A/N: Hey hey hey! I'm back and so soon. Amazing, I know. I just had such an inspiration. Hope you like it babes. Like I've already said, by the way, this might be a little triggering for some. Be warned.
Title: Misses Brightside
Genre: Romance, angst, historical
Alternative Universe: Historically Accurate, with emphasis on history
"Fujita!"
Just as he was about to enter his tent, bandaged hand supporting the fabric door high above his head, hunched over, he stopped, looking over his shoulder. One of the men that were delegated with the boring posts – mail, finances etc – came close, holding something aloft. "This is for you."
He was handed a letter; that was a surprise. "Are you sure this is for me?"
The messenger shrugged. "You're the only Fujita Goro in this camp."
He shrugged, too and simply took it out of his hands, tucking it into his layers. He finally went inside, shedding off his battle gear and heaved a deep sigh. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders; then he massaged his neck for good measure, because cracking it didn't help. He washed his face with whatever water he had left and only then did he put his sword down. He decided this was not the night to change out of his clothes, so he sat down on his futon without further ado. He meditated for a while and then, it was time to sleep; he sorely needed it. As he lay down, the letter escaped from the fabrics and only then was he reminded of its existence.
Right.
He should probably read it. Almost out of a sick sense of unfinished business more than anything—the origin of this ridiculousness could be traced back to none other than the obsessive vice commander Hijikata Toushijou. With slow, almost painful movements, he managed to sit up in his bed and blindly flail for that candle at his bedside. Hm, there it was. Lazily, he lit the fuse and, rubbing at his eyes in a final-ditch effort to be lucid, he took out the piece of paper.
The moment he lay eyes on the neat scroll, he was in a bad mood. It was an instinctive response, he didn't recognize it at first glance; but then he got to actually reading the contents of the letter and yes, he was upset. It was Tokio's handwriting and so many times had he seen her sign things that his brain sent the information it was her before he could process it.
He had half a mind to burn it right then and there...! But curiosity won out. After all, what could she possibly be telling him, when she had made all those declarations the night before he left? Could she be calling him more names? Begging for forgiveness? Explaining her thorny behaviour? Preferably, the last two, for his own sake.
Because, in the end, whatever she'd said that night cut him deep. He had, in that moment in time, actually, truly, hated her. She had dared speak to him that was and make all those accusations! They were terrible, yes; anything of that nature would be. But he couldn't decided if he felt so affronted because she dared assume that of him or because, ultimately, he feared she was right. And, once again, he'd felt see-through when she came running. From the moment her eyes had fallen on him, he could tell with conviction she'd say something extremely intuitive that he'd despise. And she did. Just like he knew, when he was informed by Matsudaira-sama of this call to arms, she would be against it.
And now, three weeks later, there he was, getting upset over a piece of paper. Because how dared she look at him and expose him like that? How dared she worry about him? What business was it of hers? Why did she write him a letter? Why did she even care? This was beneath him.
No.
This was beneath her. And that was what ate at him.
With the most negative attitude a human being ever had towards a letter, he started reading. The first time, he took his time; the second, he skimmed it; the third, he focused on those parts he decided were the worst offenders. And the fourth, he crumpled it with his fist and threw it on the ground. Well, if he was so traumatized and weak now, how come he had earned himself a tent of his own, being held in the same regard as the captain of this unit? If he'd been so keen on getting himself killed, how did he manage, even in this unfriendly – at the beginning – environment, to make himself essential?
She was full of it; he was doing great, none thanks to her or anyone else for that matter. He was going to be fine. Blowing out his candle, he lay back down and went to sleep. He tried his best, anyhow, because if it wasn't for the exhaustion, he might have stayed up all night.
Damn her and her stupid letter.
.
"Tokio-san," Yuuki-san, the oldest of the Aizu women – thirty four winters under her belt – caught the woman's attention as she was exiting the kitchens "I just saw the procession! The men are almost at our doorstep."
"Indeed," Tokio corroborated "which is why I am here; I gave instructions to cook for more people. A proper welcome is in order."
"Naturally, we wouldn't want to disappoint them on the day of their return."
"So, until all of them are bathed and a little rested, the food will be ready."
Yuuki smiled brilliantly; she returned it, but her heart ached. It was no secret she'd been looking forward to this day, but her reasons were; seeing him again terrified her as much as it thrilled her. He was the first person she ever talked like that to, yet at the same time, he was one of the few people she encountered that needed the help as much as him. He suffered, plain and simple. And her heart went out to him. As to why that was, she could make plenty of excuses and find a multitude of reasonings, but what truly mattered was, she did care. And she did hurt, seeing him so headstrong and proud. So maybe, after a month and change of being on the battlefield again, he would come back a little milder, following her letter.
One by one, men came through the doors, giving small or deep bows as they passed by them. Some were a little hurt; some, a lot. Bandages on their heads, others on their hands or legs and a select few lucky ones, had no visible wounds to speak of. She would greet all of them with a slight bow and a word or two, standing by the door dutifully, along with Yuuki and four more women that rushed outside to do the same. It was their way of paying their respects to those who returned, but even more so to the thankfully few who never made it back.
Tokio kept a sharp eye for Hajime, but she could not find him...until the very end. He was the last man to walk through those doors, back straight and always looking forward. He spared her but a glance; she met his eye and followed after him, leaving the servants to close the doors properly.
"Okaerinasai Fujita-san," she breathed hurriedly, even if he never spoke to her. "The lord asked to speak to you. From my understanding he wants you to report to him; if possible, immediately."
He nodded, to prove he heard her and broke off the rest to head to Kurasawa's rooms; she kept walking with him, going even so far as to walk next to him. He decided not to address it for no other reason it would give her the satisfaction.
"The lord also tasked me with informing you, we decided to move your living quarters. You are to room with the three men you work with from now on."
He commented something about finally receiving good news, but it was too low for her to hear, so now she had no reason to keep talking to him. She was perfectly willing to put their fight behind her but, judging by his clear unwillingness to cooperate, she decided it was not going to happen. So, she would be the bigger person once again and abide by his wishes: she'd say no more to him until someone gave her a reason to, even if all the questions bubbling within her were ready to burn a whole at the roof of her mouth.
"My lord," she made their presence known just as his knuckle was ready to knock on wood "may we come in?"
"Of course, please," the man readily allowed them entrance and they could see his figure stand from behind his writing station. Only then did Saitou slide the door open. "Welcome back, Fujita-san," were the next words out of his mouth "I am happy to see you in such good shape, despite the losses suffered!"
"We had a good captain."
The man laughed boisterously. "What a way to pay yourself a compliment!"
"I was not the captain, my lord."
"Then all those accounts from other people I received must have been talking about the other extraordinarily tall man who consistently made the difference between life and death."
A smirk escaped him. "I was assistant to the captain, my lord," he sardonically quipped.
"Ah, I see."
There was a small exchange of knowing looks between the two men, as Tokio watched them closely. "Well, news of the assistant captain reached us here relatively quickly for the distance; must have made quite the impression."
