a/n: Inspired by Chekhov's "A Lady and Her Dog".

For a long time, Gintoki was mostly satisfied with the state of things around him - of the continuity of old times and of the small consolation that not much had changed since he had left Edo for two years in search of his master. It gave him comfort to understand that if he was away, the people that he'd helped along the way would remain the same. He had been relieved to see that nothing had changed.

And then imperceptibly, things altered slightly. It was so subtle that if Gintoki had not been a keen observer of people, he would have missed that a certain person who used to live above his ceiling had not been in his apartment for weeks.

He took the ladder to the attic and had found to his astonishment a thin layer of dust covering the wood panels. No one had stayed there for a long time. Perhaps there might have been a stray kunai lying there, but now it there was nothing to mark for her former existence - a shadow that had mysteriously disappeared with no explanation.

He walked outside on the way to the convenience store - Kagura and Shinpachi were busy doing other errands - and glanced over his shoulder multiple times.

There was nothing behind him.

The realization made him uneasy. He'd been so used to their presence that when it had vanished, he felt as if the axis had shifted precariously beneath his feet.

He allowed a few days to pass, thinking perhaps that he'd woken up in an alternate universe, that Kintoki - who was still happily working in Gengai's shop - would triumphantly show up at his front door and replace him.

But instead, Gintoki woke up seeing nothing substantially out of the ordinary. The Yorozuya did a few jobs, Kagura and Shinpachi remained their usual good-natured selves, and the weather lady continued to broadcast her daily forecast on the second-hand TV that rested in the living room next to his desk.

He mentioned the change to Kagura casually, whose eyes had widened. "You didn't notice earlier?"

No, he hadn't.

"I asked her why she hadn't come by for a few months - " (so it was months and not weeks?) " - and she turned pink and started talking about respecting personal boundaries," Kagura said, gleefully recalling the exchange. "But if you asked me, she never was good at respecting personal boundaries, so my guess is she's probably moved on. Maybe to someone else, but she wouldn't say who it was," the teenager concluded.

"Oh," Gintoki said, and took another sip of his strawberry milk. "Good riddance," he stated, but to his surprise it came out more unsure than upbeat.

That had been the first of a few changes.

Not too long after, Otose had taken the liberty of giving him life advice which he neither wanted nor appreciated. Unfortunately, she seemed willing to write off his tab as long as he kept listening to her, so he really had no choice in the matter. But by the sixth time she had done this sort of well-meaning soliloquy to him, he had found that he could bear it no longer.

"A man oughtta get married at your age," she said, deliberately pouring his drink slowly so that he couldn't take away his cup and sit far away from her. "A woman would straighten you out and give you a family for you to finally buckle up and become a responsible man."

"I already am a responsible man," Gintoki snapped. "I'm already feeding two teenagers out of my own pocket! That's enough responsibility for a lifetime."

He left the bar without saying another word, not bothering to finish his drink. The exchange had left him in an unexpectedly foul mood. Somehow he had greatly preferred it when the old woman was yelling at him for not paying the rent to the well-meaning, but woefully misguided advice of what he should or should not do. One was easy to dismiss - he had never paid the rent in money - but the other had unexpectedly offended him. Why exactly he had taken it personally was not a subject matter he wanted to look too deeply into, for it reminded him that things had never been normal for him.

Shoyou still rested in the corner of his eye when he slept. Sometimes his teacher would be chastising him - now, now, Gintoki; how many times have I told you that the brush stroke for that character goes the other way? - and sometimes he would sit across him, repeating "Thank you" to Gintoki until his voice distorted into a bigger and deeper distortion, evolving into something so grotesque that Gintoki would eventually wrench his subconscious away from this horror, waking up with a deep melancholy that would never go away until the sun came up in the mornings.

I need a drink, he thought wearily. But the bars of sleazy Kabuki-chou seemed to him unsatisfying - a place too familiar for his taste at the moment, and so he decided to take the hour-long walk to Yoshiwara in order to clear his head.

He did this every once in a while, mostly because if he was clever about it, places were happy to let him drink to his hearts' content as they would send the bill to Hinowa, who of course would pay it then without complaint. He didn't take his motorbike because it was too much of a hassle to drive it back if he was too drunk to drive back home. Besides, it would motivate him to walk home instead of wheedling a particular person to stay the night.

