Anon: My deepest encouragements for the garden. I've been lazy this year and only planted a couple of things. Thanks for letting me know you enjoyed it ?

Chizuru popped in my room with tears leaking down her cheek. I was in the process of working my splits when she fell upon her knees before me, her head touching her hands in a familiar gesture of submission.

"Domo…", she started. Then the words stuck in her throat, and sobs started wracking her lithe body. I scrambled to my feet at once, worry gnawing at my insides. What could have happened to put Chizuru in such a state? She, with her blessed good heart, so rarely allowed the events to unsettle her.

"Chizuru…", I started.

But the sobs didn't abate. Her grief called tears to my eyes, and my heart rate picked up. Had someone died? Who, who could have been hurt? On a whim, I reached out for the girl and pulled her in a hug. Her arms wound up around me tightly, distress pouring out of her eyes.

"You're scaring me. Is anyone hurt?"

If the tears still ran down her cheeks in salty trails, the young woman managed to shake her head. I deflated slightly, rubbing circles over her back until she sniffed once, twice, and untangled her body from my arms with shameful cheeks.

"Gomen nasai, Kitsu-san," she started.

"Tch," I interrupted. "Drop the contrition and tell me what put you in such a state."

"I… I wanted to…" a new set of tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away with her sleeve. Whatever her predicament had affected her so badly that she was unable to speak. Eventually, though, the girl managed to calm down and took a deep breath. As if she was tasting fresh air after days locked in a cellar.

"Arigato, Kitsu-san, for helping Okita-san," she murmured, bowing to me once more.

Realisation hit me like a brick wall, and my mood brightened at once. So, she knew. Her heartfelt gratitude warmed my heart, albeit I hated that excess of deference.

"Is he well?"

"Hai," she breathed, hope shining in her eyes. "I think he is cured."

As a doctor's daughter, Chizuru understood Okita's ailment in depth. Which meant she probably watched over him like a mother hen. If she stated he was cured, there was a good chance the treatment had worked. Her expression was such a present; was she considering the future, now that Okita had a new chance at living?

"You love him, don't you?"

She blinked and stuttered, her cheeks ablaze.

"I … uh."

I cringed inwardly; I wasn't usually so blunt, and Japanese culture wasn't too big on affection displays anyway. Their expression was much more subtle. Once more, I had behaved like a gaijin, pushing Chizuru to a realisation she might not have been ready to swallow.

Well, let's hope she puts that on the big sister dynamic, rather than my proverbial lack of tact.

"Sorry, that was intrusive. This is your own path to clear out, and I'm not going to push either way."

Big doe eyes watched me with wonder, and I grinned at her. Whatever her feelings, I was glad to see her in good spirits. What I would have given, four years ago, for modern medicine to save Tristan from certain death … even though I couldn't have stayed anyway.

But I wasn't about to begrudge Chizuru for her happiness, it was my own fault for falling for the wrong men.

And, for the moment, I might even have a thing with Hijikata. He'd kissed me once, offered his arm for a walk, and agreed to exchange cups of sake. Even though he had never come to me without alcohol in his veins, a girl could dream? My heart had been crushed too often; I knew I wouldn't give it away fully. Never again. Still… I was drawn to him.

The loss of the necklace had hit me hard. I wasn't done mourning my family, my friends, neither my time. But I was still part of this life, and had to go on. So, I rifled through my belongings and found the little money I'd made those past months.

"I need a favour, Chizuru."

"Anything, Kitsu-san."

"Please. Don't… I didn't give Okita medicine for your gratefulness. There is no debt between us."

"But…"

"If you had patients at the clinic, and you had the means to help, what would you do?"

Chizuru nibbled upon her lower lip for a moment, then nodded firmly. Good; she was catching what I tried to tell her. I had not saved Sōji out of the nobility of my mind, or my heart. I did because I could, and because he was important to the Shinsengumi.

"I understand Kitsu-san."

"Good. Now, do you think you could buy something for Harada's son, as a welcome present? Is there enough?"

