Dearest Tobi, there's your update ! :)
The first breath I took upon awakening was filled with Toshizō's gentle scent. I burrowed myself closer to his warm body, feeling how cold the air was outside the mess of covers and tangled limbs. It smelt like snow.
I smiled. Darkness still lingered in the compound, and time would come to check my assumption later in the day. For the moment, though, I would enjoy the feel of Toshizō's skin against my own. This was the only place I felt at peace. Sliding below the covers, I rolled into a ball and set my head upon his heart. He unconsciously adjusted his arms around me.
I had no idea if he was the type to enjoy physical closeness before I barged into his life, and claimed his body as mine. The truth was that he seemed to sleep heavily when I was there, and never pushed me away when I literally sprawled all over him. Now, I was almost afraid to ask; I'd be devastated if he found it bothersome. Most nights, I slid into his room when the compound settled and made my nest within his sheets. He didn't complain, so I surmised the arrangement suited him fine.
For a moment, everything was forgotten. The war, Masa's long march to Edo, my family, and even Sanan's demand. Nothing existed outside our little bubble of warmth, except for Toshizō's soft breath, and the delicious smell of his skin. A sigh left his lips and I relaxed in his embrace, allowing the soft thud of his heart to lull me to sleep again.
I awoke, some time later, when the warm body that had kept me secured tried to escape. I tightened my hold, and a rough chuckle reverberated in the chest that cushioned me.
"We really ought to get up, Kitsu," he breathed in my ear.
His low voice caused me to shiver; did that man realise how sensual his voice was? He probably didn't even mean to sound sexy, but damn… I dropped a kiss to his warm chest and yawned. He extricated himself from me in a deft move, and smirked when I glared at him.
"The cushion fled," I growled.
"The cushion is Vice Commander to a bunch of rowdy ronins."
The stern tone contrasted with the amusement flickering in his eyes. And so, as he piled up layer over layer with such habit that the knots seemed to magically appear upon juban, hakamashita and hakama, I stretched with another yawn. As I snatched my clothes in hopes of dressing under the covers, Hijikata gave me a puzzling look.
"What?", I asked.
"You really are a cat, Kitsuneko," he stated, his lips curling slightly. Then, he cocked his head aside and frowned. "It's too silent."
Worry immediately tensed his shoulders as I paused in my ruffling. Everything was so quiet, as if a blanket had fallen over the city. Typical of…
"I think it snowed."
Oh, snow! I loved snow, more than anything else. I pulled my tunic and pants faster than one could blink. Then, I rushed to the shōji, only to freeze at the last second; I couldn't open it like this. Hijikata would have to go out first, and I'd have to wear my mantle to give the impression I was just visiting. Meaning we had to put the futon away first. I rolled it up as Hijikata folded the covers, and stowed it in the appropriate cupboard. Then, he slid the shōji aside as I hid in the corner of the room.
A heavy layer of snow covered the courtyard, blanketing stone steps, rooftops and trees. Flakes still danced in the air, just a few sparkles that descended in the eerie silence. There were no prints outside, only a fresh layer coating every square foot in its icy clutches.
"The coast is clear," Hijikata mumbled slightly, advancing on the engawa with an expression of inner peace that mesmerised me. Of course, the infamous poet would rear its head at seeing such beauty. I didn't blame him; it was splendid beyond measure. I'd seen my share of snow in Norway or the French alps, and never got tired of it. Everything seemed so bright, so vibrant with the immaculate blanket covering the darkness of cobblestones and fences. Even the trees seemed to shine.
I moved beside the commander, mindful of keeping an ear strained to my surroundings. As we both contemplated the innocence of the first snowfall, he shivered by my side.
"Don't you have a haori?" I frowned.
His head seemed to sink between his shoulders in a move so unusual that my eyebrows probably reached my hairline.
"''tis an old one."
What, did he find the coat so shabby that he'd rather freeze to death than wear it?
"Better than nothing," I retorted.
His head shifted aside, eyes searching mine in an interrogation of sort.
"Don't you mind the cold, Kitsu?"
