Thank you so much for your reviews. Anon. I am glad you were able to feel the shift in the mood. It meants my writing conveyed it properly. Hijikata isn't one for mind games, he is super blunt. And very suspicious. Have you seen Reimeiroku? It shows much of his character, I think. Letting his guard down might take a while. Trust is earned after all.

Today we're having a little culture, seen through the eyes of Harada Sanosuke. I hope you enjoy the slight fluff after the drama of the past chapter.

Kitsu was thoughtful, those days. I wasn't too sure what had transpired between her and Hijikata, and it took me a while to spot it. They weren't at each other's throat like usual. Not that Kitsu would provoke him, but she usually didn't take crap from him. Good.

I knew the commander was weary of her, especially since she was slowly winning over most of the Captains, myself included. After nights patrolling by her side, I could truthfully say that I trusted her. She had jumped from her rooftop to come to my men's rescue enough time for it to count. Protected my back, and those that followed me, without recoiling. Cut through our enemies, obeyed my orders, and remained truthful to the Shinsengumi's principles.

In short; Kitsu was a strange woman, and my friend. And, like most of my friends, I had decided to take her home to spend some time with my very pregnant wife. It would do Masa some good to see another woman who didn't look down on her for her past occupation. Of course, Kitsu had fidgeted about the fact that she had nothing to offer. She wasn't paid for her service – something that should be shortly rectified - and possessed nothing more than her bag.

This evening, though, she seemed smug enough. I wondered what the young woman had up her sleeve. We slid in the streets under the cover of darkness, Kitsu flanking my left, as was her habit. Hijikata-san had authorised that breach, unfazed by my request, and I wondered, once more, when those two had found the occasion to settle and find common ground. I shrugged it off; their issues, not mine. I trusted our Fukuchō to take the best decisions for us all, and that was it.

The conversation had been a funny one, as per every single subject that surrounded Kitsu. Wasn't she a mystical warrior, after all, that even the infamous Oni feared? She didn't seem much, that tiny woman: I could throw her over my shoulder. But she was something else, and even someone as stubborn as Hijikata-san eventually had to relent.

"Kitsu needs a bit of socialisation. She's been trapped for too long", I told him. "I was thinking of bringing her to my wife before the baby is born."

"Mmm. Do you deem it wise, Harada-kun?", Kondō asked, brushing his beardless chin.

"It's that, or allowing Shinpachi to sneak her out to Shimaraba."

Both he and Hijikata exchanged a wary look. I kept myself in check to avoid to smile. Shin was a genius for suggesting it. Except that he was serious.

"As long as you can ensure the safety of all, I'll trust you, Harada."

"Hai. I also would like to petition, on behalf of the men, that she gets paid for the patrols."

This time, Hijikata's face morphed into angered surprise.

"Nani…", he started. But Kondō-san cut his rant before it even started.

"She is keeping our men safe, and doing her duty. I think that, given that Itō-san left, we can afford to give her soldier's wages."

"Kondō-san !"

"We are abusing her time and her patience, Toshi."

Hijikata frowned, displeased with the idea. Yet, he didn't yell; we were both in the same age range, and of the same mind. There was no use raising one's voice between us.

"I would have expected her to make the request herself, Harada", he eventually concluded, displeasured displayed by that particular crease of his mouth.

Kitsu, asking for money! This was simply presposterous.

"She never will", I answered. "She considers food and shelter payment enough. But she wanted to refuse the invitation because she had nothing to offer to my wife."

Hijikata-san relented at that; courtesy was one of the Bushido's principles.

"Make sure she knows she can't leave the compound at day to spend it. And that she knows betting is forbidden."

Betting. As if … sometimes, I wondered if what world Hijikata-san lived in.

"This is Kitsu we're talking about…", I snorted.

The vice Commander levelled me with a wary look.

"That woman is impredictible", he growled. "Do not ever forget it."

I tried to control the surprise on my face at his dark tone, and chose to bow instead.

"Yes, Fukuchō, I'll relay the information."

Masa awaited us by the door, her rounded belly on display, the obi tied up so high that I wondered how she managed to keep the whole garment close. She bowed, several times, to welcome our guest and Kitsu fidgeted by my side at the effusion. Our manners, at the coumpound, were those of soldiers. We bowed to our commanders, for sure, but Chizuru-chan was the only one that kept us in check some days. And Kitsu was way more informal, even for us warriors.

Yet, she tried to bow as well, complimenting Masa who blushed prettily, and hobbled inside. Not long now, I thought, dread and excitement mingling. Very soon, I would be a father. Boy or girl? Who knew? I just hoped it would all go well, and both Masa and our baby would be fine. Her former comrades said they knew an old woman who could assist in childbirth; I hoped she knew what she was doing. Those women were more reknown for their abortive talents than for their midwifery.