This was not to say that there was anything seedy going on. Tsukuyo was a virtuous woman, but she never wanted him to sleep on the street. There were enough rooms at Hino-ya for him to behave badly in until he invariably collapsed into a fitful sleep, and the next morning he would somehow find hangover concoctions lined neatly next to his futon.

Considerate woman, he would grumble, before he slunk out of their shop in shame. Of course he didn't want her to go to all that trouble, but she was similar to him in the way that they regarded words as superfluous and actions to be much more important.

That was why he didn't take his motorbike. He didn't want to trouble her, especially when she worked in the evenings. There was a certain unwritten rule between them, that he felt that he owed her a favor, but more often than not, she felt like she owed him a favor, and so they circled around each other in this uneasy way ever since he had returned to Edo. But there was a certain acceptance from her that he didn't quite have from everyone else, and so like the migratory patterns of the animals who move from one place to another during the changing of the seasons, he found himself at Yoshiwara when his head was muddled.

It wasn't a surprise to him that he was still unfortunately in love with her, even after all those years. She was beautiful and hadn't changed much in terms of appearance. She was still a workaholic, of course, but there was something kind in her eyes when he wasn't busy telling her a dirty joke. She held herself with a certain dignity and because he respected her, had made sure to keep a certain emotional distance from her. He wouldn't dare to touch her hand even if he had done so impulsively years ago, and if he saw a cherry blossom stuck on her hair, he would wait for someone else to point it out to her instead of plucking it himself with his fingers.

His hands were for holding a sword, not a woman. If he had a life with Kagura and Shinpachi and everyone else, it was because they wouldn't stop being next to him. He had never expected people to genuinely care for him after a lifetime of destruction and breaking promises to other people. If happiness existed, he believed it would manifest in the next cover of Shonen Jump or the strawberry milk being marked down at a discount. To put happiness in something more unstable sounded ridiculous - even dangerous.

That said, he excused himself frequently when he arrived to Yoshiwara. "Oh, I was walking around the neighborhood." "A job brought me near here today, so I thought I'd stop by." "A friend invited me here to have a drink." All of those statements had been categorically untrue, but no one ever questioned him on those pretenses; the inhabitants were simply glad to see him.

"Savior of Yoshiwara!" the courtesans would cry out, their eyes brightened and rouge applied in a pleasing way. And sooner or later, Tsukuyo would come to him, with that half smile of hers as if she somehow understood it was her company that he had come to see and not the other myriad of attractions that Yoshiwara had to offer to a single man like himself.

He often wondered if she ever suspected that he loved her, but by now, keeping secrets close to his chest was second nature to him. His words were caustic, and sometimes he would flirt with her - Shinigami Dayuu, you're looking particularly beautiful tonight, must been the moon shining brighter than usual - but she, like most courtesans, would dismiss it as meaningless words, said out of frivolity.

When he finally arrived to the red light district, he was not inclined to stop by Hino-ya as he normally would, but he did feel as if things were more unusual than normal. Why that was - he couldn't say for sure, but he slipped inside a bar reserved for men who didn't have the interest or money to spend a night with a woman but were obligated to visit Yoshiwara for some reason or another.

The bartender recognized him and then passed him a letter, saying it was from Tsukuyo. Gintoki lifted his eyebrows, as this was most unusual. When he opened it, there was a short message that she would be waiting for him in one of the nicer rooms in a recently rebuilt tower, and that she wanted to talk to him.

For a brief moment, he had wondered how she had known he was coming today, and then dismissed it. The Hyakka were everywhere - and he was easy to spot if he wanted to be. This must be important if she had summoned him in person. Normally, if it was an errand or job Tsukuyo would pick up the phone to talk to him, and if he was on his usual jaunts to Yoshiwara, she would eventually find him some way or another. Never a letter - he had never received one from her.

He frowned, and left the bar.

The night was moderately crowded for a Thursday; ever since the government had recognized it as a tourist spot, there were more than a few people who visited it only for the dancers and singers. The district had begun to divide itself into different categories - shops for the women, brothels for the men; and it was starting to resemble more of a cosmopolitan city than the cage it once used to be.

