#having a fucked up looking cat suddenly becomes a burden of other's grief

[skeletalcat]

we put my cat Nux down today :( :( :( Please look that these funny pictures of him from when he was young (but weird)

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

-----

To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.

[kondo-hijikata]

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata Rating: T Summary: Ibuki brings a robe to Okita. Okita brings it to Hijikata. No one knows the color, but it’s definitely not white. Major angst, sorry. [AO3]

.*The Robe*.

The robe was once white. But it wasn't white any longer.

Feet planted themselves before a battered wooden gate leading to the house he’d barely managed to find with such ambiguous instructions. And now more than ever, he wondered... Why? Why had this task fallen to his hands, when they weren’t even strong enough to hold a sword? It was unfitting at best and pathetic at worst. Surely, there was someone better, someone more worthy of seeing something of such importance through.

The answer, however, was as clear as the tapestry of stars above Ibuki’s head, shining unobscured and bright through the darkness. He’d been entrusted with this because he’d personally been there, beyond the latticing of fence and reaching out with desperate cries that left his throat sore even now.

Still, the responsibility befalling to him proved the taste of irony was more bitter than any medicinal herb, and his shoulders far too weak for such a burden.

Ibuki's face had been angled downward for so long that his neck ached, his expression contorted from attempting to repress the despair which encumbered his chest with such force that it was difficult to even breathe. His will had never been strong enough and as if to mock the characteristic softness of his spine, the tears defied such wishes easily now—hot and unending, pushing through tightly clenched eyes to bleed out oceans of sorrow.

It was intolerable and unyielding…a pain that cut so deeply that Ibuki felt his knees threatening to give way.

…Control. He needed to find control—or something to carry him onward so he could make it through this.

He held the garment closer to his heaving chest, clung to it as if this were his heartbreak to bear. And perhaps, in a way, it was; the owner was a friend, a true ally in troubled times—someone who believed in him and pushed him to do better. Yet, the depths of grief battering him raw also felt like an intrusion, for he’d only walked so far in the footprints of wolves. Ibuki’s love and loyalty had only reached a certain extent, and in turn, he’d never known what it felt like to be revered in the way a partner or son was.

So, certainly…

He straightened his back, squared his shoulders...

Certainly…his role in all of this was the easiest.

Despite mentally and physically building himself up to finish what he’d begun, Ibuki’s lashes refused to part. Therefore, he relented and simply took a moment to breathe deeply and focus—to listen to the sounds around him of vitality. Of birds chirping and insects singing. Of a gentle breeze, of a cat's cry in the distance. Of a world still so full of life, even when it could just...stop for someone on an individual scale.

And just when Ibuki had begun to find the makings of a path to calm within his surroundings, there was another noise: the creak of a door opening, followed by a soft cough and cracking utterance.

"I—Ibuki-kun?"

Ibuki’s eyes snapped open the moment when Okita's voice feathered into his ears, his stomach dropping as dread flooded through him; thrust into this situation without being ready, his mouth gaped, just to find the words failing him. Ibuki’s face felt wet and tense, hot from crying and yet cold against the night. With a shake of the head, he watched as his company’s gaze dropped to the robe he cradled.

When Okita’s attention landed on it, he froze. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. His lower lip fell for several seconds before one question was spoken—smooth and yet laced with trepidation. "…Whose...?"

Fireflies drifted about lazily as Ibuki staggered forward to close the space between Okita and himself, his legs like rubber and feet nearly becoming entangled from ineptitude. "O—Okita-san." Shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, his tone veiled by tidal waves of emotion beating ugly gashes into the fabric of his soul. “It’s—It’s—” Ibuki’s teeth gritted again while pearled beads pushed forth to escape his clenched eyes.

"It's Kondo-san's," Okita finished, barely loud enough to be heard.

Ibuki dropped his face and he choked out, "It isn't his anymore."

~

The horse galloped by starlight, sparkling droplets from its rider’s eyes carried off by the whisper of the wind. One hand gripped the reins, the other held the robe securely to an aching chest.

It used to be white.

It wasn’t white any longer.

And it was getting harder, so much harder…to breathe, to walk, to even think.

Still, the horse ran on, until a village came into sight and Okita dismounted and stumbled forward. And—there, on the steps, with his head bowed…

 “Hi—” Okita panted, feeling his lashes opening wide and the fury inundating him until whatever was left of his lungs began closing in. “Hijikata-san.”

