What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Retreat

Standing upon the rooftop, I watched the low-hanging sky at those blasted cannons kept pounding. Sanan had returned in the middle of the night, covered in blood, with the grimness of failure hanging over his head. Neither Saitō nor the Rasetsu unit had managed to get the upper hand and sneak close enough to the cannons. I wouldn't have fared much better; they were right. But being here, unable to ripost as we were being pounded into the ground left a sour taste in my mouth.

At least, on the Man-o-war, we always gave as good as we got. Here, I felt like a sitting duck. How much would the magistrate withstand against a battery before the building crumbled down?

I had slept soundly, no dreams to account for despite the constant whispering and odd position. Toshizō's presence really appeased me. Somehow, the Keeper of Time never lowered her guard. But I trusted him to keep watch for me, and this was a premiere. It worried me, too... Should I really let go? How much relaxing could my warrior's mind take before it no longer was able to keep watch by itself?

And, most important of all, who would relay Toshi when he faltered? Allow him to unwind, once in a while, while someone else watched over him? The man was strong, sturdy, and reliable to a fault. Someday, those shoulders would crumble from the burden that constantly rested upon them. No one could remain alert years in a row, hour after hour, without burning out. Was I here to prevent him from becoming a fleeting brazier? Or just enable him to walk a little further down the line before we both were put to rest?

As I watched Kyōto's buildings burn, acrid smoke staining the air, I realised I wouldn't mind resting beside him in death. Buried in Japanese soil, in the 19th century, didn't seem so dire a fate anymore. Would it make my family proud? I'd have to pass on some documents to ensure they knew what had happened to me. The journal I kept should be enough. And, after all, I'd seen it in my mind; a vision of his beloved face as I choked on my blood, surrounded by cries and death.

It seemed distant, still, and I trusted my guts. I would know when the end was to come. And, hopefully, not with the Ochimizu. Just like Shinpachi, an hour before, I'd refused to take one of the last vials of magical brew – albeit without the drama. Hijikata said the Shōgunate had used them, so they got to use the Ochimizu in return to safeguard their lives.

I understood his point of view, but I needed to assess the situation from my own eyes as they debated the issue in the common room. Ochimizu, or not Ochimizu ?

There were only four vials left for Harada, Shinpachi, Saitō, Inoue, Yamazaki and Shimada. And I wasn't comfortable with the brew anyway. Cowardice or courage ? I backed away, leaving the decision to others, knowing Toshizō would gather what remained and make good use of it. Would he ask me to consider taking one for myself ? If he did, I would bow to his will.

If not...

Another rumble shook the ground. I watched the bullet's course with wide eyes, realising it came straight at me. I was about to bolt like a cat when it dipped, landing in a building nearby with a loud crash.

The common room !

I gaped.

"No!"

I nearly leapt off the roof. Stupid and reckless, but my heart threatened to spill out of my throat. Dread coursed through me as I ran, supple leather boots tainting the engawa, taking turns so sharply that I had to hold onto the pillars to keep myself aloft. Eventually, I skidded to a stop: the gardens were upside down, carefully lined bushes strewn apart, dirt smeared over ponds and polished wood. Fortunately, the building seemed intact.

My heart lurched as I burst forth in the room, eyes wide, only to find the captains in councils. Hijikata sat before them, the scabbard of katana planted in the ground, knuckles tightening around the weapon. His face was grim, blood staining the bandage at the back of his hand.