The young woman watched the coins I laid on the tatami mat, and nodded her assent.

"Hai." Already, her mind was roaming the stalls and items to see whatever she could find. Chizuru was nothing if not organised when it came to tending to a house. She would be an excellent wife, and a doting mother to any spawn that ever graced her household. As she pocketed the money, I added: "If you're going to the market, maybe you can get us some potatoes. I have a few family recipes we could try."

Chizuru's feature turned into a beaming smile; with the tear tracks still fresh upon her cheeks, she looked so adorable. I watched her leave in the autumn winds, hoping to all the Gods that she would have her happy ending. Mine had escaped my grasp, but I would stand by my team until the end. A tool, a captain, a sword. Sharp and lean, I would lay waste upon anyone who dared stand before us. It brought no little amount to relief to lay my destiny in someone else's hands.

But Chizuru, she was so beautiful and pure; so full of life. I understood the Shinsengumi's protectiveness of her. Her inner light was something to be cherished when mine had faded in war and grief.

Perhaps fate had spoken; the Keeper of Time had changed hands.

This very evening, Chizuru returned with a set of wooden animals wrapped in a bright cotton cloth. And potatoes that had seen better days. Before she could apologise for their poor quality, I cut her off and set the pot to boil. It didn't matter, for my mind was set upon a dish that brought forth many fond memories, and didn't require them to be fresh.

Gnocchi would greet Harada this evening, as well as the other captains, in an attempt to greet Shigeru's first week into the world. And as such, I needed a proper tomato sauce. For once, I was the one directing the operations in the kitchen; there would be no rice tonight. And while we waited for the potatoes to be done properly – absolutely overcooked – Chizuru unwrapped a set of wagashi.

"See, we use forks in Europe to roll the little square around our thumb," I explained. Then paused. "Forks! Damn it, how are we going to make gnocchi without a fork?"

Chizuru gave me a puzzled look, her cheeks filled with the sweet rice paste she'd be insisting I tasted. My frown deepened as I wondered if I could replace the fork by a spoon, and she handed me the little basket.

"There. Those are ladies' treat, and there are not many."

I pursed my lips, and chose one that looked like a rose. Sugar worked with so much care that it actually resembled a work of art; I was loath to break it.

What would my gnocchi look like, rolled over a spoon?

"It might not look the same, but it could still work, right? Will it change the taste?"

The taste would already be messed up by the rice flour instead of wheat flour, so it didn't matter much. I shook my head, sinking my teeth in the sweet that tasted like … uh. It felt weird, soft and acidic as the same time, with an aftertaste of almonds. Was it my European palate again?

Damn, I was a difficult woman when it came to food. A frenchie after all, that drank emperor's wine. My stomach rebelled against the texture of the sweet, and I expertly hid the second part in the waste while Chizuru checked the potatoes.

"They're done," she announced.

"Good." I lifted the sleeves of my t-shirt, exposing my forearms when Chizuru tied the tasuki around her kimono.

Thus, a very cumbersome task began; we peeled the scalding potatoes with many a swear word, and mashed them on a platter. Once this was done, we added rice four until it turned into a consistent dough that I could roll in a long serpent, and cut into tiny pieces. As we worked, I explained about the tradition of gnocchi that ran in my maternal grandmother's family, who had emigrated from Monte Cassino.

There was so much dough to do; I'd never cooked gnocchi for that many people, and suddenly understood why my grandma would wake up at 5 in the morning to have the meal ready for noon.

"You see," I told Chizuru. "When we arrived at my grandma's house, the whole kitchen table was laden with little dough squares. If we wanted to eat, we had to roll them, one by one, between our thumb and a fork to finalise it."

"I love that tradition," the girl sighed wistfully. "For as long as I remember, my only family was my father."

