It was Hajime Saitou whom
he’d last seen at Toba Fushimi some
months before. Saitou’s gaze flitted towards the note Toshi held in his hand.
Understanding, he opened it and read.

Okita-san’s spirit is
shrouded in darkness and it cries out for you. He hasn’t much time in this
world. He’s at the quarantine hospital in Edo. Nagakura’s sister is his nurse.
She’s been by his side for days not wanting him to be alone when the end comes.
Go if you can.

Toshi made a move to stand to
question Saitou further but the other man shook his head and stood and Toshi
saw why it had to be this way. Saitou was wearing a uniform reminiscent of
those worn by the new Imperial military. So, the rumors he’d heard of his old
friend and comrade were true. After
Toba Fushimi Saitou had been captured and had been given amnesty by the
new Ishin government due undoubtedly to his connection to former Bakufu high
officials.

In answer to the questioning
look Saitou gave him Toshi nodded and lifted his sake cup.

Toshi finished the sake then
looked at the silver pocket watch he’d picked up when he’d bought this suit. If
he started now he’d be in Edo before dawn.

“His room overlooks the
garden on the left side of the hospital at the rear,” Saitou said from the
shadows when Toshi stepped outside.

“When did you see him?”

“I wasn’t there in person.
His spirit came to me last night when I meditated.”

“Ah,” Toshi said softly
walking away, his surprise at the Mugai master’s unusual spiritual talents
having dissipated long ago. “Thank you.”

As he walked, Toshi checked
the inside pocket of his jacket. There it was an extra copy of the one
photograph he’d had taken just before coming here. He’d sent two copies back to
his family in the hands of young
Tetsu Ichimura partly to give
them a remembrance, mainly to shield his ever loyal young page from the
disaster that surely awaited up in Hakodate, where he’d planned to head tomorrow
to join forces with Enomoto and the other Ishin resistors.

It would be futile in the
extreme, they were out manned, outgunned and yet Toshizou Hijikata’s warrior
spirit would not allow him to quit the fight he’d begun so long ago. He’d vowed
to fight the Ishin Scum then and planned to go to his grave doing just that
now.

For a moment he wondered if
he’d feel the same way if Souji were well and with him. Would they have
committed seppuku rather than surrender or be captured? Would they have escaped
and embarked on this mad quest of rebellion together? Or would they have taken
the practical outlook like Saitou and Nagakura and surrendered, taken the
amnesty then faded into obscurity to live out their lives?

You could still do that, a tiny voice whispered from deep within him.

Perhaps. But then without
Souji’s smiling face to wake to and fall asleep with there wasn’t much point in
existing in this new Meiji world, was there?

# # # #

Edo

Sneaking in to the quiet
hospital was e and and a feeling as much as Saitou’s direction guided Toshi to
the private room overlooking the garden.
He slipped inside, crept to the side of the high western style bed where
Shinpachi Nagakura’s elder sister sat dozing, her hand resting lightly
atop Souji’s.

He placed his hand gently
upon her mouth and calmed her with a quick, whispered greeting when she started
awake. She relaxed, her dark eyes brightening and he moved his hand.

“Toshi-san, is it really you?
It’s been years.”

“A lifetime.”

Midori Nagakura nodded and
moved from the chair, motioning for him to sit. Her expression grew serious as
her gaze skimmed Souji’s face then returned to his. “His waking moments are
getting fewer, but his mind is clear. He usually wakes at dawn. I’ll see you’re
not disturbed.”

“Thank you.”

When Midori left and the room
was silent save for the labored breathing of Souji, and the faint stir of
crickets outside in the garden did Toshi look at his friend and former lover. He
reached out and took hold of the younger man’s hands that had once wielded a
katana with incredible force.

Souji had never been a big
man but he was so thin and frail now. So pale, so weak looking that it tore
Toshi’s heart to countless pieces. He’d trade places with Souji in a moment if
only he could...

His thoughts broke off when
Okita stirred and he gave in to impulse and brought Souji’s hand to his
lips.

With a rasping breath and a
half murmur Souji slowly forced open his eyes, blinking several times as if to
focus his sight. “Dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream...” His eyelids slid
closed once more.

“It’s no dream, koishii.
I’m here,” Toshi whispered, the fingers of his free hand skimming the side of
Souji’s face as he’d done so many times in the past to wake him after slipping
into his room.

Inhaling sharply and coughing
because of it, it took a moment for Souji to recover. But once he did he
offered Toshi a smile to so loving and heartfelt that it brought the rarest of
tears to the older samurai’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,”
Souji said, trying to sit up. “I hear there’s a reward for you.”