"I am pleased to see it was a positive one."
"Indeed. I was just telling Tokio how good of an impact your performance made and how well it reflected on us. I was very pleased with the type of attention I got because of it, too." He patted his shoulder once or twice. "Keep up the good work, Fujita." He nodded. "Now, I would like you to give me your report for this month you were away."
That's when Tokio gracefully moved behind the lord's writing desk and brought a new piece of paper in front of her; she took the brush in her hand and dipped it ink. Oh, right, she was the record keeper; fine, so be it. He'd say this in front of her.
"It was an eventful month for you out there," the lord commented, quite taken aback. "The important thing is that you're back and look healthy. Now, Tokio, please escort the man to his new quarters."
She gracefully stood and bowed to her adoptive father. "Please follow me, Fujita-san. I shall see you at the feast my lord."
"I'd like to see you both," he made perfectly clear just as he was exiting the room.
Saitou had to fight with himself not to roll his eyes. Great; that must have been the last thing he wanted—the lord actively searching for his face in a crowd. He didn't want food though; he wanted to go meditate and then sleep until next morning. Maybe visit the baths, too that'd be nice.
"Seeing the other three didn't follow you to the lord, the room is already occupied, but it is large enough for four men to exist in it comfortably. In fact, it is larger than the one you previously slept in with nine more people."
He snorted. "Did I make that good an impression? His lordship is generous."
"His lordship wanted to do this for you since before your deployment but didn't want to give away your identity, so he refrained. Now that he has a reason for it, he had no qualms."
It took him a minute, but he realised he was walking away from the bedrooms that housed the "common people" and he was being led towards the more exclusive quarters. And he knew that not only because he was extremely observant but because they had started walking down the corridor he'd always waited in front of, to pick up her highness. She noticed his expression and almost said something about it, but restrained herself in the nick of time.
"Is he moving us to honour us or keep you safer?"
"...both, I believe."
"Ever the practical man."
"It is a great status symbol for this household to reside within this quarter; it's the closest to his lordship. Only those who enjoy his full trust may enter this hall." She looked at him with the edge of her eyes; he was shaking his head, opinion obvious about the status symbol. He wasn't entirely wrong to find this a useless formality and more of a ploy to get a use out of him, but it was what it was. "Would you like to take a bath before dinner?" she asked, once she stopped in front of his door.
He clicked his tongue. "You heard him; I have to be at the feast. He's expecting me."
"Thus, we shan't start without you; just tell me how much time you need."
She was being too nice with him; he didn't like it. He'd hate to thank her for her consideration. So, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
"I got your letter."
She blinked, owlishly. "O, oh...and?"
He looked at her for a long moment, seeing the longing bubble within her; then he leaned a little closer. "Apology not accepted."
She deflated. "...I suppose it's your right not to accept what I wrote."
"And don't write to me again; you think men can't tell it's a woman's handwriting? They didn't leave me alone until I returned."
"Oh, forgive me for caring, then!"
"It was your name they were trying to find out."
She scoffed. "And suddenly you care about other people?"
"Is that supposed to mean why did I not just give out your name or why did I care what they wanted?"
"Both, actually."
"Such a smart woman."
"Always have been, thank you very much."
"Good for you; just don't do it again."
She felt her eye twitch. "You know what? I don't care for your opinion; I really, really don't. If I feel like writing to you, maybe I'll write; if I feel like writing your captain a letter, then I shall do that. Because, guess what, you can't dictate my actions. If I write you a letter, that's my choice; now if you don't want to read it, that's yours." She shrugged. "Burn it, if you so wish. But you can't tell me what to do, Hajime-san. And that's that."
"...it's Fujita, but fine, you're right I guess. I can't."
She gave him a cold smile and walked to the door opposite his; she knew just where to grab it so it slid open faster. She got inside the room and turned to look at him, right at the threshold. "When you are finished with your bath, inform me please. Until then," she slid the door closed and disappeared from his field of vision—at least her sour expression did.
Distantly, he came to realise their rooms were opposite one another but the most pressing matter was how rude she'd been. He almost laughed; he did push his luck. Oh well. At least he had time for a bath.
.
"My lo—ah, Fujita-san," she bowed hurriedly to the tall man just as she entered Kurasawa's office "my lord, I need to go into town today."
"Tokio, my child, take a breath first."
She tried not to chuckle because she did go in there without announcing her presence but ultimately that was all she needed to say. She was just a little rushed because she needed to convince the lord and then go find Saitou – of course the lord would task him with her outing – and try and convince him, too but she saw that wasn't necessary, as he was right there, next to her adoptive father, stoically looking over some document.
"Do we need more supplies?" the swordsman wondered out loud, looking mostly at her, even if he addressed the man first and foremost. He knew the answer, which was why he made the question of course: no, they didn't. They went into town for supplies three days ago. They purchased all they needed then—she'd made a comprehensive list and they ended up filling most of the carriage.
"Not exactly."
That was when she produced what she was almost hiding by holding her hand low and not really but kind of behind her: it was a dirty and in some places ripped kimono. It was nice enough to be expensive but not too expensive—an every day kind of garment that usually rich women wore. Like she used to be, Saitou made the connection and realised someone must have trashed her kimono and now she didn't have much to wear. As he looked closer at what she was wearing, yes, she donned a kimono he hadn't seen before. There was all the proof he needed.
"My dear, what happened to it?"
She seemed equally bewildered. "I found it like this when I ventured into the garden; it was noon I believe. I didn't have time before that, to look for it. I don't know why or how, I just saw it lying on the ground, a proper mess."
"Yes, go into town; buy something new, please."
"Oh, I can mend it!" She seemed excited at the prospect. "I don't have to replace it, I simply need the extra fabric for where it was torn and—"
"Nonsense. We can afford it." He didn't give her much chance to complain as he turned to Saitou instantly. "Please escort my daughter to a nice kimono shop, to replace her torn one, Fujita-san. I trust none but you."
"As you wish, my lord."
"Perfect; now hurry! You need to catch them before they close."
Her bow was deep and full of gratitude, but her spirits had dimmed a little. He noticed even before they left the room. Then she walked out first and he had to follow but then the lord spoke.
"Fujita-san," he stopped him at the door "find out who did this and why." He nodded and caught up with her.
Once they were walking to the exit, she frowned freely, looking sad. Why? He just told her to buy a brand new kimono. She should be over the moon. Did she want to mend it that badly or did she finally allow herself to be sorry for the one she lost? An eyebrow arched, questioningly. After all, how did she not notice earlier?
"Were you not wearing this kimono for a long time?"
"..." She sighed. "That's not it."
She tried to speak, but last moment kept her mouth closed. That was even more suspicious. "Speak woman."
"I had given it to Rin-san, two nights ago and I was still waiting for her to give it back to me...only to find it in the middle of the garden, a knot of abused fabrics."
"...but you don't think it was her who did it, otherwise you'd have said so to the lord."
She nodded furiously.
