The giant 'dai' bonfire still burnt on the hill, watching over us both in the silent night. The moon played hide and seek with the clouds, creating shadows that danced in the breeze. In my head, the song moonlight shadow started playing, and I found myself humming in the silence. It was a peaceful moment, suited to internal musings and contemplation.

The man by my side slightly shifted and I stopped at once, afraid I had offended him.

"What are you singing?"

I blinked, like a deer caught in headlights. Except that those eyes stole the breath out of me; much more efficient that any car's artificial lamp.

"Er...", I mused, looking for the proper translation in Japanese."Shadow of the moon?"

Hijikata lips curled, his anger pushed away for a moment. "Are you answering, or asking?"

Right. I didn't quite know to repond to that, wondering whether the volatile man beside me would explode or settle. His breaths seemed more even, but my chest couldn't seem to get enough air.

"Sing, then."

It was an order. If I'd learnt anything from Hijikata-san, it was that he commanded naturally. But singing, really? I took a deep breath. Well, it wasn't the first time I sung for other people. I had a strong soprano voice, and the memory to file up a hundred songs, in so many different languages. After all, in the past, it sometimes was the only entertainment to be had.

So I sung, gazing at the moon, the only piece of the song I knew. I couldn't remember the first paragraph for the life of me.

"The trees that whisper in the evening
Carried away by the moonlight shadow
Sing a song of sorrow and grieving
Carried away by the moonlight shadow

The man beside me only watched; I could feel his gaze, even though my eyes were closed. His inability to understand English – or so I surmised – didn't prevent me from starting at the words that came out of my mouth. It was an easy song to me, soft, and perfectly in my range. Much less difficult than an Ave Maria.

So why did I feel so breathless when I started the next paragraph?

"All she saw was a silhouette of a gun
Far away on the other side
He was shot six times by a man on the run
She couldn't find how to push through"

Guns. Shot. Death... I swallowed and opened my eyes, finding my neighbour lost behind the bangs that framed his face.

"I stay, I pray
See you in heaven far away
I stay and I pray
See you in heaven one day."

I just couldn't stop. Little by little, the words I'd never taken time to analyse sunk within my body. And I knew, in this moment, that it was my soul trying to communicate. Was Hijikata destined to die by gunshot?

Was I supposed to die as well? Meet him in heaven? Why? I couldn't think of it anymore, as the next paragraph popped in naturally.

"4 a.m. in the morning
Carried away by the moonlight shadow
As I watched your vision forming
Carried away by the moonlight shadow"

I just couldn't stop, the words picked up from my subconscious. As if, by singing them, I unravelled the tale of future events. The knowledge was there, buried inside me in a song I'd not heard for years but kept pouring out of my lips.

"Caught in the middle of a hundred and five
The night was heavy and the air was alive
She couldn't find how to push through"

I breathed out. Wow. I had never experienced such a thing. It was entirely surreal. If the Vice Commander had caught my state of unrest, he didn't push me. His words, thought, weren't casual.

"Well, Kitsu. You can sing, and hold your own with a blade. Travel through space and time, and keep Sanan-san on his toes with mathematics. What are you doing here?"

The compliment – the statement – was buried under the significance of his next question. Hijikata was a commander; he looked after his men, and kept danger at bay.

"I'm meant to help the Shinsengumi", I revealed. "That the only thing I know."

Would the antibiotics manage to save Okita's life? Surely it wasn't as simple as this. Else, I wouldn't be here anymore. Or it just wouldn't work... That though alone sobered me up.

"You'll have to improve your sword work, then. Perhaps Saitō would be amenable to teach you."

No matter how true it was, the words stung. Yes, I had much to learn still, and who knew how much time I disposed of? Still, I wanted a little payback, and smirked to hide the hurt, so I settled for gentle teasing.

"You know", I eventually started. "Saitō and Okita spoke of your skill."

Hijikata snorted derisively.

"Right. You know that Saitō deviced his own technique, at twenty-five. This man is a genius."