I shrugged. Put me in a tropical setting, and I'd melt upon the tiles.
"I'm rather used to it. And I have a good technical t-shirt underneath that keeps me warm. Too bad it doesn't fit you…"
Given no one was in sight, I surmised we might share body heat.
"Sit," I told him.
Toshizō gave me an odd look, but complied. I pulled on my leather boots and sat behind him, circling his waist to offer whatever heat remained in my body. I needed to get the elvish cape from my room. For a moment, though, we just remained there. Me, strapped like a turtle upon his back, and he gazing at the courtyard. A few stolen minutes, away from prying eyes before he shifted.
"I've got work to do, Kitsu."
I wished he had started his sentence with 'as much as I enjoy this', but it wasn't quite his way… So I sighed, and stood.
"You take a break, compose the poems dancing in your mind right now, and I'll tackle a piece of that paperwork for you. What do you say?"
Dark eyes squinted in the light, hesitating. So I just smiled, and told him I'd be back in a minute to allow him to meditate on the idea. I sauntered in the snow, imprinting the proof of my passage in the fresh layer of frozen flakes as I retreated to my room. There, I grabbed a few items, and went through the kitchen to find Chizuru already at work.
I stole simmering water to brew some tea, and retreated to Hijikata's room, only to find him still sitting on the engawa. I paused, tray in hand, feet silent, watching snowflakes fall upon his shoulders, tangling in his long flowing hair. The lines of his face were soft and unguarded. A beautiful picture, worthy of a painting. Too bad I couldn't draw. As if on cue, he turned to me and I smiled, approaching with my quarry. Tea was such a treat, one he couldn't resist.
Before I poured a cup for him, though, I fished a set of wrist warmers from my pocket. Granted, those were the Hello Kitty ones, but I could hide the cute little face at the top rather than the bottom, right? The enormity of what I was about to do caused me to pause; for a moment, I wondered if I was about to desecrate one of the greatest warriors of Japan. But again … didn't hello kitty come from Japan itself?
"What are those?" he asked, interrupting my inner banter.
"Gimme your hand, kudasai."
The man lifted an eyebrow, but didn't protest as I gathered the material and slid it over his forearm all the way to his elbow under the juban. When I pulled the cotton sleeve down, the item disappeared entirely.
"Good?", I asked, wondering if he would consider wearing them to keep warm.
He cocked his head aside, considering the question before he actually nodded. I slid the second one up his other arm, and showed him the little kitty at the top with a grin. His jaw slackened for a moment before his eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Really, Kitsuneko?"
"It means that I own you now," I purred. "And it's the only ones I have to spare anyway."
The man nodded thoughtfully, then reached for his cup of tea before he turned on his heels and knelt at his desk. I observed him as he set the paperwork aside and fished a notebook from his drawer, preparing the inkstone with practised habit.
Haikus. He was about to write haikus, and right in front of me. Touched by the trust he placed in me, I retreated in his room and settled on the other side, sorting through the papers as he allowed his creative fibre to, at last, set words down. We worked for a while in silence until he turned the notebook around for me to take a peek at.
Dumbfounded, I allowed my eyes to settle upon his writing, marvelling, once more, at the gentle lines traced with a brush. Kanji really was something I'd never get used to.
You'll get lost on the way of love, whether you know it or not.
Love. I'd called him such once already. Was it a way to let me know he felt the same? Or just a bout of poetry? A blush crept up my cheeks, and I kept my eyes glued to the page. "Are those inspired by the snow?", I murmured.
"No." He turned the page. "But that one is."
On the morning snow, there are no horizontal footsteps.
I was so shabby at poetry that I couldn't appreciate the rhymes, or the structure. But the emotions poured within still touched me, and I smiled earnestly.
"Oi Toshi, you awake?"
Kondō's voice echoed from the engawa, and Toshizō immediately set the haiku book to the side, grabbing a pile of papers I'd just sorted.
"Unfortunately yes," he sighed with aggravation. "Someone HAS to tackle that paperwork."