"I know it wasn't her; she's borrowed things from me numerous times—this very kimono being one of them more than once and it was always returned in pristine condition. When I found it like this, I asked her if she knew anything about my kimono. She said she was sorry for the delay and she'd bring it immediately; when I told her what had happened, she was shocked. Said she'd seen the damn thing on her dresser not half an hour ago." An exhale. "I do not believe it was her. And I have a feeling it wasn't any of the other women, either. It's just a gut-feeling, but I always trust my gut-feelings; they haven't led me astray so far."
He had an epiphany then; could this be...? No. there's no way anyone was stupid enough to—and yet, there they were. "This is ridiculous," he voiced, despite trying to keep quiet and she turned deep red.
"I, I know it's just a piece of garment but it's important to me..."
He clicked his tongue. "Not your reaction, idiot; the fact it happened is. If you're so certain it wasn't any of the women then I'm a little worried. There's this tradition between men..."
He spoke no further, never looking at her, except to call her an idiot momentarily. She concluded he wasn't trying to gather his thoughts to find a way to explain it to her, but simply wished to elaborate no further. Her eyes became small.
"Why do you hesitate?"
"If you're right and so am I, then you or Rin, or both, may be in trouble."
"...from the men that came with you?"
He looked a tiny bit impressed by her; instead of voicing any of his concerns though, he simply nodded.
"What should we do?"
"Do you still practice with the bow?" She nodded. "Keep it up; and for as long as I'll be here, I'll help you—maybe teach you about daggers a little." Her eyes became a little wider. "But we'll do so at night."
"Night; why?"
"I don't wish to be seen with you."
Both amused and offended, she gaped at him, looking for an explanation at his flagrant disrespect. "Don't give me that," he dismissed her "it's for your benefit." She highly doubted that, if her expression was any indication, so he had to elaborate. "Your eyes should get used to the dark and finding targets with minimal or no lighting; also, the less people see me around you, the better. If you are the target then the moment I am for some reason away, they'll come for you. If Rin is the target, then once they realise I'm keeping an eye on you, they'll move in."
"Can't you tell your men to keep an eye on her?"
"Of course I will, moron, but we do need to keep some distance if we want to catch them in the act. Also, I like to be directly involved." She hummed her understanding; he smirked. "And in the end, I just don't want to be seen with you."
She looked to the heavens, shaking her head defeated; he couldn't help the small chuckle. "Still, I'm surprised you'd do this for me on your own."
"There's difference between "I don't ever want to hear your voice again" and "I hope you die in shallow grave"." Her horrified face made for a memorable moment. "You're not despicable; just annoying."
"Thank you very much, Fujita-san..."
He didn't know if she was being sarcastic about the "compliment" he paid her or she was actually thanking him for holding the door of the carriage open and helping her up, because she sounded very honest. Impressive. But what was even more impressive was how, during their ride, she would only look at the abused kimono and sigh dejectedly, never so much as looking at him for more than a second. She would look outside the window and sigh; she would look at what used to be her kimono and sigh; then she'd look at him, look away, down at her kimono again and sigh. Ugh, he couldn't stand it.
"Why so much sighing?"
His irritation went ignored. "I want to mend this kimono; I don't want a new one."
"Why?" was his exasperated question.
"Because I've had it since '65..." Just as he was about to snap then maybe it really was a time for a change, almost six years later, she hesitantly added "...and it was handmade by my late mother."
Ah.
"She made all of my kimono, in fact." A nostalgic smile spread wide. "She would show me how to do it myself, when I was small; both of us sisters, actually. She then showed me how to mend or re-purpose them." A self-depreciating chuckle later she added "I wouldn't take at all; sister was the one with the talent of a seamstress. But I really wanted to try my hand on this one..."
She tried not to be too affected, but she couldn't help the few tears that escaped.
"Three kimono and her favourite hair pin." Her voice was surprisingly steady. "The only things I took with me from Aizu; I cherish them." A watery smile appeared. "I do not wish to lose them."
She hadn't looked at him once while speaking and her voice was steady and kind. It held no grudge to anyone who might have done it, nor disdain for their actions. Simple regret that she had to replace this certain item of clothing, fondness overwhelming when she held it so carefully and close. Ah shit. Now he was feeling sorry for her; worse, even a little bit of respect for the way she handled the situation. He would have, in comparison, most probably maimed another human being in her stead.
"So don't throw it away." His voice was a little hoarse and his words numbered. "If you buy something cheap, you'll have enough money left to buy extra fabric; then you can mend it as terribly as you like."
What with all that happened between them, the fighting and his bitterness, he failed to realise that she was human, too. She'd lost her status to this war; her living; her parents. She had suffered loss as much as him. There was no way to measure sadness; even if all but few of his comrades were dead, at least his family was safe. Their death took a huge toll and he doesn't know how to cope; but, in retrospect, she could be in the exact same situation as him, only she found a way to deal with it: by taking pity on those less fortunate, just like him.
He felt humbled and a little angry; maybe that was what pissed him off the most. He felt like a project, something to pass her time. A bet with herself on whether or not he could be rehabilitated. He did not appreciate it. But, he figured, if that was her way of staying sane in this world they lived in, at least she'd taken one step more than him. He still didn't have to like her, or the situation; in fact, he considered her sanctimonious attitude all the more selfish and obtrusive.
But it was hard not to relate to her strangled sob, as fleeting as his empathy.
.
The peace of night was broken by the sound of a match dragging and then catching fire; for some moments, nothing but the flickering flame was visible and then the end of something lighting.
"Can you really not comprehend you are overstepping?" were the first words out of Tokio's mouth, as she watched the tall man light his cigarette – a contraband item in this household! - underneath her favourite tree.
He scoffed at her. "What are you going to do about it? Report me?" Although she doubted he could see her expression, she still rolled her eyes dramatically; he smirked, just as he finished taking a long drag. "Exactly. Isn't it enough you've been torturing me this past three weeks?"
"It was your idea to start helping me with the bow again; and you were the one who insisted on three nights a week," she had to almost spell out for him, as if he was crazy.
"But I'm the one who's always running around after all of you...give me a break."
She shook her head. "I have no qualms should you wish to rescind your offer, Fujita-san."
"Hey."
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at her, until her eyes had completely adjusted and she looked at him properly. "My word may not worth a hell of a lot nowadays, but I still gave it; and I am still a man."
She put her arms up in defense. "I did not try to insinuate otherwise."
He clicked his tongue, enjoying his smoke. "You're lucky you're the lord's favourite."
"Same to you, Fujita-san."
"Shut up, your highness."
"Shut up can't come before your highness."
"But it just did; look at that. I did the impossible."
"One of these days I will not miss the target you've put on your leg..."
"Now that'd be the day." A pause. "Well, night."
"Technically."
She didn't know why, but that made her chuckle; of all the things to agree on... "when you are quite finished, let us resume our lesson, please. From what I heard, it is the second to last anyway."
"Right; we are being deployed on the tenth."