Money was scarce either way; we had no choice. I closed the door, revealing our humble abode to a very curious Kitsu. She left her sandals at the step, and I turned them around to prevent Masa from doing it herself.

"Quoi… ?" (What?)

I knew that word, the equivalent of our 'nanda' that Hijikata-san uttered with annoyance every second sentence. Little by little, I was learning French, and she, our traditions.

"Facing outwards, remember?", I reminded her.

She blushed; she had forgotten. I gave her a gentle smile, and walked to my rounded wife. While Kitsu took in the surrounding, her eyes scanning for entrances, passageway and furniture, I allowed myself to drop a kiss in Masa's hair.

"How are you doing?", I asked.

"I am fine, husband."

Way too formal. I frowned, lifting her lovely face with a finger until I found the uneasiness I was looking for. Masa was but twenty years old, and kept the naiveté of the giggling girl I had met in the red district.

"Did something happen?"

"Nothing more than the usual stares, and whispers. You shouldn't concern yourself for it."

Those bastards, speaking in her back again!

"You are my wife, carrying my baby. Of course it concerns me."

I had taken abuse at the Iyo-Matsuyama Domain; I knew what it felt like. Even though I wasn't stupid enough to fancy myself in love, I cared for Masa and would do my best to offer her a better life than that of a prostitute. I respected her, gave her a home, and food on the table. And very soon, a child. I knew she loved me, and it was more than enough.

"Hush, Sano, not in front of our guest."

I sighed, allowed Masa to usher us around the square foyer where a boiling pot hung low. I smelt rice with ginger, and grilled fish. Meager food, but cooked with dedication. I knew enough of Kitsu, by now, to know she'd accept the gift with grace, if not proper protocol.

"Sano ?", Kitsu chuckled.

Masa frowned, affronted.

"What's wrong with Sanosuke's name?"

The redhead's eyes opened wide, and she lifted her hands to show she didn't mean to be insulting.

"I … I'm sorry. Mens sana in corpore sano. Ever heard about this quote?"

"No", I intervened. "What is it?"

"It's latin, it means a sane mind, in a sane body. Sano means sane."

How many languages did that woman speak? I should ask her, just to compare with Sanan-san. He would never indulge in a battle of matching skills, but it sure could be amusing.

"Sorry. Reminiscence from younger days", she shrugged.

"This latin language, wasn't it spoken by the romans?", Masa asked.

Kitsu's eyebrows knitted in surprise.

"Yes, exactly. Our current French, Italian and Spanish derive from it. And there's the odd word in English and Scandinavian as well. You know of the romans?"

My wife beamed, and I realised I'd never asked her about her education. It turned out that she was fond of history, and knew much about the Chinese dynasties, but also the roman civilisation. I watched Kitsu's sourness as she spoke of it, as if she had swallowed something bitter. I wondered if there was a story there, and lifted an eyebrow.

"You don't seem to appreciate them much."

She frowned, then schooled her features. Yes, there definitely was a story here. "They were the ones who dyed my hair red in the first place."

Her voice was hard; the tone of a warrior who'd lost a battle. Fortunately, Masa was oblivious to it; loss and grief had unfortunately been part of her life, but she was still a stranger to war.

"You mean that the colour is not natural?"

"I've got a dark tawny strands in my brown, but not that red. The romans, they use that henna plant from north Africa. They say it brings luck to warriors because it looks like blood. It keeps the Kitsune persona well enough."

Masa had that dreamy look upon her face, one that I saw often whenever she spoke with her former comrades.

"You seem to have travelled a lot."

Kitsu's face brightened with a private smile. You have no idea, it seemed to say. But she remained vague.

"Quite."

"May I? May I ask what is your name?"

I'd never seen Masa so shy with someone new. She obvisouly was very impressed by our esteemed guest. Even though Kitsu behaved friendly and unassuming, she still looked very much the part of the mystical creature. And she was, even for our chauvinistic standard, absolutely beautiful. Shinpachi couldn't take his eyes away from her curves. Not to mention the dancing of her ringlets, or the shape of her high cheekbones – so different from our unassuming jawlines. But what struck him the most, I think, was the immensity of her hazel eyes.

I had not realised that, albeit Masa was a very beautiful woman to us, she might suffer from the comparison. Yet, I trusted my wife; I had no doubt she would return to her bubbly self in no time.

"I am called Frances."

"Frances-san", she bowed.

"Oi, no need for honourifics, I'm just plain little me."

I snorted. Little, all right, but plain didn't quite cut it. But Kitsu was a humble woman, and she disliked being served. Her next words illustrated her character, but were a major breach of manners.

"Can I help you with something in the kitchen?"

I winced, awaiting for the backlash. Cultural shock, she called it as she kept putting her foot in her mouth.

"No!", my wife exclaimed, horrified. "I am perfectly able to serve you and my husband."