He sent me a warning look to which I only giggled; his flair for theatrics always amused me to no end. And, even though this morning, I'd been the one working, he was entitled to complain about the amount of logistics Kondō discharged over him every day.
The shōji slid open, revealing a very eager Kyokuchō followed by both Inoue and Shimada. His smile broadened at finding me there.
"Ah, Kitsu-chan. You're here."
"YOUR page is helping with MY paperwork," Hijikata retorted sternly.
I know he was amused, but his persona was so firmly in place that Kondō actually bought it.
"Ah, good, good. I brought Kasutera."
"Kasutera ?", I asked.
What the hell was that again?
"Cast-ella, it's a portugese cake," provided Inoue.
Kasutera … castella. Oh! They had just tried to pronounce it, and failed miserably. I started laughing. "Oh … castella. Like the castle."
"Actually," Inoue provided. "It comes from Paõ de Castile, which means bread from Castille."
"Bread from Spain, right?"
Portuguese was so easy to me, closer to French than either Spanish and Italian. As for the Castille appellation… "From the kingdom of Castile. Which comes from castellum, castle, in Latin. I get it now. You really have a knack for … languages, don't you?"
The word 'butchering' was at the tip of my tongue, but it sure would have sounded demeaning. But Kondō only chuckled.
"Sanan-san would agree with you. He said that if we couldn't pronounce it properly, we could at least call it sponge cake."
A smile curled my lips at the jab. Sponge cake, really? Where was Sanan, now? Still cooped in his damp, cold room, on his own?
"If there's enough, perhaps I could fetch him?"
Kondō's eyes widened, then he nodded gratefully.
"Good idea, Kitsu-chan. I'm sure he'd like to partake before he sets to sleep."
I took off immediately, grateful for the boots rather than their cord sandals that wouldn't keep the cold at bay. With the incoming war, who knew how many relaxed moments we would have? Hence my determination to share this one with at least the three commanders. Sanan wasn't ready for bed, yet, and he followed me with a slight smile.
Ever since our encounter on Christmas Night, lingering sadness hung between us. I didn't resent him for asking me to kill him. He didn't resent me for shutting him out. But the weight of it stifled every attempt at light-hearted conversation.
I could only hope time would defuse the tension. Already, my attempt at including him in partaking sponge cake seemed to bring a little light to his eyes. He took in the immaculate landscape with a respectable amount of glee, and I smiled to see such an expression take over the calculating gaze.
"Beautiful, right?"
"Hai," he said, his silky tones caressing. "Snow brings out the world in a new manner."
I nodded my assent; was it a message for my sake, to change point of view? To consider his request as a show of trust, rather than a burden? I wouldn't put it past Sanan to sneak a message within a contemplative teaching… My gaze returned to the white blanket; there was something pure and hopeful in snow. As we rounded the corner, I recognised the angry tones of our Fukuchō that filtered through the partition.
"Sōji!" he yelled.
Sanan chuckled when my steps hastened.
"It seems that Okita-kun had once more found the way to rile up our commander."
I sighed and sped up, finding all the captains gathered with a piece of sponge cake, except for Okita who skidded around the room, a familiar notebook in hand. Blood drained from my face.
The haikus.
Anger flared in my veins as I watched the brat dodge the vice commander. I noticed how Toshizō held back, his fists trembling with fury, to avoid tearing his precious work. It gave Sōji an edge; the first captain was well aware of it and used it to his advantage.
Perhaps it was the modern woman in me, but I saw red. While the others laughed – this was just harmless teasing to them – I breathed in sharply. Didn't they realise how precious those poems were? The last piece of creativity Hijikata could afford, that ray of sunshine in a sea of burdens that pushed him down so harshly? Didn't they see how he killed himself to the task, protecting them, the Shinsengumi, and all their men?
Jaw clenched, I threw my boots on the engawa. Timing was of the essence. Sōji amorced another dodge, nearly sending Toshizō into the partition. The vice Commander righted himself with a graceful twist; damn, they had nothing to envy to cats. Both reflexes and balance could rival those of a feline. Sōji smirked at Hijikata, oblivious of my sneaky approach. Taking advantage of his gloating, I leapt and tackled him from the side. He yelped, landing in Kondō's lap as I snatched the notebook.