Three days from now, they would leave. It'd barely been four weeks since they'd returned and they were asked to serve again. And since Hajime had made it perfectly clear to the lord he was available for all calls to arms, he too would go. And she could see it was slowly eating away at him, if not by his increasingly twitchy behaviour, then by the amount of times he stopped for a cigarette. It was the first for the night, but it would not be the last.
"These things smell horribly." she commented out of the blue, like a petulant child.
"Then go stand over there," he spoke through his cigarette, nodding away from the tree.
"I can only imagine what they taste like," she continued as if she hadn't heard him and he felt like pulling her leg. A smirk took over his face as he grabbed the thing out of his mouth and offered it to her. "Here," at her questioning gaze, he elaborated "you can taste it yourself."
Her eyebrow lifted. "No thanks," she cleared her throat "these things smell horribly; I can only imagine what they taste like," she repeated as if the problem was he hadn't heard her.
"Here," he too repeated, offering his cigarette once again but his smirk only grew "and you won't have to imagine what they taste like."
He...was messing with her. He could not be serious. Her disbelief and hesitation were written all over her face and her raised eyebrow. Why was he offering this to her? Simply to make her feel awkward? Was there any other ulterior motive? He was just being a relentless fool. But she would not be beaten. Tentatively, carefully, she actually took him up on his offer. Although she had no idea how to hold it, she tried to mimic his movements from before and then, shrugging, took a long drag.
Impressed, and a little astonished, he watched her do it...
And then broke into laughter when she started coughing; her face distorted into a mask of disgust and she nearly threw the damn thing on the ground.
"Never...again...these things are...ugh. I need water." She rushed to their supplies, sitting next to the stone bench. "And will you please stop laughing?"
"No," he simply stated between laughing sessions.
"Very uncouth of you..." she stated once she had her fill.
"Tough luck."
"Asshole."
"Alright," he finished his smoke "time to get back to work."
His face became serious as he put out the butt, eyes focused on the task at hand and yet, she didn't miss the lingering mirth after this incident, stubbornly clinging on to him, almost in spite of his efforts. When they walked back to their rooms that night, silent but comfortable, she had made up her mind: she would help this man get back on his feet properly, even if it was the last thing she'd ever do. Not that she feared she'd die young, but she worried he was just too stubborn.
.
.
"Did I not say no more letters?"
She had seen him coming, otherwise she'd have jumped out of her skin; in fact, she did jump a little, but nearly as much as she would normally have, because she saw him marching, turned her back, but did not expect him so soon. But, being the polite person she was, she first bowed and then said "Okaerinasai, Fujita-san."
"Spare me the formalities; answer my question."
"You did; but did I not say I would do whatever I wanted?" He clicked his tongue; she tried not to smile. "I only write the letters; I'm not forcing you to read them."
"Stop sending me letters."
"Stop reading them if you hate them so much."
"You exist solely to annoy me."
"And now I know why I was put on this world."
"You are insufferable."
"But at least you're still alive."
Blowing air out of his nose, mighty irritated, he turned about and left. Her sigh was immediate.
.
.
This was the fifth time in the span of eight months that they went to some sort of scuffle and then returned; it appeared as if every single time that happened more people came back with them and she had to make arrangements for more and more residents. At this point, they grew in alarming rates and even the rooms would no longer hold them. Tokio didn't mind sharing with other women, but the lord wouldn't let her, thus the rooms remained the same number while the occupants increased.
Every time they came back, Hajime would be the very last person to enter the mansion, making sure no stragglers were left behind; and every time he returned, she'd be there, to welcome him back. She always bowed her head and said okaerinasai like the picture perfect lady of the house and yet, what followed would always be the exact opposite. Inappropriate and personal, just as she shouldn't be. He dreaded but in a twisted way also looked forward to going through those doors and seeing her there, if only to find some new and creative insult to throw her way.
"I see you're still alive," was what left her lips the last time.
"Sorry to disappoint," he'd quipped as he made his way to his room.
She scoffed, following. "Me? Aren't you the one who is always excited at the prospect of violent death inflicted upon you?"
"Choice words from a woman who can't keep a straight face at the prospect of a little smoke." True to his observation, the moment he said those words her face screwed up, as if exposed to the nastiest meal in the world.
"Yet another example of your complete and utter disregard of your well-being; something that exudes such stench and tastes so abhorrently, can't be good for your health."
"You're not good for my health."
"You received my letters, I take it?"
"Indeed; and so did the pyre we lit to bury the dead."
"Did you at least read them before you burned them?"
"Not at all."
"Ah, what a shame." She was coy. "And I included such titillating information in it, straight from Teruhime's pen."
He shrugged. "She tells me all she wants me to know in our own correspondence."
"Oh my, what a gentleman." Suddenly she seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and started looking around, paper walls to paper doors and the occasional small ornament in the form of a vase. "Did you at least hear one way or the other about the news?"
The fact she gave them the title of "the news" he assumed she was referring to what Matsudaira-sama had told him in his last letter, almost a week ago. "Maybe. Who knows?"
He avoided answering on purpose; if she was indeed talking about what he presumed, he knew they'd be at odds once more. They would disagree, argue and then fight all over again, much like that night he first left this estate. He had no issue fighting with her, but he appreciated his relative peace of mind a little too much to break this unspoken truce between them. Somehow, for some reason, in some inexplicable way, he came to think of her existence as a constant. He didn't like her, he didn't appreciate her intrusions and he definitely did not want her poking around his personal business. But the fact remained, he thought of her as something that was always there, an unmovable object.
He'd hate to lose that now, when he'd just found it again.
Maybe it had to do with the fact when he was back from the fighting he roomed opposite her and was ordered by the lord to keep an eye on her; there were their classes to consider, too.
Or maybe it had to do with those damn letters. He went away and yet she still existed around him. She wasn't physically there, but her penmanship was. So were her words and her thoughts and her insatiable whining. Even in war, as he read her lines, he could hear her voice speaking them aloud, drilling them into his head. Because of course he read them; they were addressed to him and be it his father who instilled good manners into him, be it Hijikata who left him with a need to complete tasks no matter what, he couldn't bring himself to toss them away without knowing what was in it. Information was the most valuable currency after all.
So yes, he lied; yes, he read them. But so had she because nowhere in them did she mention anything about Teruhime. She was baiting him...but he wasn't an idiot.
And yet, she was not one to take the hint.
"Would you like me to tell you of those news then?"
"Does my answer really matter?" She gave him a look. "We have three more corridors until we reach our rooms and we are going the same way."
A surprised chuckle later, she smiled wide. "Indeed; allow me to inform you then, your new deployment will happen in two days from now."
Fuck; those were not the news he expected to hear.
"Matsudaira-sama said your new placement would be close to the former capital" those were the news he expected to hear "and then came the order you are to leave on the twenty eight."
"And what is so incredible about that?"
"You only have one day to rest...so the lord decided to leave you to your devices this day. You are all to attend a formal dinner tomorrow, but you will be left alone tonight." A pause. "All of you."