Toshi stood and helped him
then sat on the edge of the bed. “I was close, I had to come to see you. I’m
sorry I didn’t before—“

“It couldn’t be helped.”
Souji squinted and reached up to touch Toshi’s head as pink dawn light began to
filter in the window. “You cut your
hair. And those clothes...”

“What was that Sannan used to
say? I was always too fashion conscious?”

Okita offered a half smile
and Toshi regretted mentioning their old friend whom he ordered to commit
seppuku. Okiad bad been the one to deliver the final blow to sever Yamanami’s
head. If only he could go back....

“No,” Souji said quietly as
if reading his thoughts as he did so well. “No regrets. We agreed on that long
ago.”

Toshi nodded. “That we did.”
A shiver ran through him when Souji ran his slim fingers through his shorter
hair.

“I think I like you this
way,” he said skimming his fingertips down across Toshi’s neck to rest lightly
upon his chest.

Silence fell around them but
it wasn’t an awkward or tense silence but the peaceful type of quiet intimacy
that close friends and lovers shared.

All too soon the tranquility
was broken by a fit of coughing and Toshi watched impotently as Souji gave
himself over to it, turning away, trying to discreetly hide the bloodied towel
on the nightstand.

There was still a trickle of
blood at the left corner of Souji’s mouth and Toshi wiped it away with his
fingers then bent to place a tender kiss upon Souji’s lips.

“I feel so cold,” Souji
whispered in a voice that was clearly weaker than before. “Would you...hold
me?”

Toshi sat further on the bed,
shifting Souji so that he was nestled against him just the way they lay so many
nights in the past.

Souji breathed a familiar
contented sigh and relaxed, drawing Toshi’s arms in front of him like a
protective mantle.

They were still laying
together when Midori Shinpachi cin nin near noon to check on Okita.

“He’s gone,” she said. “He’s
grown cold.”

“I know,” Toshi whispered. “I
couldn’t bear to lem gom go.”

Taking a deep breath and
blinking back the tears he would not shed in front of another he finally
released his hold on Souji. He lay him
back, smoothed his dark hair from his pale, pale face and folded his hands
across his chest. Almost as an afterthought he remembered the spare photo he
had tucked in his jacket and placed it in Okita’s hands.

“Could you see that this is
buried with him?”

“Of course.”

# # # # #

June 20, 1869

Hakodate

Toshizou Hijikata drove
himself headlong through the fray at Fort Goryokaku , cutting down opponents
with his katana in one hand, a pistol in the other. The chaos of battle
engulfed him–-the crack of rifles, the screams of the injured and dying, the
roar of charging horses, the sound of clashing steel, the acrid smell of
gunpowder surrounded him.

Without warning pain seared
his chest, thigh and arm. Bullets. He
felt them burn, strike bone, drive him to his knees. He cried out when another
bullet grazed his temple.

Suddenly the cacophony
withdrew and a rush in his ears tore Toshi’s attention from the carnage around
him, the feel of blood soaking through his clothing, the weakness engulfing
him. He felt the warm June sun bathe his sweaty blood- streaked face.

Toshi.....Toshi.....

His vision blurring, Toshi
struggled to look towards the voice that called to him. He knew that voice. It
was...Souji’s voice...

The pain was fading rapidly
into the distance along with the chaotic noise of the battle. The sun grew stronger,
his body grew stronger yet oddly lighter. He stood, though it felt as if he
floated to his feet. He looked towards the northern stone wall of the fort to
see a black cat staring at him.

The cat hissed then purred
and looked to the wall as a ivory mist seeped through the stones from somewhere
on the other side. The mist swirled and thickened and in the center Souji Okita
appeared.

He looked wonderful, so
bright and glowing and full of life. And he was smiling the bright ever boyish
smile that never failed to warm Toshi’s hardened heart.

Souji held out his hand. “Are you ready?”

Toshi
stepped—drifted–-forward his arm lifting of its own accord. “Ready?”

Souji took his hand. It felt
so solid, so comforting, so warm and full of untapped energy.

Toshi shook his head, tried
to clear his thoughts that were so unusually muddled. He tried to look behind
him but an odd stern warning from Souji stopped hi:p>

“No. Don’t look
back.” His tone softened. “Leave it.
Come with me. Stay with me. Please.”

Toshi gazed at Souji’s
youthful handsome face. He never could deny the younger man anything. He felt himself smile and went forward. He
draped his arm around Souji’s shoulder and stepped with him through the vanishing
stone wall.

THE END

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