should be used to this by now, you can't fool them all."
"Saitō-san said the same thing when we met Osen-chan," she said from behind her hands.
"I'm sure you're busy, Yukimura, so run along."
"Yes sir."
While she fled with her tray, Tōshirō claimed a teacup. "I wondered if there was precedent for Nagakura calling Sougo a girl. Which, he can continue doing that, by the way."
"I'll be sure to let him know."
"Uh-huh. So—why. The fuck. Is there a girl here."
"What happens among my Shinsengumi is none of your business." You're a bleeding hypocrite, Toshizō!
"I don't know, man, once you start keeping young ladies among a bunch of dudes in the middle of a war. . . ."
"We have our reasons. She's been with us for years already, and has had opportunities to leave but has chosen of her own volition to remain here."
"You don't say. . . ."
"Now what does that mean."
"That you're a complete and utter moron, Toshizō-kun."
"You don't know enough about the situation—"
"Doesn't make you any less of a complete and utter moron."
"You think I don't know how this looks? I just said we have reasons."
"That's what a complete and utter moron would say."
"Shall I conclude your day with a beating."
"No thank you, your majesty," he muttered, taking a tiny sip. "Now this—this is tea."
"This isn't matcha."
"I doubt very much that it matters."
"I hate you so much."
/ / / / /
War was cresting. The haku had moved their base of operations to some politician's office in order to keep watch, and tensions were running high. But the real wake-up call for Tōshirō occurred the night Isami was brought back with a bullet in his shoulder.
He had grown to love the sylvan cleanliness of this world, its pristine simplicity. Few guns, even fewer cannons, no phasers. No lasers, no squad cars, no smog. No cities, no skyscrapers.
No hospitals.
What should have been a straightforward procedure turned into days, weeks of uncertainty. Infections that could be easily quelled with the right chemical wash, wild fevers just as easily broken with the right pill. But it was all painfully nonexistent. If he'd been any smarter, Tōshirō could've taken the whole country by force of genius with only a small chem lab, an arsenal of beakers and pipettes—morphine bullets, antibiotic bombs.
But as it was, he could only linger outside rooms and pin down arms when called upon. In a way, he appreciated this; without it he would have little else to do. The trust they'd gained was still only superficial, so they were not given missions or even sent on patrols. They hadn't discussed it, but Tōshirō knew his men would have preferred work to busy their hands. When he wasn't sick with worry for Isami's condition, Kondō-san made his own work, occupying himself with teaching some of the fresher recruits. The resident instructors, among them Saitō and Nagakura, were more than happy to oblige him in taking over their more burdensome duties.
And Kondō was a charm. The students loved him, which wasn't a surprise; even without a dedicated dōjō, they were so eager to work with him that they braved the biting cold for extensive outdoor practice sessions. They found it exciting that he never insisted on using shinai, instead preferring the stiff, blunt-force weight of bokutō. ("Like the good old days!") Sougo too haunted the training grounds, but the recruits were smart enough not to go near him, like rabbits sniffing out a fox. And for whatever reason Harada had taken a liking to Yamazaki. The sight of them sparring with dull spears became commonplace—Yamazaki making timid and not-altogether-uncoerced attempts at striking Harada, who was more likely than not to be laughing his goddamn head off about it.
Yamazaki, however, preferred shadowing Susumu. It took some needling and much breaking of ice, and was only possible whenever his work kept him on the premises. Tōshirō assumed it was dull stuff—there was probably not much ninja shit going on around the base—but Yamazaki claimed it was fascinating. "Susumu's the oil that keeps this machine running," he said proudly. "You'll be amazed at how much smoother things go when we get back home."
How that was going to happen, he had no fucking clue. But as long as Yamazaki was optimistic about it, Tōshirō decided he'd follow suit. "I'm looking forward to that."
/ / / / /
Sougo had been able to stalk the halls more or less at his discretion, likely thanks to the other three: Hijikata-san slowly subjugating Toshizō, Zaki getting friendly with several of the haku, Kondō-san being himself. He didn't discover much beyond Currently Disclosable Information, but felt at ease, knowing his movements were uninhibited. Not that he was intentionally allowed freedom of movement, but he wasn't so closely watched that it was impossible. He didn't feel threatened.
It was now quite dark; the stalking hour. He knew all the rooms. He knew who belonged to which rooms. He even knew some of the night patrol, if not by name then at least by face, glimpsed in secret from quiet places. Sometimes he got caught spying them, but he'd had plenty of practice playing innocent in the midst of dubious activities, so they always turned away, convinced he was just a new recruit in search of a cure for insomnia.