Bliss; those were indeed good, great news.
"If you wish to take a bath, we have prepared hot water; there will be food available to you for the entire day—you only need to visit the kitchens. And, should you wish to engage in it, there will be some sort of gathering during the night."
"The only thing I wish to engage in is meditation and sleep. The bath sounds very tempting, too."
She nodded, amused. There was a sardonic smile on her lips he deemed a little suspicious. "Out with it." She feigned ignorance; he almost snapped at her. "Why are you so self-satisfied?"
"Have a pleasant day, Fujita-san."
Did she just ignore him? The look of absolute disbelief sent her way only made her smile wider. And then they reached their rooms and he simply remained looking at her perplexed while she made her exit, bowing deeply, smile only becoming larger. Then she drew the door closed and was lost behind the thin walls. For some reason, he felt compelled to watch her shadow behind the rice paper, as she went about her day. She had just ignored him. The audacity...shaking his head, he went inside his room.
.
"I thought the dinner was for the men of the household..."
His familiar drawl came closer and closer to her, until the man himself appeared next to the stone bench she was sitting on, under her favourite tree. She was looking to the sky, her eyes blinded by the moonlight, so she hadn't seen him until he was but a mere metre away. Of course, she knew why he said that: she was dressed in a finer kimono than usual and her hair were done by none other than Yaso, who was famous for her up-dos. Yes, she had overdressed for a walk in the yard but knowing people were celebrating just urged her to celebrate with them, even if she wasn't actually there to be seen.
"I could say the same to you..."
She made herself smaller, inviting him to sit next to her. He hesitated at first, but when she looked up at the sky again, he put his hands in his sleeves and dared to oblige. He decided to follow her example and stare at nothing and everything at the same time, but he chose to focus on the dead leaves all around them.
"I dislike large gatherings."
"Is that why you missed the one yesterday night, too?"
Heh! Too true.
"Is it just the large ones you dislike or maybe all?"
He heard the tease in her voice; he had to smirk at that. "...maybe."
"Or maybe it's the people in them you cannot bring yourself to like anymore."
He froze.
Tortuously slow, almost terrified, he turned to look at her first and then himself. He felt naked. Could she really see through skin, muscle and bone? With those eyes of hers, focused on the moon as they were, she exuded a nearly otherworldly aura. Just like that night he had first "talked" with her, all those months ago, he believed for a split second he was accompanied by a spectre and not an actual human being.
Fuck that; fuck everything.
He didn't want to leave, yet he couldn't be anywhere near her; he had to go. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Please don't kiss me again."
His flat delivery made her blink; then, realisation dawned on her face and a strangled laugh escaped her. "It does feel reminiscent of that night, doesn't it? No, I won't, don't worry." But then her mood changed in an instant, lips pursing, shaking her head. "Though I did say I didn't do it just to be promiscuous; please don't say it like that."
"It is not your action that incensed me, but the reasons behind it."
"You know my reasons," she adamantly stated.
"Yes, apparently I was too pathetic."
"No," she emphatically refused, "you did not look pathetic; I just, I worried. I saw you standing on that little bridge, looking like that and..."
She couldn't finish that sentence; and he felt like it was more for his sake than hers. He felt his anger rise.
"Hajime, I don't want to hurt you or your feelings. I am simply trying to help."
"Don't."
"But I...!"
She sighed; he wasn't listening. Not when he'd angled his head that way and crossed his hands in front of his chest.
"Everyone is so preoccupied with themselves, they barely have time to think of other people. And when they do, they see things how they want to see them and not for what they really are." She took a moment to collect herself. A somber smile appeared. "My lady used to say I have special powers; I can understand what other people think or feel just by looking at them."
She made sure he turned to face her and only then did she continue. "And when I look at you, I see someone proud; someone who's mastered the art of appearing fine, even if the world is crumbling all around them; even if there is a storm brewing inside."
He felt his throat constrict, his nostrils seemed incapable of drawing in air.
"That's why I wanted to help you. I know exactly what has happened to you, until the moment the castle fell; after that, I can only assume. And what I assume is not in any way or form an improvement."
Why wouldn't his lungs expand? He tried to force them, but they didn't work. Everything about this moment put him on edge—Tokio was suddenly listed as an enemy in his fight or flight response and he had to either leave or fight! Then, he turned away and it all vanished.
It took all of his strength to do it and just breathe again, but when he did, things started becoming clearer, calmer. "Don't speak of these things." The mist lifted from his mind and now he knew what he needed—to say, to do, to practice.
Shame and exasperation lit up her face in the brightest red at those words.
"Tell me of insignificant gossip or interesting facts, but not this, please."
They stared at one another and for a very brief moment in time, he felt understood; seen. Then pure terror went through his body like an earthquake at the idea that a mere acquaintance of so long ago could unravel him so frivolously and so effortlessly right before his very own eyes.
"I..." Her words fizzled out. There was nothing more to say, not on this night. She turned her eyes away, defeated once again. "I should be going," she decided on saying, after a heated mental debate. "It is already late, I shouldn't be out and about." She stood, lazily. "If anyone catches me, I'll be in trouble."
"We should both be going." He stood, as well. "I'm too tired for all the formalities."
"Aren't they expecting you back?"
"I am under the impression I won't be noticed." He made the motion of drinking from a sake cup; that was all the information she needed. "Now, go on, you first. You just admitted to breaking curfew."
"Excuse me, officer," she put her hands up, attitude overflowing "I didn't know it was against the law to walk about in your own home."
"It is now. Move."
"I'm moving, I'm moving."
"Faster."
"This. Is a kimono." she spelled out for him. "My feet can only reach so far; and they aren't long to begin with."
"No excuses."
He nudged her forward with the sheath of his sword; she appeared to be affronted by the notion and picked up the pace.
"Spoiled brat," he matter-of-factly accused her when they reached their rooms "needs a personal bodyguard to reach her door; and after hours, too. As if I don't have anything better to do with my time."
"You Shinsengumi men are all the same," she complained, visibly amused "harping on about curfews and duties on the regular."
"It's because women like you won't stay inside and make it difficult for all of us."
There was a simultaneous blinking from both of them and a rush of embarrassment. She looked everywhere but him and pretended to be busy with her kimono. "G—good night, Hajime-san."
He was just about to bid her goodnight, too when her embarrassment turned into mortification and she almost hid her face in her hands. "Fujita-san."
"You, too, Takagi."
Just as he was going to think her weird for her reaction, he realised exactly what was said between them the last ten minutes.
Oh.
...oh.
He didn't blame her when she disappeared behind her door, head lowered and movements sped up; he actually did the same.
.
.
It'd been a dreadful day; although they'd survived long enough to win the battle and defend the ground they had gained, there were more losses than they would have liked. Of course, the statistics were no longer a burden on his shoulders, but he couldn't help it. What with the coalition of so many units, he was thankfully put in the background for once—not on the battlefield, but command-wise. He had enjoyed seeing himself as something of a captain again, but it was too much to be given authority over men who would have killed him two years ago. When the initial adrenaline wore off, he easily slipped down through the ranks, currently hailed as a dependable foreman with great reach and even greater efficiency.
