Despite the horrific night they'd had, the morning was little better, peppered with reports of murderous spirits and concerns that their new headquarters was haunted. Poor Shimada was assigned to deal with complaints from the lower ranks so Toshizō could tackle the upper.

Currently he was dragging extra room screens up against the shōji on his eastern wall in an attempt to block out the sun. "Is that alright?"

Heisuke shrugged, clearly exhausted. "It's okay, Hijikata-san, you didn't have to go to the trouble." He was nigh unrecognizable now, like he'd aged ten years in the past few months. And it wasn't all due to the lack of his youthful hairstyle, or the stark hues of his French clothes with only suggestions of color, so unlike him.

"Fine. You can't say I didn't try."

"I would never. You've gotten way less rest than me, anyway, this is only just now my bedtime."

They sat across from one another, tea tray and uncomfortable silence between them. For some reason it was so difficult to talk to Heisuke now. Toshizō shifted from his knees to cross his legs, which . . . presented a host of new problems. "These damn pants—this is fucking awful, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," said Heisuke, flashing a grin.

"Am I an idiot?"

"Maybe we'll just have to start sitting in chairs, at tall tables."

"We didn't have the money for this, I can't afford chairs and new tables."

"We'll have to redo the floors too, we can't let them put chairs on tatami. . . ."

"This is ludicrous. I'm an idiot."

Heisuke laughed, and the both of them visibly relaxed. "I know some of the guys have been slow to adjust, but we'll get used to it. It'll work itself out."

Toshizō sighed away his jitters. Heisuke used to be one of the easiest to talk to, the most eager to follow orders, the most responsive—and he still was. Which was part of the problem. Toshizō had heaped so much responsibility on him simply because circumstances made him convenient, and he had accepted it all without question. Toshizō felt such guilt just looking at him that he knew—at some point, he'd unwittingly crossed a line that superiors were not to cross.

And now. . . . "What happened last night, Heisuke?"

He absently cracked his knuckles, gazing into the darkest corner of the room. His mouth was opening, but nothing came out.

"Who were those men, do you know? Where were you, what were you doing?"

"One at a time, will ya? This is tough enough, talking about this crap with people on the outside."

This glimpse of how he saw himself was painful for Toshizō to realize—and that felt self-indulgent, compared to what Heisuke had been going through, so he stuffed it down. "What did you actually see?"

"I was working with—talking, actually. Talking to Yamazaki. He wasn't . . . he's not—doing so good."

"How do you mean?" Toshizō asked cautiously.

"He hates this work. He's going stir crazy in here."

"Don't tell me. . . ."

"No, no, he didn't start this, not at all. But . . . I mean, he disappeared when you guys got there to help us, I think he was ashamed. Because before that, most of that—was him."

"Fucking hell."

"Yeah . . . those guys were heading out, and Yamazaki blew up at them. Asked where they were going, what they were doing, who gave them orders."

"And?"

"They said they were patrolling. That they'd been patrolling."

"I suspect that you didn't authorize that."

"No, I didn't even know about it. Why would we even need to patrol here?"

"So the orders. . . ."

Heisuke nodded. "Sannan-san."

Fucking hell. "They could've had the decency not to wear the asagi-iro."

"They seemed to take this creepy pride in what they do, and in attaching it to the Shinsengumi. I don't know how they've been able to stay quiet since we've been here."

"What is it they're actually doing?"

"I think we already know the answer to that. I'm sorry, Hijikata-san," he added when Toshizō crossed his arms.

"Don't do that, it's not your fault."

"But if I'd been—"

"Shut up. So Yamazaki stops them, and they have a friendly discussion." Heisuke frowned, displeased that his concerns were so passively minimized. But they were stupid concerns, so Toshizō couldn't be bothered to feel bad about that. "Then what?" he urged.

"Then he forbids them from leaving. They argued that Yamazaki didn't have the same authority as Sannan-san, and that I didn't either. He argued back with appeals to logic, but you know. They're not the kind of people you can reason with. Especially when one superior promises them what they want, and the others deny it. So—then one of them attacked, and Yamazaki got cut, and that set off the others. Yamazaki didn't even draw until he was injured. Then he went rasetsu on them. I've not been stable lately, so I mostly just watched. I wouldn't have been able to get in there anyway, I think it was his first time since taking the ochimizu. Changing, I mean."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You just said you haven't been stable."