Poor Chizuru. And now, her father was missing. Stupid fate, who took from her the only person who had ever watched over her – beside the Shinsengumi – , and taken from me that whole family that awaited my return. They would be devastated if I never resurfaced. Fortunately, the letter I had left in my apartment would, at least, grant them closure. If I didn't die in the incoming war, I might be able to write a message for them to find. After all, the 20th century was just around the corner…

As we worked, Chizuru asked more about Italy, and I drew an approximate map of Europe in the rice flour to point her the city of Monte Cassino.

"What does it sound like, their language?"

I cocked my head aside, smiling down my nose to the smaller woman.

"Ciao, bella raggazza! Come stai?" I put all my soul into that sentence, and accentuated the accent of a young man trying to woo a woman. Chizuru giggled in her hand, spreading rice flour upon her nose.

"It feels like you are singing."

I grinned: "Yes. Spanish, you see, is nearly identical in words, but not in tone. But it both comes from latin." My grandfather was of Spanish descent, and I told her a few words in the language so that she could assess the difference.

We then switched to French; I taught her a few funny insults, such as 'idiot!', or even worse, some burgundy slang that my paternal grandma used to say 'zozo', which was the polite 'baka'. By the time I was finished mimicking the typical 'o' of burgundy, Chizuru was laughing out loud.

"We should call the baka trio the zozo," she snorted. Then sobered. The baka trio was no more since Heisuke had left; Chizuru had been quite close with the young man.

When we were done with the little squares, I forwent the idea to roll them and decided to keep them as such. The next step was onions and tomato sauce. As I picked up the naganegi, my companion went for the kill.

"How come you speak Japanese, Kitsu-san? How did you come to be here?"

I suddenly laid the knife upon the table with such force that we both startled. A great sigh shuddered in my chest, and I closed my eyes.

"I bet Oki … someone told you about the Keeper of time, ne?"

The young woman blushed and nodded; another confirmation of my suspicions regarding Sōji.

"Anyway. Now that this insufferable Oni has my necklace, I'm stranded."

"I'm sorry." No more words were needed, for I knew what Chizuru wanted to convey.

"Nothing is your fault."

The girl fidgeted for a moment, then found the courage to express her inner fears.

"But… Kazama wanted me. He would not have found you if…"

My head shot up sharply, and I pinned her with a very serious gaze.

"Doubtful, Chizuru. Kitsu is a legend in Kyōto, now. He would have, regardless of his will to steal you." The young woman, pink hakamashita tightly closed around her collar, blinked in surprise. So I nailed my point. "Promise me not to blame yourself for this."

A moment of silence greeted this statement; my knife hung in the air, waiting. I knew, now, from the code of Bushido that a warrior never had to promise, nor give his word. He did what he said, and said what he did. This concept spoke to me at every level; I always functioned thus. Promises were for children.

"Hai," she eventually nodded.

Her words were but a whisper, but I believed her. For all her meekness, Chizuru was a strong-willed woman. I slightly bowed then realised something was missing to finish the dish.

"Do you think you can get us more water to fill up the great cauldron? We'll need it to cook the gnocchi."

Chizuru left at once and I returned to my onions, my slices perhaps a little too forceful on the poor vegetable. Grief and anger mingled once more, and I found my eyes stinging with unshed tears as I worked.

Kazama. Fucking Kazama, had stolen my family from me, and myself from my family.

Another slice, dice, slice. Light footsteps echoed from outside, was Chizuru was back already? Strange, I usually didn't lose track of time so easily.

"Are we feasting on foreign food tonight, Kitsu?"

I straightened at once, nearly chopping my own finger off; I would recognise that voice anywhere, but certainly didn't expect our Fukuchō to pop up in the kitchen. Ashamed by my unshed tears, I sought to distract him by showing the little dough squares by the side.

"We are celebrating Shigeru's birth this evening," I said, my head still bowed upon my work. "I wanted to offer Harada … san a piece of my family traditions."

I nearly choked on those last words, and waited for the usual insightful – and cutting – remarks. But today, the shadow that loomed by my side had shed the mantle; it was Toshizō who watched my knife work on those neat slices of onion.