By no means did that mean people who trusted him before, and viewed him as their superior, stopped doing it now because someone told them to; they kept deferring to him about everything and he had to check himself once or twice not to take advantage of it, when his own opinions came to clash with the actual captain's and the rest of the commanding officers.
It'd been so this morning as well, when he'd advised against making a surprise attack on the people who knew the surrounding areas more than them. After all, they were in a very remote part of the country, with nothing but hot spring villages around – as he always called them – meaning there was no military structure to them as they were built solely for rich people to take their vacations during the winter. Their enemies were from these villages; they knew them like the back of their hand. With what sort of confidence did their captain think not only had he found their place of refuge, not only was it not a false one, designed to lure them into a trap, but it was also full of people and not deserted, or engineered into a trap, again.
Naturally, their captain was an idiot of the highest order. Of course it was a trap. It was one of their hiding places during the war, which they only allowed them to spot, so they could box them in. And when he'd said that, the captain almost demoted him. When he saw other, plenty, soldiers had his back, he was only given a strict talking to...and was placed at the end of the line.
What a shameful move.
But, on the other hand, he guessed maybe that was why he wasn't one of the casualties—because the useless captain put him at the back. Then again, as his experience so far has showed, when he was at the front of the line, less people died, just as the soldiers who were on his side had repeatedly told the captain, but they were of course ignored. At least they were still alive...not that he hadn't made sure to run to the front line the moment he realised what was happening, but how much loss could he prevent when the catastrophe was already coming their way?
They were caved in.
For an hour. They all worked together and managed to remove the debris shutting their way, again, no thanks to their reproachable captain who kept giving nonsensical orders, but even he was made wiser when he was presented with facts: they started seeing the light of day. So, they all dug themselves out of the literal hole – cave – and counted their losses. Due to the limited amount of time they spent in there, the enemy forces hadn't managed to do a lot of damage by the time they showed up back at their own camp, serving as the reinforcements to their reinforcements. Thus, the battle was won – and he did lead it this once, seeing at the captain was "injured" and the acting captain stayed behind like the coward he was - and they succeeded in keeping their ground.
But won none.
This was going to be a battle of attrition, he knew. The only good thing was, they controlled the supply routes, thus, if they stopped pulling stupid stunts like that, they would probably go back home. Heh, home. Residence was a more suitable definition for what he felt for that estate...but the fact remained he was living there and people actually expected him to return. Hell, some even appeared to be happy he did. Not all, but some. A few; in particular, three people came to mind, but that much was more than enough for him. Well, two of them had some sort of interest in his return, an ulterior motive to want to see him back; and maybe thought of the alternative as ludicrous. It was only one who had no ulterior motive or invested interest to speak of, but her he'd rather not think about.
Not even when her letter lay there, unopened, on his nightstand, for more than a week.
He had no clue as to why, he just kept putting it off. He didn't know why. But even now, as he entered his room after that much-deserved bath at the hot springs, he didn't feel like picking it up. But not exactly. He did pick it up, turned it this way and the other, looked at her handwriting and how familiar it was by now; she had very long curves and short edges. But she had too perfect strokes, meaning she was chewed out for being too messy as a child. His name, written on so many letters by now, was practiced to perfection. Even he didn't write it so well, when he'd sign.
He hadn't broken the seal yet; he pictured her, in his mind's eye, melting the wax, tilting it ever so slightly to drip just the right amount onto the paper. She always did that thing with her lips when she was in extreme concentration, like frowning but not exactly, pressure extreme. And she would always twist her wrist in the end, not to waste more wax than needed. He'd watched her so it so many times, he felt he was in the room with her, as she did it.
A smile touched his lips at the thought of her; as if on instinct, he threw the letter on the wooden floor the very next moment, right next to the futon, expression harsh. All of that, just from a measly letter. He was truly pathetic. He threw himself down on the floor, sitting up, trying to clear his mind. He wanted to meditate. Hopefully, he'd still be able to.
The next two days went swimmingly.
Most possibly due to the fact the captain faced quite the backlash from the men who saw him stay behind because of a disappearing injury and he simply did whatever Saitou had suggested on the first place. After all, if he was in such a bad state he couldn't ride with them, how come the next day he didn't even limp? Most men didn't hold his bad judgment call against him, in the end, but his cowardice. Well, everyone is bound to make a bad decision or two in their life, maybe that was why they didn't hate him for it...but him shirking his duty, was unforgivable. Most of the men were like Saitou, people who had no other path or means in life, and yet, they still did their best and fought as if they were supporting a real cause, one they believed in, and never made it a big deal that they were actually out of choices. And yet, this man, put there because he was supposed to be such a big deal, easily turned away from his duty with a feeble excuse, just to make sure he remained safe.
Cowardice.
On the other hand, he envied him a little. He loved himself too much to want to die in a cave or a ditch or an inn and decided playing it off as sick or temporarily invalid was preferable. Saitou would have rather died than betray his values...or was it that he would have simply rather died than torture himself with this incomplete existence?
He sighed.
He always had such thoughts during the nights this past half year...which was an improvement as two years ago he had these thoughts all the time. But lately, even more so that two months ago, every night he lay down to sleep, all his mind circled back to was how futile everything was. How inconsequential his existence truly was; how him disappearing wouldn't make too much of an impact. He had maybe ten people who would be a little affected, the men in the unit who supported him – the three men he roomed with back at the compound included – but otherwise, there'd be no difference. One swordsman less; big deal. His kind was going out of style in this new era that he himself had a hand in creating—an era that still hadn't taken a definitive form, but clearly told him he was outdated. He wouldn't be missed.
He was already nothing but a reminder of darker days, even to the people he currently served with. Those who suspected where he might have served feared or hated him; those who had no idea, simply thought of him as a fossil, one aged in his soul beyond his years. Someone to pity.
He, honestly, didn't much care for other people; the worst part of all was that he had already bought into that, a year ago. He wasn't needed much; and when his usefulness was outlived, he'd be tossed aside, like a torn piece of fabric. He knew, even the man who provided a roof and a job for him, would easily stop if he was no longer needed. He had nothing of his own; he owned no land, home or even any sort of property other than the clothes of his back and three swords. That's it.
That was what his comrades gave their lives for; what he gave his blood for; empty seats at tables and never being anything more than a tool, a guest at another's table. Futility. And even those empty seats were never honoured. People who didn't belong in them sat themselves down and took up space they were not entitled to. Countless times in a day he would hear something and snort or shake his head and he'd look directly to his left, where Okita Souji always had been, just to find it empty. So many instances of him letting out a derisive chuckle and almost nudge some stranger with the sheath of his sword, as he used to do with Toudou. A little too often he would roll his eyes and look right, expecting to find Harada smirk at his plight. But there was no one there; none other than strangers at least, who knew nothing. Nagakura Shinpachi was not there to hold him back from drawing his sword when an idiot said something too stupid, or ignorant. They were all gone.