This particular teahouse was familiar, and as he took the stairs he was racking his head to remember when he had been here before. By the time he had arrived in front of the sliding door, he had remembered that this was the place where Hinowa had tricked him into keeping Tsukuyo company, a week after her master had died and half of the city had been lit on fire.

For a moment he paused, weighing the risks of simply leaving, but then he sighed. She had asked him to come here to this room, and if he refused now, she wouldn't let him forget it. There wasn't a spot on his scalp by now that hadn't been grazed by her kunai, and he wasn't quite interested just yet to go to heaven.

He slid the door open, and Tsukuyo was sitting calmly, dressed in the same courtesan outfit that she had worn years ago.

His throat turned dry. For a moment, she looked at him, her eyes clear and bright. His first thought was relief that she had not started drinking, and then the questions poured into his mind, one after another. Why did she choose this place tonight, when they normally walked around the city as she patrolled? That to him had felt more natural than the tense mood that had suddenly manifested inside of this room.

Slowly, he reached into the inside pocket of his outfit, and pulled out her letter. "You called, Shinigami Dayuu?"

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Yes I did," she said lightly, and beckoned him to sit down. "I had a day off, ya see."

He did so grudgingly, sitting an appropriate distance away from her, but not so far that she could accuse him of being cold.

"And why did you want to meet me here? Don't you remember the last time we were here, the whole place was a mess." He eyed the bottle of sake resting next to her and a serving tray that held the ceramic cup - there was only one.

"Don't worry," Tsukuyo said airily, as if she was not capable of breaking his fingers if she wished. "I won't be drinking."

She uncorked the bottle, gesturing for him to take the cup which he did, tilting it towards her direction. She poured him a drink, slowly and carefully, and when the sake was nearing the top, she lifted the bottle with grace and placed it back onto the lacquered tray.

He took a very small sip, and then said lightly, "Now, Tayuu, if you really just wanted an excuse to beat up old Gin-san, you should be more straightforward about these things. What have I done now?"

She shook her head. "You haven't done anything."

It was very strange, he thought to himself. If she had come here, intending to ply him with booze, what was her motive? He took another sip, and slowly finished his drink. A comfortable silence descended on them; the balcony doors had been opened halfway so that the breeze would come in, bringing the low hum of a city that never really slept at night.

If she was here to kill him...

Maybe he would let her. It would only be too easy, to let him lose to her while he stared deep into those amethyst eyes. To die such a beautiful death...

But that wouldn't make any sense. She had every right to eliminate him the first time he had trespassed into the paradise of men, but she had remained a merciful courtesan of death. She had hedged her bets on him, seeing something far deeper than the person he had portrayed himself to be on the surface.

Perhaps she was here because she needed to be someone other than herself, and he of all people understood that more intimately than most.

"Here," he said gently, and took the bottle from her, pressing the empty cup to her palm. "You should have a drink too."

Never mind that he fully understood the consequences of such a thing. He had lived through much worse, and if this sort of thing happened once every five years, it was a small price to pay for a woman's happiness.

She shook her head. "No, I didn't come ta drink today. I just wanted to talk to ya - that's all."

He easily accepted the reason. Talking was easy enough, and though she was normally the sort of person who never continued a conversation with relative comfort, today she seemed more spirited, more animated than usual. Unlike him, she spoke to people in a straightforward way, without needing to obscure what she really meant.

Still, he couldn't help himself from asking another question.

"If that was the reason for the letter, why would you... " His voice trailed off, but his hand gestured towards her outfit, his meaning made clear.

"I didn't want to lose my courage," she said briskly, but the meaning of the words were lost upon Gintoki. "Want another drink?" she offered, and he nodded.

They chatted of other things then. Seita was starting to study for his high school entrance exams, Hinowa was in the process of opening other shops for former courtesans to run, and as for her...

"I s'pose it's time for me to step down," she sighed wistfully. "With tha level o' crime bein' reduced to petty theft, I don't see tha point in patrolling as much as I do..."

"Well, that's good! Everybody's wanting you to work less and relax more - "

"But I don't want ta retire!" Tsukuyo exclaimed, laughing. "That's all Hinowa wants me ta do - relax - but what do regular people do when they don't work? They grow soft. And then that's no good, either."