"Ah . . . it's just, supposed to be harder, if you refuse blood. And." He shrugged.

"Heisuke. . . ."

"Are you going to order me otherwise?"

"I can't do that to you. But you're important, I can't have you locking up or losing yourself, either. That's the order. How to follow it is your choice."

He hesitated a little, touched his vest. "Yukimura-kun gave us a medicine from her father's work, and it helps some. There wasn't all that much to begin with, and I ran out not long ago."

"I'll talk to her. Maybe she can look at the research, make it more potent."

"We'd appreciate that."

This thing is going so much worse than I thought. "Why didn't you talk to me, Heisuke?" He didn't mean for his voice to break, but . . . of all the trust issues he'd seen among his men, he least expected it to come from his captains.

Heisuke wouldn't look at him. "I just . . . I wanted to take care of it." His mouth scrunched over to one side, but Toshizō detected a faint trembling in his lips. "I didn't want you . . . I mean, you're Hijikata, you know? You have better things to worry about."

"I worry more, the more you keep from me."

"Hey, it's not like that—"

"I know, I know. But you have to stop this. You can't do everything by yourself. You just can't. Fuck, I'm perfect, and I still need help with this shit. That's why I assigned you to keep wa—why are you smiling?" Heisuke shook his head, frowning determinedly. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, sir." He held a fist in front of his mouth, cleared his throat.

Toshizō sat back, pleased that this time he'd been the one to relieve the tension. "What about Yamazaki, is he going to be okay?"

"You mean, like . . . emotionally?"

"Sure."

"He's Yamazaki. He'll work past it. Long-term, though—he's too used to his freedom, he can't stay cooped up here."

"I'll figure something out."

"It's alright, I can—"

"I said I'll handle it."

"Look, unless it's because of my own incompetence—and I'd hope you would say that to my face, rather than be passive-aggressive about it—you have no reason to step in."

Toshizō shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you anymore?"

"Well," he said with a soft smile, "that was still kinda passive-aggressive. But I'll take that to mean I get to keep my guts."

"Shit, Heisuke, of course you do. You're doing more for this division than I thought possible, honestly."

He quirked a brow. "Glad to know my assignments are, uh. Impossible."

"Well, you can feel more accomplished and less guilty now, can't you? Make that your takeaway. This is absolutely not your fault. I didn't intend to place responsibility for the whole of the fury corps on you alone. If you felt that way, then that's my fault for not clarifying my orders."

"I appreciate hearing that."

"But you're some sort of perfectionist now, so you're going to disregard it anyway."

"What can I say, I want to be perfect like my fukuchou."

"Oh come on, don't fucking take that seriously."

"I know, but. . . ." He narrowed one eye thoughtfully. "It's hard not to feel responsible. Sometimes I feel like the Only Sane Man there."

Toshizō grumbled, "Not you too."

"What?"

"Pardon?"

"What did that mean?"

Toshizō shook his head as he secretively pinched the back of his hand. "I . . . don't know. I m—it's nothing. Lack of sleep has me seeing things, that's all."

Heisuke looked a little worried, but he did not miss the opportunity to push the discussion away from himself. "Have you been hearing the scuttlebutt this morning?"

"The ghosts? Yes, it's a fine story, if they want to believe it. Luckily everyone in that room had impossibly white hair, so it'll be easy to pass it off as your spirits coming back to protect the Shinsengumi from its weak, corrupt members."

"Corrupt, good one. But I meant the ghost."

"The ghost?"

"I didn't see it myself, but—anyone who saw the furies, all those stories are a little different. This one is always exactly the same: a moaning spectre with golden hair wandering the halls, bound up and begging for help."

"Ah, that . . . I can fully explain. But hell, if Sougo's mixed in with the ghost story, fine. Blame it all on him, if you like."

"Is he one of your . . . alternates? What did you call them?"

"The tama, yes."

"Is that the one staying with Hajime-kun, that visits Souji?"

"Y—he visits Souji?"

"They don't really seem like friends, but . . . they are. I think."

"How the hell do you know him?"

"I sorta met him when Souji was still here, he came to argue with him. It was weird. They're weird. But he keeps coming, I see him at the house sometimes. I don't get it."