Hijikata’s chin lifted quickly, giving show to black shadows beneath exhausted, heavy eyes and much thinner cheeks than memory served. “Souj—”

Silver flashed beneath the moon, one arm whipping the blade through the air until the tip pointed directly toward Hijikata’s nose.

With a gasp, Hijikata leapt to his feet, his shoulder slamming against the nearest structural beam as he grabbed the hilt of his own weapon. “What the fuck are you—?!”

“He loved you.” Okita’s teeth were gritted, his sword trembling with the tension in his muscles despite their depletion from illness.

The immediate confusion in Hijikata’s gaze morphed into dawning realization. And when it became clear that he was slowly piecing it all together, his mouth began to open.

Okita inhaled sharply through his nose, his voice shaking as he repeated, “He loved you so much. Why.” His chin raised and with a brief shake of the head, his shoulders raised in a half shrug. “I’ll never know.”

“...Souji.” The name fell in a hoarse whisper and then Hijikata looked past the steel...toward the garment Okita kept tightly clutched to the breast of his new uniform. Terror had never been openly present in the gaze of his commanding officer—until now. And seeing it only fueled Okita’s ire and anguish.

“But there is something that you can tell me, Hijikata-san.”

“Okita-san?!” Chizuru’s voice pierced the air from somewhere in the distance.

“Souji,” Hijikata tried again breathlessly. “Souji, is that—?”

Clenching his teeth tighter, Okita pulled the folded robe from where he embraced it and rifled it toward Hijikata as hard as he could. “Why the fuck didn’t you love him like that?! He would have done anything for you!”

The article slammed against Hijikata’s chest before he caught it, his fingers seizing the material. He stared at it blankly for several moments and then, it began to tremble within his grasp. Clamoring backward until his heel collided against the step, Hijikata crashed down to it again, his eyes closing and chest beginning to rise and fall with deep breaths.

“Okita-san!” Chizuru cried, much closer now. Two small hands grasped to his forearm and yanked with inconsequential strength. “Okita—”

“How could you fucking let him die?!” Okita shouted as he lunged forward, the pain in his tone so sharp it could have cut flesh from the way those around him winced. “It was your job to protect him when I couldn’t!”

“Souji!” Saito was on his left now, taking to a bicep and pulling him back.

“Okita-san, please!!” Chizuru pleaded. “Hijikata-san is injured!! He’s—”

Okita gave in, at last allowing himself to be drawn away for several paces while he took a good, long look at the situation before him. His brows narrowed as he observed just how worn and broken Hijikata’s appearance was—not just on the outside, but the way in which it seemed to radiate from the in. And worse yet, he still hadn’t opened his eyes. His arms had only tightened around the robe and—

“You…” Okita stammered in a whisper. “You didn’t even know…”

“Know what?” Saito asked pointedly.

Licking his lips, Okita’s shoulders slumped and he pulled himself free to sheath his sword. It was a hard swallow as he stared toward the ground, beginning to speak with strength, “Kondo-san…” But his voice faltered. “Kondo-san is dead.”

Silence.

“And. It’s his fault.” Okita lifted his chin, taking in the sight of Hijikata for the final time. “I will never forgive you.”

He pivoted on the soles of his boots and strode off, with Chizuru running after him in his wake.

~

The robe was white.

And now it wasn’t.

Now it was…filled with color. Blue. But not like the moonlight Kondo used to kiss him under at the Shieikan. It was blue, like the ocean of tears that stained it. Red from the bloodied hands that had carried it. Black like the void this whole world had become.

Hijikata lay on his side in a single futon, staring at the attire folded neatly before him. His eyes were wide open, his lips parted. Sometimes, he would become aware that he’d stopped breathing, so he would make sure he did that…until he realized he’d stopped again soon after.

His palm rested on the tatami, just beneath the material—until it suddenly lifted. Fingertips trailed up to the fabric. It was firm. They caressed the blue, ran over the red, swept across the black, and then closed in.

He thought of Tama, and the things said with hope.

“What do I want to do? I don’t know. Do you have any idea for yourself?”

“Me? I wanna be like Kanko, a real warrior…Ah…that sounds, uh. Sounds funny, right, coming from a farmer?”

“…No. Actually, that’s what I want too.”

Hijikata drew the robe to him and held tight.

Of Kyoto, and the things said with determination.

“Well, all we gotta worry about now is making a name for ourselves here.”

“Mm. You’re right, Toshi.”

“I swear I won’t stop until you’re the most exalted samurai in this whole country.”

He held tighter.

Of Katsunuma, and the things said with desperation before the battle of Koufu.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Toshi, I need you to go get reinforcements.”

