What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

A dance of masters

"Saitō-san, what the hell are you rambling about?"

"I ... I apologise for my nervousness, for what I am about to ask might seem slightly inappropriate."

What the hell. Cold, composed Saitō would never dare proposition me in front of Harada, right? The strictest follower to the code, Hijikata's most fervent supporter... He never would, wouldn't he? His cheeks were dusted with pink, and his eyes captured me in their depth. I could only stare, awaiting for whatever question he wanted to ask.

"Go ahead," I nodded, bracing for impact.

"Would you allow me..."

The effort it took to avoid snapping at him to be out with it nearly killed my self control ... but I waited, with bated breath.

" ... to examine your sword please?"

Those last words were assorted with a deep bow. I heard Sanosuke muffle his laughter – he and I were thinking the same thing – and I struggled so hard not to snort. Swords. This was it was about. And not in the sexual way. Saitō wanted to feel my elvish blade.

"Of course, Saitō-san."

The young man lifted his head, eyes wide with hope. He looked like a kid in a candy store, so enthusiast that I smiled broadly. I didn't entrust my weapons easily. Especially this sword. But to a passionate man like Saitō, I could allow five minutes of bliss.

Would he feel how special this blade was, or would it seem just technically different? I couldn't wait to hear his thoughts. Was the blade bound to me, alone, or would it sing for him?

Saitō was frozen, and I unsheathed the elvish sword carefully and laid it in his hands. Then, I stepped back, feeling strangely empty. As I retreated to the engawa to sit by Harada, muscles screaming in pain, my eyes watched the young man.

"Orgasme," Harada mouthed by my side, in French.

I shook my head, biting my lip. Of course, of all French words I taught him, he always remembered the dirty ones. Typical man. Saitō's awed features were worth a picture. I'd never, ever, seen him so transfixed. The sword was barely in his grip, and he was already gone to heaven.

"May I?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"It has a unique balance and dynamic. I trust you, Saitō-san. Test it."

I swore stars exploded in his dark eyes as he lifted the blade. Then, his hands fumbled for the right position.

"You can use either hand, or both," I instructed him. "It's a sword meant for close combat with numerous enemies."

The young man just nodded, twirling the blade once, twice on either side of him. Then he became a flurry of movements, a deadly dancer whose weapon swished in the air like a cord. I watched jaw agape, as Saitō and my sword created a world of their own. If his movements were graceful with a katana, he became as fluid as a river with the heritage of the Valar guiding him.

Damn. He was a much better fighter than I was. Sanosuke's slack jaw, by my side, told me he was as surprised as I was. I shrugged. The spectacle was worth watching. I wished I had a cell phone to record it, no matter what the consequences. In my effort to avoid time paradox and timeline issues, I took as little modernity as I could when I travelled back.

But this ... this would have done millions of views on YouTube. Shit. I wished I could commit every move to memory, but he was impossible to follow. His feet danced, his stance always balanced, turning and swirling. The blade went from right hand to left, sometimes passing through a double-handed grip, reverse, as was his way.

I realised that the elvish sword would be perfectly suited to his style, he who was shunned for being left-handed, and stubborn enough to refuse fighting the other way around. What courage, what conviction it must have demanded. I was in awe of a man younger than I was. A first.

Heavy feet stomped on the engawa, causing Saitō to pause. Both Harada and myself turned to see Shinpachi approaching, his usual vest too open for the beginning of winter. The man plopped down beside us with as little grace as a bear could muster, and Saitō unfortunately took this as his cue.

As he returned the blade to me, I wondered, briefly, if I should show them my magic trick. But Saitō's heartfelt thanks interrupted my line of thoughts.

"I can never thank you enough for entrusting..."

The young man's eyebrows knitted in a puzzled expression.

"... what's its name?" he asked.

I slightly reddened as I grabbed the sword and returned it to my hip.

"Er ... still thinking about it."

"You haven't named your swords, Kitsu-san?"

"What ?" Harada scoffed, humour dancing in his eyes. I swatted his arm, and sheepishly shook my head. This whole naming thing was disrespectful, and swore to myself that I would find appropriate ones for the two beauties resting at my hip. So I ignored the baka duo comments to turn to the young sword nerd.

"Help would be welcome, Saitō-san."

The man's lips pursed, and he bowed to me once more.

"It would be great honour to help you name a legendary blade such a this."

"Arigatō gozaimasu," I responded with a bow of my head. Saitō still seemed a little flustered perhaps a side effect from his previous high – but he sobered up the moment Shinpachi opened his mouth.

"The Shōgun's troops departed from Edo," he stated.

Silence greeted this statement.

WAR.

As I struggled to grasp the full implications of it, the captains were already diving into discussions of timing, numbers and weaponry. But I could only sigh in mock relief.

"Phew, and here I thought I was about to fight foreigners. That would have been awkward."

"You'd not fight your own countrymen for us, Kitsu?" Sanosuke asked, his hand touching the small of my back for reassurance. With how much time we'd spent fighting together, we had both grown used to each other's casual touching. Something I had not believed possible in Japanese feudal times.

People always surprised me.

"I don't care much for French. The food is good, but damn they complain all the time. It wouldn't be the first time I fight them either."

Shinpachi actually laughed, but Saitō looked shocked.

"Don't get me wrong. I love and respect my country ... much more than my fellow countrymen. We have courage. But no one threatens my friends and get away with it."

Hijikata's words filtered in my mind; this was the exact thing he'd told me about Itō.

The young captain just nodded; I'd never know if I had appeased him or not. My attention returned to the discussion. Despite his boisterous ways, and his disregard for ladies, Shinpachi was a fine politician. And so, while he explained the intricate technicalities of the Shōgun declaring war upon the Chōshū-Satsuma alliance – renamed SatChō –, I realised that my previous intuitions had proven partially true.

War with the foreigners wasn't going to happen after all, or not the way I thought they would. But war was coming all the same.

"We have a month, at best," Shinpachi concluded.

"So be it," I concluded.

Way to spoil the mood. But it was worth watching Saitō have fun with an elvish blade.