"I doubt you'd ever turn soft, Tayuu," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Outta all the things I know you for, soft isn't a word in your dictionary."

"My dictionary?" she asked, her eyebrow arched. "What do you mean?"

"No one would ever call you soft," he said, and mentally prepared himself for the kunai. To his surprise, none came.

"I s'pose not," Tsukuyo said, chuckling. "It's not very attractive ta men, is it? You all seem to like those daintier, nicer types, whereas us warrior-type women, we ain't the type ta ever get married..."

"I didn't think you ever cared."

There was a strange expression in her beautiful eyes as he lifted his own cup. She automatically filled it, and then let out a long sigh. "Well, no," she admitted. "Not until very lately... "

"So why the change in heart? Did you finally admit that you couldn't keep up this charade of abandoning your womanhood? If you did, then congratulations. You've finally seen what the rest of this town believes, and that you're really a strong, fine woman, but you're not a man. To which I say good, because men are rarely good people. We abandon our children, cheat on our wives, kill each other, declare war, break promises, and are too much of a coward to say we were wrong until we're on our deathbeds."

"I hardly believe that's every man," Tsukuyo protested, although she was laughing at the end of his monologue.

"Oh believe me, I've done my fair share of debauchery, my courtesan of death, and you've lived enough years in this town to pretend otherwise. So enough of this charade that you need to get married. Men are scum - I can personally vouch for it, as I'm a piece of scum myself. You don't need to get entangled with one just because you're getting older."

"But that's it, precisely. Don't you believe you're missing something? I thought I was fine, thinking that same way, but looking at everyone around me... "

"Well that's the problem, Tayuu. You keep comparing yourself to others, when really you were fine in the first place. Isn't that what it is about, this nonsense of seeing other people doing something and thinking you weren't good enough? It's a rat race. Designed for all of us to feel bad."

Tsukuyo couldn't help but to chuckle. The sake bottle rested on the lacquer tray, and she took out a small tobacco box along with her pipe.

He'd given her that same pipe for her birthday last year; he had lied to her and said that it had been a gift from the Yorozuya when the truth was he'd been working other extra jobs - shoving snow, selling roast sweet potatoes on the street - to save up a little bit at a time. All just to see that ephemeral smile once grace his eyes, and he could then perhaps live another day thinking of the What If's and the Maybes and the If Only's, and then move on to the necessary conclusion of It Was Never Going to Happen, Stupid.

"Do ya mind if I smoke outside?" she asked, gesturing to the engawa, and he nodded, rising to his feet. He wasn't boorish enough to leave her company, especially when she had invited him and was inexplicably dressed up for the occasion. There were silk pillows set out on the porch, and she gracefully floated down to one of them, taking care to tuck her feet underneath her kimono.

The moon was unusually full that night, and the view from their engawa - while not particularly special - showcased the celestial body in all of her glory. He carried the lacquered tray outside and set it on the floor as she lit up her pipe, taking a big exhale, careful not to blow smoke in his direction.

Tsukuyo finally spoke up, breaking the silence. "Hinowa wants me ta attend an omiai tomorrow."

Something in his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he waited for her to continue.

"Surprisingly, I didn't think it was a bad idea."

Thank God he had remembered to bring out the sake. He took out the other cup, poured out a small portion of alcohol, and thrust it in her direction. "You need a drink," he insisted.

What the hell was she thinking? Did this mean that she'd given up on him? Something in his mouth turned bitter, but another part of him mocked him silently. As if you did anything to prevent this from happening, he thought viciously, and he could feel the beginning of a bad mood forming in his mind.

She thankfully accepted the cup of alcohol and downed it in one go, much faster than he'd anticipated.

So she didn't really want it, then. He couldn't imagine why. Was there a single man who could deal with her temper, her hellish work schedule, or her inability to keep sober in the presence of booze? She would have to interview half of this city, if she was really intent on marrying someone -

"Gintoki," she said, hiccuping slightly.

He tensed. Waiting for that inevitable moment where her violent displays would wreak havoc, and yet, hoping for it...

"Yes?" he asked gently. "What is it?"

She swallowed, and then took a deep breath. Her eyes shone of a profound sadness. "Is it true, then? That ya don't care for any of tha girls? That you have no love for the women next to ya?"

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- tbc

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