"I'm afraid I wasn't aware Sougo was leaving the premises. Ever."

"Oh." Heisuke scratched his head. "Well—oops."

/ / / / /

"You always get your hairstyles from your superiors, Jii-san?"

Souji stirred, rolled over on his futon, ran a hand through his clipped hair. "It was an order." It wasn't much different, but a little shorter, without the Isami-inspired mage.

"Shenanigans."

"I'm serious. We're breaking down and adopting some Western tactics, so Hijikata ordered us to adopt Western dress as well."

"Tactically-significant haircuts."

"I don't know. Maybe it's a safety thing, working so close to firearms and gunpowder."

"So then you could have managed without. Are you even one of them anymore? Living out here in the sticks—"

"Piss off, if you don't mind. Oh—you can't, can you? You'll be stuck here forever?"

"I'm not worried," said Sougo, settling down on the floor beside Souji. "I've got work lined up. When you croak I'll be stepping right into your shoes."

"Good luck pleasing that crotchety mother hen of a fukuchou."

"Too impotent for him, are you?"

"I wouldn't know. Men aren't my style."

"Neither are women, according to rumors."

"What rumors?"

"I guess it's more like expert opinion, a doctor saying you're clean. If you get me."

"Matsumoto-sensei said that?" Sougo shrugged in response. "Doesn't matter. I can handle you both."

"That's patently untrue."

Sougo then felt a sharp pinch at the base of his throat—a dagger was puncturing the flesh there. He and Souji grinned.

This was the usual extent of their interactions—shrugs, insults, prodding at each other's psychological boundaries. Which were few. Souji seemed to enjoy the morbid honesty of their conversations, and perhaps most importantly, he didn't object to Sougo's presence. He even seemed to expect it, leaving a lantern lit in his room late into the night. Sougo did wonder if that lantern remained lit every night, or on just the nights that he'd been able to spirit himself away from HQ, foreseen with some completely mundane and useless clairvoyance. But he didn't ask.

The lantern was just barely serving its purpose, an orange strobe that was almost painful to look at directly. "If you trimmed that wick, it wouldn't flicker so much. Might even be able to read by it."

"If I cared, I might." Souji lazily tilted his head to face it, squinting against the effect. "Kill it if it's bothering you."

"Spoken like a true Okita."

"That's not what you were saying before."

"Extenuating circumstances have become more obvious," he said, eyes grazing Souji's form lying weak in his bed. "All this free time time you have, you could've been a real genius by now."

"If only I'd been trimming wicks for proper light to read by?"

Sougo shrugged.

"Worthless," said Souji, shaking his head dismissively. "All of it."

"Are you sad?"

"No."

"But you are a liar."

"I'm not. Just angry."

"Ah. You'll get there, then."

"What?"

"Depression usually comes after anger. I don't see you as a bargainer, so."

"Fuck that. Fuck all of that, I'm going to be pissed off until the very end."

"Why?"

"Why? I could've been so much more. I could've murdered emperors and made Kondō a shōgun. Anything. Young as I am, already a master swordsman—"

"Have been, let's say."

"Fuck." Souji shook his head, sighing in frustration—not at Sougo, but at himself. "I'm disappointed. I'm going to be disappointed until the end. I could've been so much more, and no matter what, I can't change that. It's like I can already see what I'll be to history—I'm still alive but the book is already closing on me, it's insulting."

"You're talkative tonight."

He rolled his eyes. "You haven't been by in a while. I've had a lot of time to think."

"Yeah, well. We moved again."

"Why?"

"How should I know? I'm not trying to get involved in your politics."

"So you're farther away now, that's your excuse."

"Several hours by foot. It's harder with Saitō gone too, he'd just—"

"Wait, wait—why is Hajime-kun gone? Where is he?"

"He's not dead, settle down. He's . . . off doing his dark business, I guess. You guys are friends?"

Souji shrugged.

"I was shifted to his watch for awhile. There was no way that guy wouldn't notice me leaving, so I didn't sneak, just to see how he'd handle it. He never stopped me, though. I never got in trouble so he must not have tattled, either. Did he know I came here?"

He shrugged.

"Why didn't he just come see you himself?"