I frowned, remembering one of our first conversations, watching snow fall on frozen ground. The immaculate blanket was but a memory; the sharp and stingy air had now been replaced with a moisture that clung to my body. I remembered the conversation clearly enough, though.

"Isn't Gatotsu evolved from your own technique?"

He sent me a shocked look, and I roamed my brain to find the name Saitō had taught me. Fortunately, I possessed a very thorough long-term memory. The commander grabbed the bucket, and cupped his hand to gather some water. Gracefully, he drank some of the fresh liquid while I reflected upon the codes of Bushido, and the strong commitment those men had made. They lived by the sword.

"Hiratsuki?", I chanced.

Hiratsuki, a simple thurst blow, was a technique more adapted to street fights than duels. The blade, parallel to the ground, could either pierce, or slash should the opponent evade. Saitō had embroidered along that line, creating the gatotsu which was exclusively left-handed. An incredible thrust that could rival Okita's own sandantsuki – triple thrust blow, head, shoulder, shoulder.

Too bad I'd never seen them spar together. Who knew? Maybe I would see it happen, someday?

"You are way too knowledgable...", Hijikata grumbled, setting the bucket of water between us. Strangely, the usual threat was absent from his voice; yes, I knew much about the Shinsengumi now.

"I happen to talk to people nicely", I quipped. "That's why they answer."

Perhaps it was a low blow ... enough to set my ill-tempered neighbour ablaze. Be he ignored me altogether, eyes lost in the night. "They don't need me anymore", he drawled. Yes, drawled. I never thought the rigid Vice Commander would ever alow his words to slurr, he that always sat with his back straight, and only used searing sentences.

Did he not see how indispensable he was to the Shinsengumi's balance? That if Okita enjoyed teasing him, it was because he never broke? That Saitō looked at him as if he was the sun, shining upon him? That Kondō didn't mind leaning upon his strength when his own shortcomings plagued him.

"I highly doubt that. The captains look up to you, and I doubt Okita would do without you either."

This time, he groaned pitifully.

"Sōji makes my life utterly miserable. I could have spanked him when he was young, but he's stronger than I am now."

I bit my tongue to avoid laughing outright.

"My little brother grew up too nicely too. He can carry me on his shoulders now ... and throw me in the river when he feels like it."

The commander gave me a puzzled look, borderline amused. He entirely ignored the fact that his little brother in all but name had been dying of consumption until then. Strange, how one's image couldn't be shifted to accommodate reality. But this was a subject for another day; Okita was an incredible swordsman, technically speaking. He had the guts, and the will to go got the kill. Yet...

"Allow me to doubt, thought. I'm not sure he'd beat you in a FAIR fight."

He gave me a 'duh' look that was so unguarded, so out of place on his usual stern features that I almost giggled. Almost.

"Okita is our best swordsman."

Technically, perhaps. Especially with Saitō gone. But after tasting the other end of his wrath, for real, I could hardly agree.

"Listen. I've never met a man who fights like you. And I've met quite my share of warriors, mystical and all."

Even Tristan, with all his skill and grace, didn't reach the point where his aura had crushed me into surrender. But I'd seen this kind of swirling anger, this aura of agressiveness on elves on a killing rampage. The only difference was that it possessed them, sometimes, rather than the other way around.

Hijikata had shown me he mastered it. This, in itself, was an extraordinary feat.

"Actually", I mused. "The only ones that match you are not human."

The commander – no, the man – by my side shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the underbushes under the faint light. This was a strange sight; there were so little seats, in Japan, that I always saw the warriors cross legged or sitting in seiza.

"This is a disturbing thought, Kitsu", he said, his voice rumbling in the silence. The sound of my nickname told me most of the storm had passed, especially when he turned to me, his features earnest. "Are you implying that I am not human?"

For once, there was no threat, nor any trace of anger in his tone. Mayhap the fight had also drained him for the night.

"No. I'm implying that you have taken the warrior's spirit to another level altogether."

I wasn't sure he understood what I meant; I would learn, much later, what havoc those words had caused to a man who'd never been recognised as a warrior. Lost in my analysis, I realised why people called in Oni.

"Your nickname makes an awful more lot of sense now that I have been at the wrong end of your sword."

