What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Stranded

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The world, strangely, still existed. And I had not turned into a ghost yet, or a spirit, or whatever Tristan had pulled off when he died. Ghost didn't feel pain, right ?

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the heavy weight pressing down on my lungs, mind hazy. My mind was a blur; I couldn't keep a line of thinking as light and dark took turns at my bedside. I was lost, most of the time, in fitful nightmares and horrible dreams of drowning. Too weak to lift up my pinky.

Sometime, a familiar touch squeezed my fingers tight, pulling me out of nightmarish delirium. It grounded me in that reality, preventing my mind from drifing away, trapped in a maze of traumatic experiences. There were so many ... too many. All my energy was concentrated on keeping oxygen in my lungs... there was none left to keep demons at bay.

And so they plagued my dreams. The people I couldn't save joined those I had killed, hissing at me, their eyes accusing. I had nothing to say to my defense as I watched them die, some of them by my blade. Others, because I was just a helpless girl playing with swords, a human found wanting for lack of skill, and lack of courage. Friends, even, frowned up me. Aragorn, scolding me for leaving. Arthur, shunning me because I had abandoned his newly appointed knights of the round table.

My ex-husband, accusing me of jumping into the portal of the necklace...

They were right, all of them, and I drowned in their reproaches, tears leaking down my cheeks. A gentle touch wiped them away. Low voices pulled me out of the water, once more, and I found enough air to remain partially conscious. Night had settled, crickets sung and a slight breeze caressed my face where the shōji remained ajar.

"Get some rest, Hijikata-kun", a silky voice sounded by my side. "I'll take the next watch."

"Keisuke...", the other man responded, squeezing my fingers. "You saved her life."

There was a moment of silence, heavy with meaning. So scarcely did I hear Sanan's name uttered by one of his comrades. It was a nice name, after all ... my head was floating with lack of oxygen again, but I felt someone shuffle by my side.

"The contact helps when she gets agitated."

"But it doesn't stop the tears", Sanan mused.

"No" the low voice added. "Do you think she is in pain ?"

"There is pain, yes", Sanan responded gently "But I doubt it is the cause."

Another loaded silence filled the room, and my barely conscious mind marvelled that they would know me so well. Perhaps the fact that I had never shed a tear when Harada took a chunk of my arm off was a giveway regaring my tolerance to pain.

"The laudanum can invite nightmares. Kitsu-kun has a troubled past", the Colonel chanced, shifting in a shuffle of hakamas.

"Yes. It seems as agitated as ours", Hijikata murmured, his rumbling tones soothing; I would never forget how it sounded in the dead of the night. Safety and strength.

"Three wars", Sanan mused, his smooth voice dissolving in the cicada's singing.

Before my watcher could leave, I managed to squeeze his warm fingers. A noise echoed at the back of his throat, filling me with hope.

Still alive.

A whispered conversation ensued that I was too far gone to follow. I drifted away, once more, like a balloon of helium caught by stratospheric winds. My mind snorted; another geology analogy.