I watched Kitsu's feature contort as she realised her blunder. After Heisuke, I thought she'd learnt her lesson, but she couldn't help it, eh? This time, she understood, and apologised profusely.

"Gomen nasai, Masa… san." The title started my wife, who'd never been called 'san' before. She blinked, eyes wide, as Kitsu tried to convey her reasons for asking. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't, for I see that your home is very neatly arranged. I just wished to ease the burden upon your shoulders, since your baby is soon to come."

My wife's big eyes spakled with stars, and I almost laughed when she bowed again. She had found her hero.

"I can ask Sano, he always helps."

Kitsu gave me a fond smile: "I trust he's a good husband."

"The very best."

Oi, I was blushing now. So I pushed Masa away to the kitchen, and started gathering bowls and chopsticks. Good husband? Perhaps, yes. I tried to balance my duties with that family I had created, and found that returning home instead of the compound did wonders to my mood. Especially now that Heisuke was gone.

Little by little, Masa started to unwind, and realised that Kitsu wasn't about to bite her head off, or belittle her for her age and previous occupation. And thus, she started firing questions. I concentrated upon my fare – fish, steamed vegetables, and plain rice – while Kitsu faced a wall of enquiries that puzzled her.

For Masa was a girl through and through. She wanted to know about European dresses, and make up. About coiffure, and how they styled their hair. Considerations flew over my head, products, oils, things that didn't even know existed.

And by the desperate look on Kitsu's face, I realised she felt nearly at lost as I did. The Keeper of Time, they had called her, could travel the fabric of time and reality. Could it be that Kitsu was not of this era? She seemed at loss, most of the time, to answer Masa's eager chatter. The only thing she seemed at ease with was cloth and sewing; this was a good start.

I shook my head, amused at my guest's distress, when she tried to caught my gaze. In patrol, I treated her as one of the men. Tonight, sitting with my blubbering wife, I realised that she WAS one of the men. Kitsu was a warrior; she talked mathematics, strategy, history, politics – reluctantly – , geography, Bushido and weapons.

"Your hair is so gorgeous", Masa went on as Kitsu set her bowl of rice on the tatami mat. "How do you make it twist like this?"

"I … I don't. No matter what I do, it keeps curling."

"Especially in the rain."

She threw me a murderous gaze that Masa ignored, her eyes fixed upon the ringlets.

"You are so lucky", she sighed dreamily.

"People, in Europe, would dream of having your hair, Masa-san. And see, you are so beautiful that a man set upon by ladies chose you to be his wife. You should be proud."

Masa beamed, bowing her head with the widest of smiles upon her face. My heart warmed, and I helped her stand so that we could take the dishes to the kitchen. I knew this was a good idea: Kitsu's praise had done wonders to her mood. As I gathered the sake set, she sauntered about the room, a pretty blush upon her skin. I took advantage of our limited solitude to drop a kiss upon a rosy cheek.

The neighbours weren't kind to Masa, neither were the shop keepers. Her past as a prostitute wasn't well thought off, but to marry a Shinsengumi Captain, a wolf of Mibu, had crushed what remained of her reputation. Respectability were everything to us, Japanese. The more I learnt about foreign countries, the more I realised how miserable people could be, stuck in those layers of judgment.

When this was all done, I might consider taking my family away from here. After all, Masa's family was all but gone. As for me … nothing kept me in Kyōto, except for the Shinsengumi. The brewing unrest, though, got me worried. Those damn Chōshū had already set the city on fire once…

For now, thought, it was time for a drink. Masa brough in tea, and I set the warm sake in front of Kitsu. If she wanted to patrol with me, she'd drink like one of the men. Her face froze when the smell of warm sake rose in the air, but she only pursed her lips. Come to think of it, I'd never seen her drink alcohol. I just surmised it was lack of occasion, rather than lack of taste.

Masa knelt beside us, belly getting in the way as she was about to serve the saké. Before she did, thought, our guest fished a wrapped paper out of her pocket. She smiled at my wife, and bowed, presenting the gift with both hands. Good. Masa blushed, squeaking in delight as she received it.

"May I?", she asked, too impatient to know what the strange foreigner had brought her.

Kitsu nodded, her expression uneasy. How had she gotten a present for my wife, given she was broke like a beggar? Masa unwrapped the paper and gasped. In her hands lay a butterfly made of unkown material attached to a square of metal. Sparkles were embedded within, shining in the low lights.

"For your hair. I can show you how to clasp it."

Curious, I watched as she activated the mechanism with one hand. The metal was so thin, the details so fine; it sprang when she released it, and clicked when her fingers set it back. This was the weirdest hair pin I'd ever seen, but the sparkles won my Masa in a heartbeat. She bowed low, her smile akin to the summer sun.

"Arigato gozaimasu, Kitsu-san. I will treasure it."