He tensed, shifting back to a dominant position by my side. He was much taller than I, and I could smell, from afar, the lingering fragrance of alcohol. My nose scrunched; I really hated it. But it this was what it took to finally have a conversation without shouting, I'd take it.

"I didn't chose to be an Oni."

"Didn't you?"

Oops. Fortunately, my retort caused him to pause rather than bite my head off. I knew Hijikata had written the code of conduct for the Shinsengumi, and that he was responsible for enforcing it. It took a strong leader to manage such a feat, one that couldn't be bent, or be swayed like Kondō would.

He couldn't possibly ignore the fact that his nickname also was the cause for unity in the ranks. The men feared and admired him equally.

"Not entirely."

The admission caused my heart to warm; at last, we were speaking frankly. And that slight opening in his armour gave me a glimpse of the man within. I hoped he wouldn't be angry, tomorrow, about speaking honestly. Hoped he wouldn't pin it on the alcohol, or worse, accuse me of prying information out of him when he was drunk.

I sighed; there was no predicting Oni no Fukuchō. The swirling moods were part of his charm after all. Still, I should send him back to his room to sleep it off. But now that we were outside, enjoying the cooler breeze and a moment of peace, I was the one who didn't want to leave. There was an odd sense of companionship, sitting in the night, speaking softly as nocturnals went on with their routine. I took a gamble, there, and decided to pass yet another invisible wall:

"I guess that Toshi-san is a different man from Fukuchō."

Silence. He threw me a glance, his eyes hidden by his framing hair, curious. So I went on.

"I knew a King, once. Well, two, actually. I saw how the public persona had to be unwavering, unyielding. Being the leader puts you in tough spots, it shifts the balance between friends as well. It's heavy upon someone's shoulders, but you bear it with grace."

"Do I, really, Kitsu?"

Once more, I was struck by the familiarity of that nickname, especially without the standard suffix. I nodded, hoping to convey my feelings on the matter.

"You're like those fingers in one hand, all interdependent. Okita may behave like a brat, but he'd be lost without your guidance. If he ever had to take that mantle, he might understand."

"Let's hope he never has to."

I nodded. "Agreed. He's an excellent swordsman, but he's not a leader of men."

Like you are. It was implied, but the words wouldn't come out. Hijikata's eyebrow shot up, and I pointed to the bucket once more, hoping for a disctraction.

"Don't get dehydrated, drink some more."

Of course, Fukuchō being his standard self, didn't obey my command. I wondered if Chizuru had more luck, with her gentle disposition and total lack of authority. Perhaps those two would fit together? She was his page, after all, albeit I suspected her heart was otherwise engaged with another opposite.

A moment of silence settled once more. Hijikata's strong fingers dropped in the water, absentely playing. As if he debated his next words. He usually didn't, so I braced for impact; whatever would come out of his mouth would either be very harsh, or unusually kind.

"You kept things form me. I hate that I can't trust you."

Despite the impact, I was surprised to find myself privileged to hear real emotions expressed. Hate was such a strong word. It quite didn't fix the issue, though; there was an intruder, right in the heart of his Captain's lair, whose intentions were unclear. Of course, the commander would see me as a threat.

But what else could I do?

"You made a prisoner out of me, Fukuchō. How could I trust that you would not lock me again?"

"Tch. Only children don't own to their mistakes."

I huffed, pissed that, once more, he was attacking me. Belittling me. I felt like grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, felt like yelling my heart out in his face.

Who are you calling a fucking child? I killed my first man before you even did. My body count is probably higher than yours! Instead, I poured my anger into a bottle, and carefully screwed the lid shut.

"I was chosen, I can't help who I am. Being the Keeper of Time isn't a child's mistake."

"It still is major information", he cooly responded.

My voice was sharp, unforgiving when I retorted hotly.

"And it is mine to distill away."

Deep breaths. Once I was calm enough, I caught his gaze. The breeze played with his loose strands, alternatively exposing and hiding his cheekbones.

"The unknown is not good to warriors. There are many possibilities for any secret to go wrong."