“And I need you to not die here!”

And tighter yet...

Of Nagareyama, and the things said with love.

“Toshi, go. My hatamoto status will—”

“Your hatamoto status doesn’t mean shit to Satcho!”

“Then these are your orders! Hijikata-fukucho!”

He held so tightly that his arms trembled.

Of Wakamatsu...

“He loved you. He loved you so much. Why the fuck didn’t you love him like that?!”

“How could you fucking let him die?!”

“It’s his fault.”

And here Hijikata was now, with a million more things he wanted to say--of hope, of determination...of desperation and love and sorrow.

But it was useless to talk to a ghost, especially while sobbing into the robe he wore to his execution. Therefore, through his heaves, Hijikata made several promises.

He promised to build a fitting grave in a location Kondo would like.

He promised to not lay down his sword until Kondo’s name was cleared, until his robe was white.

He promised to train and develop the remaining Shinsengumi as best he could, so that their truth would live on.

But most importantly, Hijikata promised Kondo he would meet him again…somewhere out there, among the stars, some time soon. And at that time, he would throw his arms around him and never, never let go.

The sun rose the next morning. It had no right to. Still, its rays hit the window and crept across the floor, slowly, until it reached Hijikata and woke him with a gentle kiss.

His eyes fluttered...and then he turned away.

~

Hakodate 1869

There weren’t many things that Hijikata owned, but Chizuru still found it difficult to go through what was left of his belongings. Her hands drifted over books, over small containers. She lifted the lid of one and her breath caught.

This was... It was Kondo’s robe.

Squinting, she reached for the material--pristine and white, just as it had been all along.

[xottzot]

2017-11(NOV)-16th-Thursday--Perth airport planes terrible--Max tried to VICIOUSLY attack me this morning about 7am outside.

2017-11(NOV)-16th-Thursday--Perth airport planes terrible--Max tried to VICIOUSLY attack me this morning about 7am outside.

TELL ME I'M NOT IN FUCKING HELL!

TELL ME THAT DEAR SAM & MAX ARE NOT IN FUCKING HELL!

ALL last night bloody damn jet planes have been flying VERY noisily over this hellhole AND early this morning. And they are STILL doing that as I type this at 7am. There is no 'curfew' period of no damned planes flying over this residential hellhole area...that has LONG stopped existing. And it's just a memory of people like me who suffer it but are looked upon as fools.

Reading the pethetic sycophantic NEWS, these past weeks and months, the Western Australian government has shown everyone, even to those who refuse to believe it, that the government (Western Australian and Australian government) has been long planning, (and have long planned), and executing plans to actively support the massive Perth airport into becoming a megopolis, catering to massive influx of huge airliner traffic and to the same with aircraft pasengers. That is the most overt of signs. And it's all passed off as 'being good for the state of Western Australia and it's people'....the same shit that EVERY politician lies about.......

But what you do NOT see is the huge amount of air traffic that is also been going on and the past few days has suddenly increased along with massive amount of air traffic flying low over this hellhole day and night non stop.

Remember how I used to say in my blog that there would be certain days and time periods (ie. Mondays) when aircraft traffic would be so LOUD and terrible that no sleep was guarenteed? Well that is absolutely NOTHING as to what has been going on. It's WORSE.

It's like living on the deck of an aicraft carrier in wartime there is so much extreme loud roaring and shit going on with jets.

No sleep. - I can never go to sleep until close to midnight, and then it's just a very a short time...if lucky.

And I'm NOT the only one who wasn't able to sleep.

The damned weather is ramping up to be extremely hot and so I knew I'd be up early to feed dear Sam and dear Max to beat the morning heat that is guaranteed to go on and get worse becase there's supposed to be heavy thunderstorms so says the crystal ball forecast for this area...maybe. Correct forecasts never apply to this hellhole area. So no matter what, I have to accept that some rain might arrive (however how little), and prepare for it which I have been doing. And conseqently over the past days I have been doing outside cleanup work of this hovel which has let me in terrible pain. Physical work which dear Fliss would always helped me with and which benefitted us both despite it knackering us both. But now I'm all alone. And there is nobody and nothing but this fucking hell crushing me ALL the time and nothing but death ahead.

I let dear Sam & Max out early this morning just before 7am before it gets damned hot, and as always I had to go with them.

They were sniffing about a lot, as they have been doing a lot lately because damned feral cats and cats that idiot neighbours never constrain constantly roam about and shit and piss all over the place.