For nothing.
He might as well be gone, too...
His nose twitched. It was the middle of the night, but he picked up a scent. It was familiar. It was...ashes. Was he sweating? And the uncomfortable stench of sulfur.
Fire!
His eyes snapped open; his senses were all on alert. Right outside of his bedroom, in this godforsaken inn they had made their "camp", there was a fire waging. Its flames licked and encroached everything, feeding itself greedily. The heat was unbearable. And it was heading straight for hid door.
So be it.
He lay himself right back down, closing his eyes. If he was going to die on a battlefield anyway, he might as well go out like royalty: in an all-consuming bonfire, fit for an emperor. He'd go meet his comrades. They were expecting him anyway. It was about time he joined them.
.
.
.
Tokio was a nervous wreck.
She'd been on edge ever since they had received ill tidings, one week ago, from the battlefield in fact. In the dead of night, a terrible fire broke out at the inn the men were staying. It was put out relatively fast, but not before it consumed the entire building. And it took many men with it. Thankfully, the casualties were kept to a minimum, thanks to the heroic, decisive efforts of a certain tall man, by the name of Fujita Goro, who saved many lives from being lost.
The letter spoke of how they were all burnt, some more, some less, and some were lost. But those who were lost, no one mentioned by name. There was no comprehensive list of names for the people who died in the fire. In fact, the man writing the letter, mentioned more people other than Hajime by name, but he had made quite the point of informing whoever was reading this letter not to assume those men mentioned were alive just because they contributed; some died helping, engulfed by the flames, hailed as heroes by those left behind. Some made it, some didn't; they hadn't taken proper muster yet, so this information was to be taken only at face value.
And today was the day of their return.
She had been looking out to see the familiar procession of men make their way to the estate every half an hour, at first; then it was twenty minutes, then ten and now she would look out the window every other minute. She of course had her duties to attend to but she found plenty of time to spare for this. After all, it was for their return she was making preparations so she was excused for asking about it every so often.
Until someone came rushing in, smile wide.
"Tokio-sama, Tokio-sama! The men are sighted; they are coming home right now."
"Thank you..!"
She made to move, stopped to give a polite bow to the woman informing her, and then made for the main gate in hurried little steps. She had never made this trip, from the kitchen to the front of the estate, so fast, but this time she had a purpose. And when she found herself there, she was right on time to bow her head to the first bandaged, out of breath man. He returned the gesture and moved along but she didn't; she stood there, bouncing from foot to foot, bowing – more like nodding – to everyone who went through, as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were wild, looking far off, rather than the person in front of her, trying, hoping, to catch a glimpse of the silhouette of a tall man, who would be all too easy to spot.
And yet, she couldn't see him.
Her throat felt like she had swallowed gravel; her heart beat quickened. She thought her chest rose and fell more than the travelers'. This wasn't happening; this could not be happening. She didn't see him—why did she not see him? He was the tallest man she had ever met! And the line of people was coming to an end any moment now...
"Is...is that all of you?" she asked, almost hopeless, the last man there. "Were the losses so great?"
"No, Tokio-sama," he answered with an understanding smile "there are ten more people coming. They fell behind because they were the ones hurt the most."
"I see; aren't they vulnerable that way, though?"
"You always care for us, my lady," the man kindly told her, noting how she kept looking over the horizon, to see them "but worry not; two of the men left behind are the most capable of all, to keep them safe."
"I see." She bowed deeply. "Then I shall wait for them to appear."
"You are too kind, my lady," was all the man said and she didn't stand straight until she heard him walk away.
Then she peeled her eyes on that line on the horizon where the shapes started appearing. A minute passed; then two, then four—and then they appeared! Four men at the front, six at the back...! but none of them was tall, at least not as tall as him. She stared harder, unable to accept it. There's no way he died in that fire, right? There was no way.
Her gaze intensified, so did her heartbeat. The closer they came, the more she focused. She felt like she was standing on her tiptoes! Then they came into full view, close enough to recognize and the relief she felt wash over her was so intense, she actually deflated.
There he was, at the back, with two people draped over his arms, but they weren't helping him stand, it was the other way around. He was being used as a crutch while at the same time, he kept a sharp eye on all directions. She hadn't missed how he nodded her way, the moment she looked at his face.
"Everyone, welcome back; you did an amazing job. We are all happy to receive you. You look so hurt...! allow us to care for you. We were warned of your condition, so we made preparations. Thank you for your hard work."
She walked with them to the main entrance where they all broke off from one another, getting pulled at different directions from staff, to help with their wounds. It was either good fortune, fate or scheming that left her alone with him of all people, to guide to a room and take care of and he really did have a lot that needed taken care of: bandages on both arms, a wound underneath his layers that she knew of its existence only because it had stained his hitatare and various bruises all over his face.
He, who'd been watching her from the moment she became visible, couldn't help the tingling at his fingertips. He'd seen her search the skyline for his appearance; he watched the worry etched on her face; then the overwhelming relief she felt at seeing him there. It was so sudden and real, she didn't have the time to properly hide it. And yet, she didn't even try to. Her tone had been jovial and her eyes were trained on him, even as she made small talk with the rest. And now that they were alone, she kept glancing at him, with the edge of her eyes, a little bit of moisture appearing at the edges.
She found the room she was looking for and drew the door open for him; once he got inside, she gestured for him to sit down and she closed the door behind her, with her still in the room. Then, she did the last thing he expected and sat down opposite him. And bowed so low, her head touched the floor.
"They wrote about the fire; it was just one letter; and they never wrote who didn't make it back. I am so happy to see you again. I...I wish to apologise for what I'd said to you, one night underneath a tree. If I were right, you'd—"
"You were."
He couldn't take it; her well wishes, her apology, her interest. He felt like committing seppuku out of pure shame. And when she flinched and stayed frozen in place, he felt like committing ten of them.
"You were right about me; about everything." Mouth slightly agape, she looked up, straightening a little. She was surprised to find him looking angry, not just at her, at everything and it only incensed him more. "When the fire broke out, it was right outside my door; I figured the captain was trying to get rid of me, as well as those who felt like following my lead" a deep breath "and yet, instead of running away or after the arsonist, the first thing I did was lie back down."
Her eyes became wide; he balled his fists. "I didn't care. I thought, I'd be better of if anything...and then I heard it. A deafening scream from the other room and my body just," angrier than ever, he seemed to be looking for the right word "reacted on its own. I grabbed my sword, doused myself with water and started evacuating everyone."
"Fujita-san..."
"You were right." He didn't seem to hear her, only see her; and right now, he saw her as this person who was the root of all his problems. "There, I said it; you were right. Are you happy now? Are you satisfied? This is what you wanted to hear, right?"
"Fujita-san, what—?"
"Aren't you happy?"
"Fujita-san."
"You got me to say it; there! Aren't you happy?"
"Fujita-san!"