Fukuchō frowned, but retrieved the precious item without a word as I turned to Okita with murder in my eyes.
"How old are you, really?" I thundered.
Laughter died at once while the captain rubbed his shoulder.
"Didn't see you coming, Kitsuneko," he drawled with the usual hint of maliciousness in his voice.
"Grow up," I growled, thoroughly pissed. My outburst caused a few of them to lower their heads. I knew I was being my pushy occidental self. I knew Toshizō's pride was being bruised by my intervention, but I just couldn't contain myself.
As anger rolled off me in waves, I eventually exhaled and pinched the bridge of my nose. Okita was the first to laugh, but his voice wasn't so assured as usual.
"Neeee, kaa-chan is scary."
Wide eyes greeted this statement over the room, the captains watching me like a bomb about to detonate. Afraid. A bark of derisive laugher left my lips.
"I'm certainly not calling my children Sushi," I shot back, kneeling beside Harada who handed me a piece of sponge cake. My eyes, though, didn't leave the green hues of the first captain. The fight wasn't over, but we were smoothing it out with evil banter, the aggressivity somehow lessened by the humour.
"Like we need a set of redhead monsters running around headquarters," he sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Blond."
The low voice caused me to whirl around, and I watched Toshizō's dark eyes widen when he realised he'd spoken out loud. The light in his eyes was certain; he'd just plainly stated a truth. My children would be blond.
Whose children? When? Where?
I heard Sōji oof in the corner, probably elbowed by Shinpachi before he could utter another idiocy like 'not if they're yours, Hijikata-san'. Would I ever have children? Blond children? Then whom …? Time suspended, for a moment, as I wondered for the second time in a row if Toshizō, like me, tended to have visions of the future.
"I've heard many a Dutch children are blond," Harada mused by my side, dispelling the awkwardness. I choose that moment to apologise for spoiling the carefree moment.
"I'm sorry for killing the mood. We French value our art a lot."
It wasn't a lie. Kondō dismissed my apology with a smile, and we locked eyes. He knew his lack of discipline towards Sōji irked me to no end, and I certainly hoped he wouldn't take it as an insult. But damn … bullying his own commanding officer? Laxism was one thing, but this stretched way over the limits.
Sanan was, once more, the life saviour as he called for my attention.
"The French painters are pretty renown. I heard that Claude Monet attends dinners with a Japanese art seller who tried to introduce his peers to the art of ukyio-e."
His grey eyes twinkled behind the spectacles, and I wondered if he's seen through my ploy; it wasn't the mistreatment of art that had called forth such anger, but the mistreatment of what was precious to Toshizō. Still, I found myself floored by the extend of Sanan's knowledge as he instructed me on bonds between France and Japan that I ignored until then.
I understood, now, why Brunet was here to help the Shōgunate. Somehow, our countries had been linked by honour and mutual admiration for a while. I took a bite of the sponge cake, and found it just sweet enough to flatter my palate. If they couldn't pronounce the name right, they certainly had adapted the recipe brilliantly. Mmm. It had been a while I'd been able to buy sweets; the day where I brought dango and mochi back to Toshizō were gone with Masa Harada.
As chatter started again around us, I exchanged one heated look with the Vice Commander. Just one look.
We'll talk about this.
He just nodded, and my attention returned to Sanan who described how Claude Monet and his peers had been greatly influenced by Utagawa Hiroshige, in particular, who embodied the whole Zen philosophy in his engravings. This painter of the Edo period had found the prefect technique to show how feelings and settings could influence the same place, drawing it over and over again like Monet had done later one with his haystacks.
Those paintings had not seen the light of day yet. For once, I really felt I was part of history.
So. If you've seen Hakuouki OAV from Hijikata's point of view, you'll find that adorable dango scene at the end. I wanted to include it in here, even though we're off when it comes to the timeline.