The young woman sported a gentle smile, but I could tell she felt ill at ease. So I bumped her shouder with my fist, more gentle than I would have with Shinpachi, but the gesture was the same.

"Let's drink, now."

Masa poured us two cups, and retreated to the kitchen. Frances watched her leave, and awaited for her to be out of sight to murmur.

"Are you sure we shouldn't give her a hand?"

"She would never accept. Wife's honour."

Kitsu nodded, then lifted her glass to me before dumping her lips within. She grimaced, and I chuckled as I swallowed the whole cup, and poured anew.

"Not overly fond of sake, Kitsu?"

"I'm more suited for wine, I guess my palate isn't used to rice liquor yet."

A few more glasses went by, and she drank. A bit. Everytime I poured, her glass was still half full. Worry gnawed at me, and shame followed. I should have bought another type of alcohol for my guest, I mused as its warmth infused my belly. Or better quality sake. Even though money was scarce, it was a dishonour to have her grimace at the taste when she thought I wasn't looking.

After a while, though, my mind cleared enough to understand that the issue didn't reside in rice alcohol, rather than with alcohol. I scoffed, feeling stupid for my self depreciative thoughts. Culture, once more, and the fear to seem unrespectable had clouded my judgment. But now, everything made sense. Kitsu's cheeks were red, now.

It was little wonder they fought with Hijikata-san; there were two sides of the same coin.

"You can't hold your liquor, can you?", I chortled as she put her palm flat upon her glass.

She groaned, her lips pursing in annoyance. "You're more observant than my classmates."

I felt the pull of the sake, and its magic unwinding my usual reserve as I started laughing. Kitsu scowled. But her lips eventually curled up in a smile. She was tipsy.

"Come on, I'll take you home. Curfew is soon, and Fukuchō will have my head if I don't return you safe and sound."

We bid goodnight to Masa, who was now looking dead on feet, and I kissed her brow with the promise to return soon. Somehow, the ground wasn't as stable as it used to be, and Kitsu gave me a wary look.

"Harada-san. Perhaps you shouldn't go out", she frowned.

"Nonsense. I could spar, drunk like a barrel."

"You're not the only one", she grumbled, her eyes scanning the area for threats. Alchohol might dull our senses, but the one that screamed 'danger' never got tuned out in warriors. I'd registered a threat when sleeping. Given Kitsu's posture, I knew she would to. After all, she had been the first to burst in Chizuru's room when the rasetsu attacked.

"It's just two streets", I argued words slurring stranehly. "I can't leave you on your own. If Hijikata-san doesn't kill me, my conscience will."

Her lopsided smile went straight to my heart.

"I'm not that tipsy. I always fall asleep when I'm drunk."

I nodded, finding that the ground didn't want to comply. Kitsu dragged my arm above her shoulders. I didn't even blush; she was just one of the men, after all. We started walking, albeit a little slower then usual, when one of the neighbour saluted us. He was, I think, even more inhebriated than me. It went so fast, I didn't get time to react when he leered at my friend, and asked her out of the blue.

"When you're done with him, how much for me?"

The young woman lunged, breaking his nose with the flat of her palm with a kiai to die for. Then, she glared and sauntered away, the ringlets dancing in her back as she left me behind.

"Get home, Harada", she smirked before she took off running. Damn! I followed, out of breath, until she waved and rushed to the coumpound. The door was still open, but she took the side street and followed the wall until she found a pillar, and climbed on the tiled wall. I remained jawslacked as she literally jumped and hoisted herself up like a cat.

Right before her shadow disappeared, her eyes flashed in the night.

Kitsuneko, the kitsucat.

I gaped. Crazy woman. On this note, I realised that Kitsu had never been our prisoner. Except for the few first weeks, she could have escaped at will. But she didn't, and guarded my back at night. My respect only grew.

Blinking, I returned to the door, finding Hijikata-san impatiently gazing at the clouds. I should have been surprised he would take the shift, but that man never slept … except when he was drunk. From the irritated look in his eye, he had probably forsaken both sake and tea this evening. Had Kitsu known he'd be here?

"Harada ! Just in time before curfew." His eyes roamed over my form, and he slanted his head to check behind me. Thunder suddenly descended upon his features as he growled. "Where is she?"

I sheepishly scrapped my skull: "You're not going to believe it."

"Try me", he retorted hotly.

I turned around, trying to pinpoint the place where Kitsu had worked her magic. Helpless, I could only cup my hand in the air: "She … jumped over the wall, over there."

I nearly gaped when his shoulders slumped, but he sent me a very weary look; the same one he sometimes sported when Okita behaved like a dork.

"I believe you, Harada. Get home, you're drunk."

"Hai, Fukuchō."

I almost didn't hear his last words, but I swore I wasn't dreaming. After all, Hijikata's voice always carried.

"Be safe."