Sometimes they saw him, but sometimes he swore they could smell him first.
There was less activity in the halls tonight. With Isami out of commission, he expected most of the men were either out hunting or sitting anxious in their rooms. It never felt good to see a felled superior—even less so on the brink of battle. It perforated morale, stretched thin the remainder of the leading forces.
Sougo found it odd that there were voices in Souji's quarters.
Odder still—one of the voices was Souji.
He let himself inside.
"Sougo?" Souji was sitting against the wall, swords upright in the crook of one arm, and two fairly small people sat across from him. Not kids, just—especially small. "Nice of you to, ah, join us. I guess."
"What's your problem?"
All three of them fixed him with stares. "I'm sorry?" said Souji.
"I said, what's your problem? What are you doing here?"
"I was having a nice discussion with my friends."
"You do know what they did to Isami-san."
Souji paled, and one guest nudged him. "Who is this guy?"
"Just some jerk who doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He's your Kondō," said Sougo. This . . . he was just so angry. "You know what they did to him, yet here you are sitting on your thumbs. You're a disgrace to the Okita name."
Half-pint no. 1 snapped to his feet, knuckles white around his hilts. "Easy, Heisuke," Souji said, not a hint of urgency in his tone.
"But Souji—"
"Even without a sword he's dangerous."
"You can't let him talk to you like that, he doesn't—"
"He's right though."
Sougo blinked.
"It shouldn't matter how I feel physically," said Souji. "I should be on the trail of those guys, even if just trying kills me."
Silent until now, half-pint no. 2 stood. "Let's go, Heisuke-kun."
"What are you talking about, this random guy just comes in here and starts insulting a captain—"
"Okita-san can take care of it. He doesn't need you to stick up for him." The kid looked pointedly between the two of them, and the implications were not lost on Souji, who could only frown his thanks. "Come on. Let's leave."
Heisuke grudgingly followed, snarling as he left. "I'd spit at you if it weren't Souji's floor," he muttered.
Sougo's bored gaze flicked to him. "Go on," he said, working as much condescension into his voice as possible, "out with you."
The door closed behind them, and the sound of footsteps died out. Strangely alone now, they were quiet, the moonlight filling up Souji's sunken form.
"I'd still like to kill you," he proposed.
"Try it, then."
He half-blinked, swaying as he stood, and held out the katana from his daishō.
Sougo shook his head. He nodded to the shortsword also in Souji's grasp.
Souji hesitated, then quietly accepted the handicap. This time he observed the proper formalities, which felt silly in a bedroom, but Sougo nonetheless returned Souji's bow, mirrored his movements to gently cross swords, pulling back and sinking slightly like cats preparing to pounce.
First to attack was Sougo, and the sight of Souji struggling to defend himself was unexpectedly painful—he thought of Mitsuba's weakness, and his own resolve stuttered. But Sougo easily batted away Souji's very first offensive move, feeling just as sorry as he felt betrayed. A deep gash appeared in the tatami as the katana fell.
Souji came to rest on his knees, head hung low, hair falling all around his face.
He just seems so young.
Sougo sheathed the swords, set them back up against the wall. He took a few awkward steps back, a safe distance away. "I'll take care of it, Jii-san."
The head did not lift, but there was a slight twitch in the shoulders that ached to move; he hadn't given up. He was just too tired.
Though it would go unseen, Sougo shook his head. "We'll take care of him, Jii-san."
/ / / / /
Toshizō was a toddler so Tōshirō was occasionally forced into his own bedtime at a disgustingly early hour. Since he usually wasn't tired when the candles went out, he'd basically lie awake in the dark for hours, and come sunup he'd wonder if he'd fallen unconscious at all. This, of course, royally pissed him off. He couldn't maintain the focus to make his time useful, to think about anything, make some kind of plan. At times he would even find himself wishing Sougo were around to cause trouble, just to give him something to fix, something to do.
Tonight, after a few hours of sleepless misery, the floor outside creaked quietly. "Hijikata-san?" said a timid voice, intentionally muffled through the shōji.
The sounds of Toshizō rolling over in the dark. "What."
"Ah . . . did I wake you?"
"What is it, Yukimura."
The rasp of the door sliding open. "Um . . . I'm sorry to bother you, but can I s-sleep . . . with you tonight?"
Whoa now.
WHOA NOW.
He must not have responded quickly enough, as she backtracked immediately. "I know I shouldn't—"
"Yukimura—"
"It's just been so cold, I'm shivering in my blankets. I can hardly go—"
"What about that old brazier Shinpachi found?"