"Just like Chizuru's?"

So far, her status, as Oni, had been the cause of deadly attacks upon the Shinsengumi. Yet, they still protected her fiercely. But she behaved like a helpless girl – and she was seventeen. Okita, himself, might not have woken up from his head blow.

"She was unaware of her condition", Hijikata retorted.

I bit my tongue, hard, to keep from airing Chizuru's secrets out. It was not my place, and using her previous knowledge of that healing factor to defend myself would be childish, at best. In spite of Hijikata's accusations, I was an adult. Tighly wound, but an adult nonetheless.

"Listen", I tried, finding the injunction sour in mouth, for who commanded the Oni no Fukuchō? "Have I ever made you believe I might be a danger to your men?"

I hardly caught the flash of disbelief in his gaze before his features closed.

"You are a walking danger, Kitsu", he responded, his expression telling me it should have been obvious. I felt my eyes widen. "What?"

"You took Saitō down. Held your own against me. You are danger inside our very core."

I blinked, unable to see myself as a potential danger. I'd been so used, in the past, to be the least gifted fighter. The young woman, or the girl they had to protect. And, month after month, year after year, I had learnt, bringing me to the point where I could now survive full battles. And a fight against someone like Hijikata. Yet, deep down, I still felt inadequate; I had not accepted this evolution of my skills at all.

The commander throwing this to my face gave me much to ponder about. Wasn't it all about intentions?

"Surely you've seen how I protected Kondō-san?"

"You have protected yourself, Kitsu. And become close to Kondō-san. And Sanan-san as well. Two out of the three commanders. Do you not see?"

Puzzlement engulfed me; Hijikata was laying at my feet his doubts, without any filters. A strange show of trust for someone who doubted my intentions; perhaps he wanted to force me to reveal my hand?

Still ... trust had never been a problem before. Well, almost never. The fellowship had trusted me implicitely since both Lord Elrond and Gandalf had vouched for me. As for Arthur ... he was like Kondō-san, a trusting fellow. And there were no need for spies in the 5th century. Politics was fairly simple. His scout, though, had been another affair. Given how Hijikata reminded me of Tristan, I might have a chance to pull through.

I chuckled darkly. One day, with his dagger at my throat. Fifften days later, kissing me before dying in battle. Yup, I'd won the battle of trust against Tristan's distrust fair and square.

"What can I say?", I smiled sadly. "People love me, I'm just adorable that way."

"That you are", Hijikata chortled, the laughter in his voice so different from his usual thunder that I perked. I'd never heard him laugh; it felt like a boulder running downhill. Then, he sobered up. "But I still don't know your intentions. And since both my comrades are compromised..."

I huffed. Japan's politics were complicated. This wasn't the Middle Ages anymore. Spies existed, women used their wiles to extract information, and my Kitsu persona was part of the game. Even though I didn't like the suspicion, I was glad to, at least, be able to understand his point of view.

"You are the only one that keeps a clear head. I get it."

He snorted derisively; my eyebrows knitted. But he didn't explain, settling for a statement that got me puzzled. "I told you before, Kitsu, you are far too forgiving."

Uh? It wasn't a compliment. His tone conveyed as much. Was my inability to hold a grudge suspicious, maybe? I dropped the matter altogether, musing on how to mend that chasm that kept us apart. For now, I was attached to the Shinsengumi. I wouldn't throw my life away for every single one of them, but their safety mattered to me. Everything had a reason, and the Valar had sent me here for a purpose.

"Right. So... If you want to know more, you can ask, and I promise I will answer. Is that a truce enough for you?"

"The honest, complete truth?"

Defiance laced with hope; Hijikata debated whether to trust me, or discard my words altogether.

"I am loyal, and honest. As in, I couldn't lie to save my life. I promise."

True; I'd never lied to them, only partially hidden the truth. I had become an adept at hiding information after my first missions.

"Gi and Shugi. Two principles of the Bushido", the commander responded. Then he bowed, slightly, and I knew my offer had shaken him. "You are indeed a warrior, Kitsu."