"He does, sometimes. He's busier than you are, if you can imagine what that's like."

Sougo might have bitten back, but a question that had been plaguing him for months surfaced. He was ashamed to have put it off for so long, rationalizing it with I probably already know the answer. "You have a sister," Sougo said, unrest stirring in his belly.

"Who told you?"

"No one had to tell me."

Souji sat up at least as far as his elbows, cleared the phlegm from his throat. Sougo noticed that had been bothering him more lately. He wondered if it tasted like blood.

This was why he came here. It was selfish, Sougo would freely admit that, but this thing—at least it was a known quantity.

"So," said Souji. "What about it?"

"Is she. . . ."

"What?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But it deserved to be asked.

"Is she okay? Or is she . . . like you."

Souji shook his head. "She's fine."

Sougo was on his feet and didn't know why, so he made for the lantern to blow it out. He couldn't say he liked Souji, but he couldn't exactly say he liked himself either. Sougo always had his own interests in mind, of course, and that maybe had seeped into his feelings about Souji. He wanted his family to be okay. So this—he felt his body relax. She's fine.

"Why are you asking?"

His eyes hadn't adjusted, but he felt moonlight glowing in the paper panes, so he slid the doors open to let it inside. "My sister—Mitsuba." He said it before Souji could mention his own sister's name. Still trying to assure him that it wasn't all a lie. "She. . . ."

An inhale through the nose, a click of the tongue. "A lunger?"

Sougo nodded and sat down again. He wouldn't have used the word himself, but in Souji's case it made sense. If it'd been Sougo who was ill and not his sister, he could see himself trying to make light of the condition with self-deprecation.

Souji's thoughts were tracking across his just-barely-smiling features. "And you're not?" he asked.

There was no way to say it that wouldn't sound like bragging, so he just said it.

"No."

Pity and relief crowded Souji's face, before melting away again. "Is she. . . ." He was looking at Sougo, eyes darting across his arms, his shoulders.

He shook his head.

"Oh." Souji rubbed his jaw. ". . . I'm sorry."

Sougo shrugged. Anything more would have been too painful.

"I can't imagine. If it'd been Mitsu. . . ."

Mitsu. Her name is Mitsu, and she's fine.

"Hey, runt," said Souji.

"What."

"Do you think. . . . I mean, is it terrible that I'm glad I'm . . . me?"

"Yeah," Sougo said. Souji folded his hands behind his head and lay back, breaths audibly rattling in his chest. "For lots of reasons, Jii-san. But I get it."

This is the lucky one.

"Do you want to meet her?"

Sougo's eyes snapped up.

"My sister," said Souji, as though he hadn't guessed. "She's coming tomorrow."

/ / / / /

"Shit," Toshizō said softly. "Mitsu-san is coming tomorrow."

He followed Tōshirō's gaze through the open shōji to the moon. The weather had been mild of late, the evening breeze dewy and chill and carrying pink-white petals. "How is she doing?" he asked quietly.

"Last I heard, fine," said Toshizō. "Considering."

"Well enough to travel, at least."

"Huh?"

Tōshirō's eyes finally wandered back indoors, the flame of a single candle fluttering between their futons as they settled in for the night. "She's traveling, she must be feeling alright." Why does he look so anxious?

"I should hope so, she's got her work cut out for her here."

"What?"

"Not that she has very far to go. We did most of the work for her, bringing Souji to Edo." Tōshirō was slowly coming apart at the seams, but Toshizō couldn't reason why, so he continued inanely, thinking he might distract him the way the moon couldn't. "She'll stay with him there, at the house, I suppose until . . . you know. She insists that we continue to visit as often as we can."

"Wait a minute."

"Which is thoughtful of her. She's always been more like a parent to him, and now that she's got older kids of her own—"

"Hold up one goddamn minute, Toshizō."

"What is it with you?"

"She's not—wait, she's got kids?"

"Yeah."

"Like teenage kids?"

"What's your problem?"

"And you're . . . okay . . . with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"But . . . how old is she?"

Toshizō didn't see how this was in any way relevant, but he shrugged. "About my age."

"Well then . . . I guess I don't know how old you are."

"About Kondō-san's age."

"You twit."

"I'm thirty-three." Upon seeing Tōshirō's jaw hit the floor, he said, "Okay, how old are you, smartass?"