I saw Max eating something on a small patch of sand that I had days ago put there with a shovel to cover up some of the dog shit so they would not nose about it, and when I went to look, I found that it was a pile of CAT SHIT on top. That stuff is highly contaminated. It has lead to massive amounts of illness in the past with dear Sam and dear Max, constant throwing up and extreme vomiting inside this hovel at this hellhole which has to be cleaned up straight away. And by doing that I get physically sick from it all no matter how careful I am. - THAT situation has been going on and escalating for the past two years and is why I have been struggling to keep on top of it and ahead of it and to make sure it does NOT ever happen. But it happens EVERY YEAR NOW. The vomiting and illnesses of poor Sam & poor Max. The vomiting and illnesses to ME that result from it.

Sometimes it's been so bad that the shire puts out public notices for people NOT to damn well allow their cats to roam around lest the council will capture them and will result in the creatures destruction.

But as I and other neighbours have seen, that has done NOTHING at all. There is 'certain people' who may own these things and don't care what they do, or where they go. You know, exactly like the same situation with the certain criminals.

It's no good telling decent people who obey rules and laws to keep obeying when it's all never obeyed by the same ones all the time. Just look how many Police visitations has been going on this past week alone.

So I loudly told Sam to STOP eating the cat shit.

Then we all went to the back door of this hovel because I have to feed them. I patted and stroked both Sam and Max to reassure them and we started to go inside immediately afterwards so I could feed them and so we could beat the heat because it was already getting hot. And then, just as Sam and I were entering through the half-smashed door, Max started to attack me. Sam ducked inside and I slammed the door shut for my own protection.

Mas was slathering and vicious and attacked the edge of the door and has torn pieces out of it. Those pieces have been growing in size and severity.

The cat shit is still out there. - It's too dangerous for me to go out and clean it up and remove it as I have always been doing diligently. Sam is inside and shaking and terrified. Max is outside and vicious in the backyard of this hovel. I'm sure Max will be now eating the cat shit. BOTH dogs are going to be sick and vomiting everywhere inside this hovel. And I well get the blame because I ALWAYS get the blame for every fucking damn thing that is never my fault. And then I will get very sick, vomiting, and ill on top of everything else with not being with dear Fliss.

At the time of her breakdown and subsequent fleeing, she was trying to take away Sam & Max in 2015 but I knew she was in so much of her own troubles that she would not be able to stand or capable taking care of them let alone herself. I also greatly felt that she did not need that added burden. And then afterwards I learned that she had moved into living somewhere that for whatever reasons totally refused to have dogs, despite Fliss loving dear Sam and dear Max and myself, and all that has lead to further anguish and grief for us both. Had she taken Sam & Max with her, they would have been put down, executed.

People think that dear Fliss alone took care of all the dear dogs we've had and dearly loved so much over the years (including a dog Fliss and I considers we rescued) but it has been ME who has done so to a great deal to a degree that nobody knows or cares about, even when they were sick and dying. I would stay with them, sleep with them for reasurance, train them to be good dogs long before they were ill, and people marvelled at how well-behaved our much loved dogs were.

When it became right near their deaths, I could not stand it but I still kept up all my attention to them, having to help them inside and outside this hovel at all hours day and night, and clean up their messes from vomiting or whatever inside this hovel and outside. Fliss avoided all that. That's not to say she didn't do it or shied away from it but I did so much.

Such as sleeping outside with them when the poor dogs were so much closer to death and could not control their bowels and literally could not manage to get up the small low steps they used to happily bound up and down when they were younger, but could no longer even manage to accomplish doing that at all, either getting up or down. And so when at the vets when it was time to put them down, dear Fliss could not understand why I could not witness their deaths despite me wanting to comfort them, it was simply too much emotionally for me to handle. And for that I have been blamed.

It affected dear Fliss very badly too, but she tried to lie her way through it all. (she once literally physically collapsed crying onto the floor at the vets waiting room) - And all that affected her mind and psyche too which was deteriorating because of her medical afflictions.

All through my blog are so many things that I openly state and yet by doing so it leaves me to ridicule and derision from those whe have no idea and instead just want to blame ME for everything, especially and afterwards when dear Fliss had a breakdown in late 2015.

If I dare menton anything about the troubles (no matter how it may appear to others might might be minor or small to them) in life that dear Fliss and I were constantly assailed with, they all attack me as being 'weak', heartless, and as if I don't care about dear Fliss at all when that has never ever been the case and is the exact opposite of reality.