"What else do you want from me? Isn't this enough? You were right; I hate everything about this arrangement. I hate this place, I hate my predicament but most of all, I hate how powerless I am. I hate this life. I hate it all. I just want this to be over with..."
"Fujita-san..."
"Don't look at me like that." His voice was deep; his tone serious. "It's disgusting."
"Hajime." She said it with conviction; she said it softly. He finally seemed to listen though, for he looked at her properly, as if waiting for the rest. Then her lungs released the breath and the tension altogether. "I don't want to be right just for the sake of it; but if you want to leave that way of thinking behind, you first need to acknowledge it's there, right?"
"I didn't tell you so you can lecture me; I'll deal with it on my own. I just had to let you know. I am a man; I was wrong. I can admit to it. I'm not that proud."
"...I see." A smile formed. "Then what will you do now?"
"I don't know. I need to think about it."
"You should talk about it, really." The glare was immediate; she put up her hands. "It doesn't have to be me; but someone you trust. Like Matsudaira-sama—you can write to him about it...also it'd be for the best if you stayed here, at least for the next month. Clear your head."
He was struggling; he looked like he appreciated the advice but at the same time was bitter he had to receive it. "Just never speak of it again."
"...as you wish." That tore her heart a little bit, but she knew it was just temporary. "Oh and Hajime." She commanded his attention; he turned to look at her. "Okaerinasai..."
His throat constricted. His heart ached more than when he actually admitted to wanting to die. A wide range of emotions washed over him; anger; shame; fear; disgust; regret; desperation; longing; but in the end, he did settle on one.
He lowered his head; his eyes turned to the floor. He bowed. "Tadaima..." He felt something he hadn't for a very long time: like crying.
"Can I...can I hug you?"
There was a moment of silence. "I am too proud for that," he said in the end, straightning; she sighed.
"I see; are you too proud to get treated, too?"
"...no."
"Then please, allow me to do so."
An eyebrow raised. "You? Treat me?" She nodded. "Do you even know how to do that?"
She seemed confused. "Wait...you don't recall?"
"Recall what?"
"After the castle fell, in Wakamatsu." He still shook his head no. "Alright, I'll take it from the beginning." Standing, she went to the supplies that were already prepared. "While you were fighting outside the gates, inside there was a different war waging: everyone was trying to get Teruhime-sama to surrender." She sat next to him, and he took off his hitatare. She started working. "She kept saying how she wouldn't fail her champion and if he didn't fall, she wouldn't give the order either." A sigh escaped. "We all thought she was lying, but it turned out we had too little faith in our lady; because it was no coincidence that the day you fell, so did the castle."
His eyes became a little wide at her statement; she had to smile at his surprise. How strange that the woman herself hadn't told him, in any of the letters they exchanged. But, at the very least, this served as a great boost to his ego at a time much needed.
"Thus, after I sounded the surrender, and that was one of the main reasons I had to do it myself, I came outside to find you. Two men carried you to Teruhime-sama and then she swore she'd nurse you back to health for as long as she was allowed by the victors." A chuckle. "And so she did. Well, we did; she had no idea how to care for an injured person, but I was taught while I stayed with them, due to the fact my lord was hurt during an assassination attempt."
"Oh, I remember that attempt; I was on patrol that night."
"He had mentioned how valiantly you fought; and how you had taken most of the blows for his sake, though, on the contrary of him, you could defend yourself."
He couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him; in light of everything, it had become a good memory. "Indeed."
"Yes and we took care of you; and by we I mean I did most of the physical work while Teruhime-sama was the emotional support, neither never leaving your side until they took you form us. But, thankfully, you had already mostly healed by that point. You even woke up once or twice and talked to us; that is why I was surprised I didn't remember."
"...no, I don't."
"Well, you were terribly injured; I should know."
"What did I say?"
"Something so you; apologised to Teruhime-sama for not keeping the enemies out."
Yeap that sounded like him; now that she mentioned it, in fact, he did remember saying it. But he always thought it was a fever dream. "Did either one of you wore a yellow kimono with cranes, in red and orange and black?"
"My lady did!" She giggled. "How strange that is what you do remember."
"That and an indigo one; with pink petals."
"Aye, that was mine."
"I always thought I made the entire thing up. I mean, I woke up in a room with thirty men and we were all in recovery."
"We were there; and we were both quite happy you seemed to be on the road to recovery. It meant we didn't accidentally kill you." They both shared a chuckle at that. "And I can only hope you remain as healthy as possible."
There was a long stretch of silence after that. He just sat there, accommodating her when needed by raising his hand or turning a certain way, mulling over the information he had received, as well as all that were said between them. And he had plenty of time for that, because there were lots of areas of focus. She was almost depressed by the time she'd finished. He did not treat his body with any regard, if so young, he'd accumulated so many scars and kept adding to them.
"The second draft is coming in two weeks," she said, just as he'd dressed himself again "if you are in any kind of way interested in sorting out all of what's in your head, I advise you to miss it. Your wounds alone can excuse you, but if you ask the lord, there's no way he'll allow you to deploy in this state."
"I don't wish to dodge my responsibilities."
"That's not what you're going to do. But there's nothing you can sort out in a war zone." He almost protested but thought better of it. "If you want my opinion, take a two-month break. Stay here, figure out whatever you must. And if you so wish, I can make sure you have all the time you need, be it two months or five."
He was almost thinking about it; she could see it in his eyes. "Nothing owed, no attachments; a gift from me to you," she expertly goaded, knowing it would win him over. After all, if she left it at that, he'd definitely think he had some sort of debt to her; maybe this would help. And, just to finalize it, she stood, ever graceful. "Please, consider."
"...I will." She nodded; her back turned and she was about to walk out of the room. "Tokio." He spoke her name evenly; she looked back at him. "What did you write in your letter?" She seemed confused. "The one you must have penned a month ago."
She raised her eyebrows. "You'd have known if you'd read it."
"It was lost to the fire."
She chuckled. "Not much of a difference to you, then."
"But it was the only one I was planning on reading."
"If you were planning on reading it, it wouldn't have been lost to the fire."
His lopsided smirk made an appearance; she was smart enough to figure out he'd been lying, had she made an effort. Instead, she'd taken him at his word for everything and the look of non-committal disappointment on her face was easy. Somehow, he didn't like seeing it on her, but her attitude was amusing.
"But if you wrote it to me, it meant you wanted me to know something; so tell me."
"It was of no import, simply the conclusion to a story. But if you haven't read any of the rest, it wouldn't make much sense."
"That's fine; just say it anyway."
She regarded him for a long moment; he was correct in assuming her intellect, for she was weighing him with her eyes. A teasing smile appeared. "Had you read my previous letters then now that I'm telling you that the mules were stolen by the father-in-law and the cat was taken by the sister, you'd find it all incredibly amusing. Good night, Hajime-san."
She bowed and left; just as she drew the door closed behind her, he broke out in quiet laughter.
A/N: This is it, lovelies! Hope you've enjoyed it; please leave a review on your way out.
Love you,
FAI~!