The kindness of those words, coupled with the earnest regard in his gaze warmed me to the core. I'd have to learn those principles; I should have, already, since they were the pillar of the Shinsengumi.

"Yes. I'd appreciate if you kept it for yourself, though", I added in a second thought. Speaking of elves and magic shouldn't quite make it to everyone's ears. Especially now that dumbass Kazama had decided to steal my blade. Unfortunately, my request shattered the truce this very instant.

"I'll share what I damn please!"

Hijikata's harsh words slammed into me like a wall; had I just crawled in the sand, foot by foot, to the top of a dune only to be pushed down the other way? Defeated, I threw my arms in the air.

"Damn it, Fukuchō!", I growled. "Are you ever satisfied? I'm offering parts of myself I usually keep hidden for my own safety. It is so hard to appreciate it?"

Instead of yelling back at me, the commander lowered his gaze with regret.

"You understand why I can't."

Fukuchō. He couldn't stop being the commander, even though he might yearn to. The burden of leaders. I sighed so dejectedly that I even pitied myself. It was late, and the others had still not returned. This conversation drained the last of my energy, and I needed to reflect upon it. To decide what I should do; stay, or leave altogether?

Debating whether my room, or the rooftop was the better place to meditate on those thoughts, I stood. A hand landed at my wrist, encasing my linen tunic in a firm grip.

"Speak your mind, Kitsu. I won't fight you again."

Weird statement, for someone who'd never hesitate to pick up a sword to protect his men. And he had made clear that he didn't trust me. I cocked my head aside, studying his features. They betrayed nothing more than his certainty; Hijikata Toshizō would never lift a sword to me again. As sure as the sun rose in the east, as steady as the heat in Kyōto's summer. He didn't doubt it, even though there was no rational explanation for it.

After his hunch the day of Kondō's attack, I was left wondering if, maybe, our Oni no Fukuchō didn't have the same type of premonitions I was plagued with.

Instead of pointing it out – he was still slightly drunk, and I not in the mood to brush mystical subjects, I decided to speak from the heart. There was nothing I wished more than to earn his trust.

"That may be wistful thinking", I eventually said in a surge of courage. "But I really hope that someday, you will look at me with pride."

"Pride?"

Surprise. Yes, pride.

His hand released my wrist as he stood, shadows growing around him as he blocked the moonlight. Hijikata was a wiry man, but the layers of clothes and the cut of the hakama gave him this larger-than-life aura. As he contemplated my words, standing still in the eerie night, I tried to find the right words to make him understand. I didn't want to appear too pitiful, but I was tired. Dead tired, from my evening of vigil, and that blasted fight who had taken the wind out of my sails.

"Anything other than anger would do, actually" I murmured. "It'd be a nice change."

Slowly, his head turned to me, bangs dancing in the breeze around his face. His eyes, usually strained at finding flaws, studied me with more benevolence this time. His features softened, the lines at the corner of his mouth slackening. I didn't dare move; I would have given more than a thousand pennies for his thoughts. I watched, mesmerised, when something clicked in his gaze.

Both his hands lifted to frame my cheeks, his palms hot on my own skin. My breath caught.

"How's that, then?", he whispered, one of his fingers sliding upon my cheekbone.

The contact caused my whole body to hum, all my sensations concentrated upon the warmth of his touch. When he dove forward, like a samurai claiming first dibs on a fight, I could only freeze. His lips crashed into mine, bestowing a long, if not sensual kiss. He smelt of sake, but not only. Underneath swirled a warm, masculine scent that tingled my senses.

It was over before I found the courage to respond. Would he even want me to kiss him back? My hands ached to explore his shoulders, to curl at his nape. But Hijikata was already gone. Stunned, I watched him walk away with long, purposeful strides, raven ponytail dancing with his steps. Like a tsunami retreating after wreaking havoc on my senses.

My fingers touched my lips, seeking a contact, just to make sure that I wasn't dreaming.

Well. Not so clear headed after all.

So I'm pretty proud of myself. It took only 60,000 words for a first kiss. I'm getting better at rushing my characters: D Or maybe that Japanese commanders are less shy than arthurians knights, and princeling elves.