"And what wine would you drink with it?" he asked, approaching me with silent feet. From the corner of my eye, I discerned the deep purple hakamashita that contrasted so well with his jet-black hair. Slowly, Hijikata-san leant over the counter to watch my work. His presence was overwhelming; he towered over me easily.

"Puligny Montrachet, for sure."

"What year?" he almost murmured, his low voice sending shivers down my spine.

I froze, wondering if I should reveal anything to him. We'd made a deal, after all; he would ask, and I would respond truthfully. At any rate, I wanted to tell him, if only to have someone remember who I was.

"2005."

His hand suddenly grabbed my arm, and he twisted me around swiftly. The counter dug in my lower back, and I let the knife go. Hijikata's dark eyes caught mine, and I marvelled at the violet hues that danced within when reality sunk in. Disbelief gleamed for a moment until realisation struck. Now he knew when I came from. After 2005, a hundred and forty years in the future.

I braced myself for anger; he offered none. Instead, his graceful fingers hovered over my cheekbone. For a moment, I held my breath, trapped in his aura. So close, yet so far. Would he dare touch me again? His eyes softened, and I felt his thumb wipe moist from the corner of my eye.

"Crying, Kitsu?" he whispered gently. I closed my eyes to avoid shedding more tears, but the heat of his lingering touch upon my skin was enough to distract me from my sombre mood.

"Onions," I responded.

Would he buy it? Probably not; Fukuchō had this uncanny ability to sniff a lie from a thousand miles away. When I found the courage to gaze upon him once more, I found his face much closer to mine, his eyes so intense that I gasped.

"Well, lady of the future…"

His breath fanned upon my skin, the sentence unfinished as he closed the distance between us to capture my lips. Soft, but unyielding, they demanded surrender; I granted it without a second thought, my arms lifting to encircle his neck. Without the sake, I could taste him. Masculine, and earthly, full of humming power.

More!

My tongue swiped at his lower lip gently; the gesture surprised him, and his hold upon my waist tightened. As our lips danced, my fingers caressed his shoulder, crawling along the double layered collar – juban and kimono – to find his nape.

Hijikata shuddered at the contact; would he chase me away? He deepened our embrace when his own fingers found their way in my hair, tugging at the strands imprisoned in a braid. His ponytail prevented me from doing the same, so I travelled to his cheekbone, and dug my fingers in his loose bangs. Slowly, I smoothed them down until I could cup his sculpted jaw.

His skin was smooth and inviting, so different from the Oni no Fukuchō's ruthlessness.

The sound of footsteps caused us both to break apart, breath short, eyes diving into each other's. As if to ask: it this folly? His gaze conveyed a world of emotions, hidden and stowed away out of necessity. I just didn't want to let go, for I knew he'd revert to the stern commander. Hijikata took a step back to an acceptable distance; I saluted his strong will, for I was unable to do so.

A realisation set in; raw, like my intuition who was screaming to back down. Eyes upon the ground, I allowed the message to be heard.

"If we go that way, it's going to hurt."

The footsteps approached. Hijikata said nothing, but his finger lifted my chin so that our gaze could meet. His deep dark eyes searched my soul as I bit my lip. I wouldn't be able to explain what I'd just said; the warning came from within.

Strangely, he nodded his understanding.

"I know," he rumbled, allowing his hand to drop.

Chizuru erupted in the room with a heavy bucket and froze in her tracks, sensing the charged atmosphere in the room. Her reluctance made sense; the little lady hated confrontations, and we tended to violently clash.

At once, Hijikata marched upon her like a wolf on a trail. The girl took a step back when he swooped the recipient out of her hands easily – the weight seemed nothing in his hands. He turned to me with a raised eyebrow; I understood his meaning easily.

"In the cauldron," I instructed.

The water sloshed on the way down, thrown in with so much energy that it nearly spilled out. Nearly, for nothing Fukuchō did was sloppy. Then, he walked away, supple, and confident. Nothing more was said.

Japanese style.

So … second kiss, at last! Talk of slow burn, eh?