"He gave it to Okita-san."
Toshizō snorted. "As if he'd really use it."
"I tend to agree, but either way, it's not available. I can't really go to the public spaces, and you're . . . I—trust you the most."
"I thought you were quite close with Heisuke."
"Oh? Well . . . given his position on the, uh, night patrol. . . ."
A click of the tongue, "Of course."
"Besides, I think that such a—situation would only rob him of sleep entirely."
"That's . . . considerate of you," he said, his tone surprisingly lacking in sarcasm.
"I'm sorry—"
"You know that Tōshirō's here, right?"
"I don't mind," she said, teeth clenched to keep from chattering. "I . . . I'd almost feel better with someone else here. I mean, not that I think you'd—"
"Hurry up," Toshizō grumbled, shifting his blankets and leaving Tōshirō stunned.
Now he had something to think about.
/ / / / /
Yukimura was gone by the time Toshizō got up to dress for the day. She was smart enough to make her exit before the rest of the men started waking, so there was that, at least. There was always the chance that she'd be seen, but it was lessened with precautions like that. She had spent the night on her side facing away from him, he on his belly with an arm draped across her middle, to avoid any misunderstanding between them. It wasn't the smartest thing Toshizō had ever agreed to, but the reasoning was sound enough—lately he had noticed the men quartered in the common room huddling closer than usual as they slept—and there was no ill intent from either party, so he wouldn't be easily convinced it was the dumbest thing. No doubt Tōshirō was going to try—
"Soooo, uh . . . Toshizō-kun."
Toshizō sighed through his nose as he tied up the front half of his hakama.
Then he found himself slammed up against the wall, a fistful of collar balled up under his chin. "Don't be an asshole," Tōshirō growled.
Toshizō shoved him away and rolled a shoulder. "You're up early."
He didn't expect Tōshirō to strike a second time, pushing hard against that shoulder and pinning him again. "I'm not kidding around here. Don't."
In one fluid motion he grabbed Tōshirō's wrists, spun him, and thrust him against the wall, an arm across the back of his neck. "So you want to be restrained today."
This time, he didn't budge. "Get off of me, Toshizō."
He's using his words now, he thought, so he let off and resumed his work getting dressed. "What in the hell has gotten into you?"
"You're a goddamn asshole, you know exactly what you're doing."
"What. . . ." The second set of ties on his clothes hung forgotten in his hands. What I'm doing?
Tōshirō gaped back at him, appalled and almost sad. "You actually are a moron."
"Enough with the names—"
"You obviously haven't noticed," he said, pointing furiously toward the door, "but she's not a child. That's an adult woman you're dealing with, and you really just let that happen."
"What are you on about, there was nothing—"
"You are killing that girl, Toshizō."
If the tingling through his spine was any indication, he was starting to understand—but he couldn't say anything, couldn't admit to something that never was. Wasn't it? Had Tōshirō, of all people, really hit upon the one thing Toshizō had failed to consider?
"You're killing her." Tōshirō was quiet now too, madly rubbing his face like he wanted to shout him down but had no words for it. Finally he dropped his arms. "I'm out of here," he said, moving for the door.
"Hey, wait—"
"Keep your panties on, I'm just hitting breakfast."
"Tōshirō—"
"Listen—don't talk to me, okay? Just for now." It wasn't short or angry, but he meant every bit of it, which was disappointing because Toshizō was going to respect that even though all he wanted to do now was talk with him, beg for his perspective—and as Toshizō powerlessly watched him leave, he could have sworn he heard him mutter, "Don't be like me."
/ / / / /
He snatched an onigiri from the kitchen—obviously Saitō's work again, perfectly as it was molded—and stomped to the main room where most of the captains were exchanging pleasantries over breakfast. They stared as he plopped himself down in the corner between Kondō and Sougo (Yamazaki and Harada were both absent, so they were probably hanging out) and stuffed half the rice in his face.
So maybe he could've handled that better.
Tōshirō was probably lucky not to have a knife in his craw, but that didn't make him wrong. Something about the fear in that girl's voice, the quickness with which her answers came, the finely-reasoned story she wove, almost as if justifying it to herself. . . .
She loves him.
"I saw something this morning," said Sougo, as if Tōshirō would care, "which led me to an interesting conclusion. You wanna hear it?" Only half-listening, Tōshirō rolled his eyes, but the hint was not taken. "Danna seems to be into shūd—"
"Stop."