"Twenties."

"Twenties. You can't get any more specific than that."

"No I cannot."

He continued talking, something about blank pages between chapters, and though Toshizō tuned him out, Tōshirō's voice still echoed in his head.

Don't be an asshole . . . you know exactly what you're doing . . . she's not a child . . . you're killing her. . . .

That was the only other time his interest in this world had been so . . . severe. He wasn't threatening Toshizō physically this time, but he felt that something was connected there. Tōshirō wouldn't have been so offended if he hadn't felt personally invested somehow—but why? Why this? He hadn't known about the furies, or Yukimura, so he couldn't have had some kind of falling out with her in his universe. Why was that so important? Why meddle in Toshizō's personal life?

"Get it together, Haku-san." Tōshirō was snapping near Toshizō's face. "I'm trying to set you straight, here."

In an instant, it hit him: he's in love with Sougo's sister, and Sougo doesn't approve.

Toshizō pressed a palm to his cheek, half surprised it wasn't hot from the impact. Does he expect me to be in love with Mitsu? "Is that why Sougo didn't want you to know?"

"What?"

"The reason you're acting so strangely right now. Does all this have something to do with the illness?"

"Is that what he told you, to convince you? That his sister was sick?"

"No—" Toshizō shivered at the clueless expression on Tōshirō's face. "I. . . ."

. . . have just started a huge mess.

"I don't get it," said Tōshirō, scowling violently because on some level he definitely already got it. "What did he tell you, then?"

"Oh my g—he didn't say how he knew—"

"What did he tell you?"

"Even before most of our guys were told, he knew that Souji is dying of consumption."

"That . . . doesn't make sense, though."

Toshizō shook his head. "It makes sense."

"No, but . . . then why. . . ."

He was in love, and she died. "Tōshirō-kun. . . ."

"It's Souji that's sick? His sister is okay?" Toshizō was too mortified to respond, watching as Tōshirō's scowl gradually softened. "And you're not . . . you don't. . . ."

Toshizō could barely stand to look at him, so desperate and full of hope that maybe his life could have been better, that maybe something could have gone right if only the world were a little different. But finally, he just had to say it.

"No, Tōshirō. I don't."

Tōshirō held fistfuls of hair at his temples, and he wasn't blinking. "The universe is cruel," he said, candlelight flickering madly across his still face. "All of them. Every single one of them is cruel." The flame died in a gust of scented breeze, and the room was somehow quieter in the placid white moonlight.

Softly, as if to calm a wild creature, "What happened?"

"I turned her down." His voice was low, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

"You . . . what?"

"I was afraid, I can't lie and say that wasn't part of it, I was afraid, of. . . . It's a dangerous job, what we do. Isn't it?"

He wanted confirmation, but Toshizō couldn't give it. It wasn't his life; he couldn't say.

"I couldn't . . . I wouldn't have been able to promise her. I was just going to let her down."

"Is that why you got so mad at me that time?" Tōshirō glanced up. "You said . . . 'Don't be like me.' That's what you said."

"Oh. Yeah. . . . I guess so." He raked his nails across his scalp. "I take it back, though."

"What?"

"Be like me. I made a choice."

"Tōshirō. . . ."

"I'm not telling you that there's a right or wrong choice. But you have to make one. Either you make a move, or you stop leading her on. I . . . made a choice."

"Was it wrong?"

"The world didn't end."

"Was it the wrong choice?"

"I . . . don't think so. No—there's no such thing as a wrong choice. There are choices . . . they're just different. As long as you make a—any choice, take some kind of action—"

"But do you regret it."

He stopped, lips parted, and was silent for a long, long time.

Toshizō hadn't really been of the opinion that Tōshirō and his bunch could be taken seriously. They were a hassle, a thorn in his side, but in all little more than incidental. They appeared out of nowhere, had no measurable effect on their lives, and if all went according to plan, they'd disappear back to into oblivion.

Of course, they had their similarities—which perhaps was why he had failed to realize that Tōshirō was his own person, with his own experiences, his own history, that there were differences that went beyond technology. There was more to tell than the feeling of flying through the void of space, the mechanics of a fluid lighter, the shape of a light bulb. That Toshizō might learn something from him, something of value transferable to his own world.

