What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Reds and blues

That tightness in my chest was slowly abating, but not fast enough to make it comfortable. At night, it called for nightmares that left me sweating and panting. When the sun was bright, even though autumn had spread its influence over Kyōto, I found myself sitting outside for fresh air.

It wasn't enough, but Sanan refused to overdose my cobalt medicine because rashes were slowly covering my skin. The inside of my mouth, in particular, was literally bursting. So much that it was painful to talk and eat.

Kondō – bless his heart – was kind enough to visit. Despite the sunken slope of his shoulders, he enquired about my health, and even apologised for failing at protecting me.

It was difficult not to laugh at the preposterous claim but I knew how responsible he felt for my life. So, instead, I bowed to the best of my limited abilities, and reassured him that Itō-sod's methods were too despicable for the Shinsengumi to be guarded against.

This seemed to appease him, somehow, and upon seeing my struggles to breathe properly, he offered to guide me into some meditations to quieten my heart. Each session left me more rested. Sometimes, even, I wondered if I was going crazy; when I meditated in my room, the presence of the elvish blade seemed to call to me. Like a guiding light in the distance, brightening the lost traveller's path, it awaited like a beacon. One last present of distant elves.

When I emerged from my last mediation, I definitely knew I wasn't dreaming. Kazama's words came back to me full force; the blade, somehow, was bound to my soul. What it meant; I had no idea, but it certainly sweetened those long hours of suffering.

There was no doubt, now, that I was developing an allergy to cobalt. The skin rash was growing worse; my hands and feet were now red and swollen, and my mouth so unusable that I wrote instead of speaking. Eating was impossible, ulcers covered my tongue and gums, making the process too painful. Drinking was the only available option now, and Chizuru faithfully brought me cold soups. Even lukewarm tea was too painful to swallow.

Harada came with both Shinpachi and Shigeru. His son had grown a few pounds in the past weeks, and his cheeks were so puffed that it almost looked comical. The baka duo tried very hard to cheer me, and I found myself laughing at their antics. It was painful though; every smile caused my lips to bleed, and my mouth to scream in pain. Freaking allergies!

Though, seeing them happy, and parenting was worth it. Until Shigeru started screaming, and a panicked Sanosuke sent me a pleading look. I just shook my head; there was no way I would ever care for a crying baby voluntarily. Especially in my condition. I realised, though, that I never had the occasion to give Shigeru his wooden toys. The baby ignored them altogether; he was far too young to appreciate the present. But Harada received them with gentle care and gratitude albeit the wails of his son were fraying his nerves. Eventually, they decided to return the baby to Masa for a feeding, and I found myself alone once more.

No one spoke a word about Hijikata-san; I didn't see a piece of him other than the long ponytail dancing in his back from afar. Albeit, sometimes, I was pretty sure I heard his voice outside my room at night. This, alone, brought me a little solace. I somehow missed him, but was glad he wouldn't witness my demise; my face was pale and lips blistered. Chizuru brought me buckets of icy water from the well, it appeased my feet. The cold didn't bother me for it numbed my aching skin.

The worse, though, was that it itched. Pain, I could take. But this damn scratching skin kept me awake the full night until I decided to get another bucket from the well. I sat on the engawa with my feet plunged into the icy water with a sigh of relief. Body resting upon a pillar, I eventually found sleep with the elvish cape around my body, hand outstretched in the cold night.

Three nights passed the same way; the sole consolation was the improvement in my lung capacity. Even though my hands and feet were unusable, and I couldn't quite eat, I was now able to train a bit without becoming catatonic. Which was a great improvement. The weight upon my chest wasn't gone; that damn cyanide had done damage, and it made me crazy!

First, a concussion. Then, the attack at the baths. My necklace, stolen. Then cyanide poisoning. Of all my missions, I'd never been targeted so relentlessly. How much could I take? What would be the last straw that broke the camel's back?

"Kitsu-kun ?"

I blinked, finding Sanan standing next to me on the engawa. Damn, was I that oblivious to my surroundings that the rasetsu could surprise me so easily? I gestured for him to sit, and he settled with a forbidding look.

"Kitsu. We need to strop treatment. You are reacting too badly."

There it was, that last straw. Tears pickled the corner of my eyes and I shook my head stubbornly.

"Please, Kitsu-san," came Chizuru's voice from the garden below. "I see your suffering, you can't go on like this." Beside her stood Okita, and my mind drifted to the battle he'd won a month ago. If that how Tuberculosis felt? That horrible feeling of pressure inside one's chest? The sensation of drowning in your own lungs? That disease, that both Sanan and I had helped him vanquish... How ironic that the roles were now reversed. Except that there was no miracle pill in my bag to repair the damage the cyanide had done.

Every dose of cobalt restored a piece of me. We couldn't stop now. Even though the pain was a constant reminder of the price to pay, I was ready to endure much more to be able to fight again. I fished the notebook out of my pocket and wrote with hasty strokes. Both Okita and Sanan gathered behind me, their presence looming above my shoulder.

"I need to be able to fight for the Shinsengumi. My lung capacity increases with every dose."

"I don't really think it wise, Kitsu-san," Okita drawled.

I send him a look that should have sent him cowering but he only shrugged; his constant fights with Hijkata had trained him to be impervious to any glare.

"We both went through this, Sanan-san and I. There's only so much your body can take."

I froze, thinking about the reasons that had pushed Sanan to take the Ochimizu. A wounded arm, a crippling blow for a warrior. He'd risked his life to restore his fighting capacities ... what right did he have to ...?

"Can I, Kitsu-san ?"

I allowed Chizuru to reach for my hand to assess the damage to my skin. The poor kid still blamed herself for my poisoning, no matter how I told her that I didn't hold her responsible – and that Hijikata had been overly emotional. She took care of me to atone for her lack of judgement, and I didn't push her away. Her gentle hands prodded at my fingers; they had doubled in volume, red and swollen. Yet, I knew I could handle it.

"You can't keep sleeping outside with your feet in cold water. You will catch your death," the little lady said.

Shit, they know. I had been careful to hide from plain sight as I slept against the pillar. But it only took one captain to blabber. I squared my shoulders to prevent them from slumping, unwilling to admit defeat. I scribbled furiously, with the remaining hand, on the notebook.

"Pain is alright. I can handle more."

Sadness washed over Sanan's features, but he shook his head.

"You could go into shock. Your body is rejecting it."

Anaphylactic shock, this is what he feared. An idea popped in my mind and I sprung to my feet, running to my package. In my haste, I forgot to keep my efforts low, and found myself panting as I rummaged in the bag. Stupid cyanide! At last, I found what I was looking for, and turned to the three friends who had followed me inside.

I held a syringe of epineprhin, the perfect emergency treatment to anaphylactic shock. I made a show of injecting it in my thigh, but received puzzled looks. So I retrieved my notebook again, and wrote: "Emergency treatment in case of shock, very effective."

"I am sorry, Kitsu-san. I will not be giving you something that might kill you."

Poor Frances, eh ?