"And you didn't tattle. So like, what's going on in that room at night, are you just some kind of voyeur, or—"
"If you say another goddamn word."
Apparently having reached his sadism quota for the hour, Sougo sat back and kept quiet. Toshizō still hadn't shown, which was kinda cool, it meant that Tōshirō didn't have to make nice in front of the others. They were talking strategy and Tōshirō should have been paying attention but he found it hard to focus. Something had him anxious, and it wasn't strictly Toshizō-related, or stupid-Sougo-related, or even nicotine-related, as was usually the case. Yamazaki, Keeper of the Pack, was lucky to have made a haku friend that could whisk him away to safety or else even now, now, very now he might find himself tackled and part of his arm gnawed through.
. . .
So maybe it was the nicotine.
He assumed this was the problem when it felt like the world started exploding, but everyone in the room shot to their feet. Tōshirō leaned into Kondō-san. "So that wasn't just me, I take it."
He shook his head with rare seriousness. "Cannons," he whispered.
Saitō leaned out the door and plucked one of the lower-ranked guys running past, launching immediately into a well-organized set of orders. Tōshirō was about to open his mouth when Toshizō appeared, dropping an armful of weapons before him. Instead of whatever shit he'd been about to say, Tōshirō asked, "What . . . what are you doing?"
"This is only temporary."
"You're entrusting us with blades?"
"I could lie and say it's because I can't spare babysitters—which I can't—or because I can't leave you defenseless, which is also true. But honestly I need all the men I can get. So are you in or not? And please don't make me beg—"
Tōshirō shut him up with a reassuring slap on the shoulder. "Where do you want us?"
They were to guard the office, allowing more of the haku to march uphill and try to sabotage the cannons, or maybe even steal them. That was Tōshirō's second indication of just how behind the Shinsengumi was here.
It was stupid.
He'd been wrong in assuming that they were strong just by virtue of their tenacity, their ferocity. Fighting spirit meant nothing in the face of ballistic offenses. All this time, all the stories the haku had heard of the joui losing to the Westerners, all the lessons they should have learned from others' mistakes. . . .
Maybe Tōshirō was being harsh. After all, his own men still carried blades, and the Amanto had far crazier weapons than cannons. But the tama were intended to keep the peace—the haku had been meant for battle all along. They should have known their enemy. The oversight was unsettling.
Yamazaki and Harada kept watch at the door day and night, with the remainder of the tama slaughtering any intruders with relentless fury, because somehow it felt personal. Even the girl was working triple-time as a medic, fearlessly venturing outside beyond Harada's worried gaze to collect the injured, who arrived in waves that ebbed and flowed with the din of artillery.
Things went on like this for days, progressing and regressing little by little by little. There was word here and there—division two was mostly wiped out, it was impossible to reach the cannons, nighttime guerrilla attacks and melees neither lost nor gained ground. At one point the office was just on fire. Finally Toshizō relented, and they retreated.
A few of them embarked on a short journey to regroup with reinforcements at some castle, but they returned alone, even fewer in number and in far lower spirits, with Nagakura carrying a small body on his shoulders, dressed all in black. Tōshirō didn't ask.
The tama were once again disarmed and marched to a meeting room, where Tōshirō felt a little guilty about his excitement to see Toshizō's group in its entirety. Things were looking very, very grave, so he expected the whole of the administrative tier to be present.
There were a indeed a few faces he didn't recognize—ostensibly the infamous night patrol—and yet some he expected to see were absent. Like the older one with the kind smile. Judging from the drawn faces of the haku. . . .
He regretted never learning the man's name.
Toshizō opened the floor to discussion only after Shimada had joined them. "Wait," said Yamazaki, lip trembling. "Wait. . . . Where's Susumu?"
Silence pounded in their ears.
"But . . . that's not . . . that's not fair, you guys, shouldn't we wait for him?" Toshizō wouldn't meet his gaze, and it struck Yamazaki like a train, which he refused to believe existed even as it flattened him. "But that's crazy, we can't just leave him out after all this."
"I'm afraid we have lost many exceptional men these past few days."
"Oh." Yamazaki sighed, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead in vain denial. "He must just be busy with the injured, right?"
"Zaki," said Kondō-san, voice soft.
"No," he said, nodding affirmatively, "we should get him. They can manage without him for a few minutes, I'm sure of it."
He was heartened for one miserable moment as Harada stood slowly, until he knelt beside him and put a hand on Yamazaki's back. He choked back more protests, stanching his compulsion to reject this bloody reality like cotton against a wound.
Tōshirō admired him for that.