I'm trying to set you straight.

Finally, Tōshirō took a deep breath. "I can't regret it."

"But do you?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it would kill me." An undeniable fact, said with almost threatening conviction. He lay back and held his palm open to the starry sky, as if waiting for a blossom to land; there was no happiness in his smile. "But I have to keep living. For her."

/ / / / /

One day, on a morning that the complex was exceptionally dour, Yamazaki Sagaru found a note beside his futon.

Sorry I couldn't stick around to see you home. We'll be thinking of you. Best of luck, friend.

Alarmed, he tracked Isami down, who told him that Harada and Nagakura were gone.

/ / / / /

Toshizō knew that things could get worse. Things could always get worse. But that was little consolation on the morning they found the mansion surrounded.

He and Shimada rushed to locate Kondō-san, sitting with the tama in a small, unused common room. "Who is it?" Kondō asked. "Empire? Satchō?"

"Does it matter? They all march under the same damn banner these days. Come on, we have to get you out of here."

"What? No."

"We're outnumbered, and we'd be outnumbered even if we had time to recall Saitō's men from Ichikawa."

"I'm not running away, Toshi."

"We're not fighting them, what's the point of getting obliterated now? I just said we're outnumbered."

"I just said I'm not running away."

"What—are you talking about?"

"You all can still leave. I'll buy you some time to sneak out the back."

"Wait—no. No."

"Go regroup with the rest of the men—"

"No. You are not surrendering yourself to them."

"Yes I am. You join up with Saitō—"

"And what? Move on like nothing's changed? They won't take you as a prisoner of war, not for long. Then what? We're not the Shinsengumi without you, what are we supposed to be then?"

"That will be up to you. As long as you live, you can keep fighting."

"What kind of hypocritical bullshit is that? I'm going out there, you lead the men at Ichikawa."

"They won't accept a surrender from anyone but the commander. I'm doing this for all of you."

Isao was on his feet. He moved toward Toshizō, who instinctively shuffled back like a skittish animal. "What. . . ."

"I'll go."

Tōshirō wouldn't stop shaking his head; tears budded in Sougo's eyes. "Kondō-san—"

"It's alright."

"No," Tōshirō was saying quietly. "No. . . ." But his eyes wouldn't meet any of them, staring instead through the floor.

Kondō was in more active denial. "Come now, Isao-san, this isn't—this is my world, I'm responsible for—"

"But I'm part of this world now."

"You're going home, though, you're going back—"

"No one's saying it, but that's a lost cause. We're here for good. I know that. You can share your responsibilities with me now."

"But—you just have to keep trying, keep thinking—"

"Stop. Let me do this. We both know it makes more sense this way."

"This is preposterous, Isao-san," he said with a laugh, unconvincing though it was as a tear rolled down his cheek. "You're being . . . you're being silly. You don't—my responsibilities aren't yours. That's. . . ."

"There is one responsibility I can't share."

Toshizō's head dropped almost below his shoulders, but Kondō-san still didn't understand. "This isn't . . . Isao—"

"Go home, Isami."

"What . . . what do you mean?"

"It's okay. Take this chance. Retire, and go be with your girls. Be a family."

"But, Isao—"

"Do it for me?" His eyes smiled, even as a frown held back his own tears. "Live for what you have. Do it for me, okay? Please." He pressed an arm across his eyes, shoulders rising and falling.

"What about us?" said Tōshirō softly. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

Isao's smile refreshed as he took him up in one of those grand bear hugs. "You'll be fine, and you know it. You'll figure it out because you're smart, and you've got great guys behind you."

"I won't follow him without you," Sougo said desperately.

"Yes you will," he said, parting from Tōshirō and drawing Sougo in. "You've grown enough by now to listen. C'mere, Zaki."

"Stop it, Kondō-san," said Tōshirō, "this isn't funny."

"You all are such good kids."

"This isn't fucking funny."

Suddenly Kondō was shouting, "You will not force me to run away from my responsibilities!"

Isao countered in a low, calm voice. "Leaving things unresolved would be running away. My stepping in is not the same as you running away."

"How?" He bit his lip, offended and sad and even more powerless than he'd been since this awful year began.

"Look—take something from my world. Give your family the same consideration as your job. Hell, give them more. They need you more than the Shinsengumi does. Let the young ones take care of things here."

"Isami and Toshizō are the same age, Kondō-san."

"Whatever," he whispered sweetly. "You can't change my mind now. Big guy, danna—" He nodded to them both. He wants . . . ?

Shimada was already reaching for one of Kondō's arms, and Toshizō quickly snatched the other. "Let go of me," Kondō whimpered. Isao was walking for the door. "Please, Toshi. . . ."

"I can't." He added another hand, tightened his grip. I don't want to. "Souji would never forgive me."

Sougo had a blade against Isao's throat, the wrap on its grip familiar. Toshizō glanced down; his own shortsword was gone.

"Stop," Sougo said.

Isao gave another sad smile, tilted his head. "Sougo. . . ."

"You're not going anywhere!"

His hands came around the blade, gave it a little push. Sougo panicked, and as the blade clattered to the floor, Isao's hands landed on Sougo's shoulders. "It's okay." He kissed the top of his head. "You are loved—you know that, right? Just remember that."

"What? What do you—"

But Isao was gone.

Kondō was on his knees, and Sougo too, and Toshizō followed in Tōshirō's wake, chasing him and his commander toward the front gates of the complex.

"Don't be an idiot," said Tōshirō, grabbing at one of Isao's arms. "If you have to do this, at least give them a little time to get away before you walk out there."

"You are going with them, you know."

"Like hell."

"I know you're mad—"

"Like hell."

"Listen to me. This is an order."

"Don't you dare—"

"You do not follow me. You go back to Isami, and you make sure he gets to safety, or else this is all for nothing. And you do not come back for me. Understood?"

"Kondō-san—"

"I gave you orders. Acknowledge."

"You're still not understanding the part where they need time to get away first."

"I'll handle it. Stay and watch if you like, it'll only take a minute. But you have to leave after that. It would set a bad example for your subordinates, if you didn't."

"I don't give a shit about what they think."

"It's for Isami too. How is he going to feel if you don't go with him?"

"Isami is not my problem—"

"I'm making him your problem. This is important to me, Toushi. Please respect my wishes."

"Oh, fuck."

"This is bigger than you or me—"

"Fuck no, you did not just say that like you're about to die."

Isao sighed, sad that talking wasn't helping. "Danna?"

Toshizō shook his head, Don't involve me.

"You can't do this," Tōshirō said, pleading. He was starting to give up.

"Its already done, Toushi." He gave him a quick hug and nodded once more to Toshizō, who planted a hand on Tōshirō's shoulder as Isao slipped through the door. "See you on the other side."

His massive form strolled right out in the open, arms held up. The opposing force was abuzz with activity, and there was discussion, presumably as they selected a representative. They must have been expecting resistance, rather than a parley.

Finally one of them swaggered forward, loaded rifles covering him. "Who the hell do we have here?"

"My name is Kondō Isami," said Isao, lowering his arms, "commander of the Shinsengumi. If you can guarantee that every single one of my men will be spared—" back straight and voice solid—"I will come quietly."

The other guy mulled the thought for a time. "This is surrender, not a negotiation." His men chuckled quietly.

"Is that the kind of empire you want to be? Do you want the people to think you will treat them mercilessly, just like you treated the militia that once upon a time tried to surrender?" The grin on Isao's face was strange, and yet so chillingly familiar; the riflemen were frozen. "Besides, if I don't get what I want—we may be a bunch of backwater hicks, but sure as hell, we can mess up a man. You can have it easy, or we can tear through half your ranks before you even scratch us."

That bluffing buffoon. The representative was silent. The whole force was silent.

Isao laughed.

Finally: "The terms of your surrender are accepted." He and Isao bowed to each other, before the man signaled for his riflemen; two came forward. As if his subordinate was supposed to be pleased with the outcome, Isao turned back to look at Tōshirō, a triumphant grin lighting across his features even as his hands were being bound.

Tōshirō whispered something and moved, but before he could take a full step, Toshizō hooked his elbows around his arms. He resisted, if weakly, spirit sucked out of him—leaning limp from Toshizō's arms, his head bowed, fists balled.

". . . Tōshirō-kun?"

Glaring back with those wild eyes, red-faced and shaking, he said, "I think it's time we were given our weapons."