I constantly did so much all the time to protect dear Fliss from everything in life going on that was making life hard for her. Her medical illnesses were getting worse and worse, things that NOBODY, not even her friends, not even her closest friend dear Cath in Queensland knew about, because dear Fliss NEVER EVER told them about anything and if she did so, then Fliss would always dismiss it all flippantly and try to distract any mention or conversation away from speaking or knowing about anything. -- And later, should I ever try to say anything to anyone, they would say I was lying because THEY would accuse ME and say that 'Fliss never told me that!'. Even dear innocent Cath said that to me and treated me so very badly right when I have needed to speak to her she cast me aside and abandoned talking to me.

I DO love dear Fliss more than anyone wants to know or admits to want to know. But by even myself saying that, it opens me up to ridicule and derision. The SAME ridicule and derision that assaialed both dear Fliss (Felicity Ann Carthew, of Tamworth, New South Wales, Australia) and myself. People hostiley REFUSE to believe I ever love and have loved her. I DO love dear Fliss just as any man dearly loves his own wife and family. And so they blame EVERYTHING, even their TOTALLY IMAGINED IDEAS ABOUT EVERYTHING UPON ME.

And it's been far more than any honest, caring, loving person can stand. - I am cryimg now as I type this.

And poor dear Sam & dear Max have also felt totally abandoned without dear Fliss. NOBODY wants to admit that. - And it's no good for ANYTHING to help them to try to 'distract' them from remembering because they do NOT.

And their HELL goes on everyday and everynight, my HELL goes on every day and every night.

In late 2015, Fliss promised us to come and join her and we were overjoyed and she told us to do things to prepare to do that. And so we started to do that. - All this was going on in emails but even in those emails it was plain to see how much strain was upon her, internal and external. - And then suddenly ALL comunications just stopped from her or was prevented. And then I was assailed by somebody I have never met who blamed ME for everything and said I was heartless and to leave Fliss alone!

I'm over-simplifying the telling of the prossesion of events above. I've already long detailed in my blog what occurred.

FUCKING HELL IS WHAT I WAS THROWN INTO.

And then all the criminal shit around this hellhole began to get so much worse at all hours day and night. Drugs and viiolence and crime.

And the Police keep it all very quiet and unknown about and won't tell you should you enquire. And for the other crime and criminials in this area.....- And this is why I am always noting when the POLICE are visibly active because NOBODY believes me whenever I speak of it.

My life is now so much hell that if I ever tell ANY truth, then I suffer for it.

For Fliss herself long before I ever met her, she too suffered fro the same hell. And so Fliss learned to lie and to never tell anything other than what they want to hear. Those are almost her exact words she privately said to me which I was never suposed to tell anyone about and so I did not to abide by her wishes.

And then all the terrible aircraft around this hellhole began to get so much worse at all hours day and night. -- I know of at least one neighbur who left, and straight away their place was taken over by even more criminals. Then another and another and another......and another.....and even 'Ms New Ages' place was rented out to them, and look all through my blog to see what happened and how it gave sweet innocent 'Ms New Age' despair. - And is STILL trying to happen again even the past few days at this hellhole. (Possibly even last night.)

And there's a LOT more terrible shit that goes on that I never state in this blog. - There's no point. So I never speak of it despite it occuring and existing and getting worse. -- The Police now think that crime 'has dropped' because of hearing about it less, but their own reports and actions at this hellhole area put a lie to all that.

And dear Fliss is somewhere, living in New South Wales, and probably been lied to and told that I have abandoned her and don't love her and so many other lies but all contact has been kept from us happening.

When I am dead, the world may know I always told the truth no matter how I knew that NOBODY would believe me, the same as I suffer because NOBODY ever believes me. - The same was happening with dear Fliss. But I was supporting her in everything she did and she did with me whenever I needed it in life. The very things that anyone married does. The very good things that I was then accused of NEVER having done!

And anytime I have ever tried telling anyone anythig about all this hell, NOBODY has believed me. Fliss was always exploiting that and she made it appear as if she was the stronger in soul between us two. And with dear Fliss leaving, my soul was torn away from me.

If all this sounds bad for ME, imagine how poor dear Sam and dear Max feel for themselves and add to that all the shit that has gone on since dear Fliss left.

It's no good being brave when your bravery is derided much less ignored or cared about in this fucking world and life.

I don't know whether to try to fed dear Sam & Max now. It's already HOT outside where Max has been for the past hour and half. I'm going to now try to feed them. They have to be hand-fed their bowls of dry dog food because they chase them and spill them over everywhere which can lead to fighting over the scraps and I have NEVER allowed any of that to occur.

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Fuck it. - EVERYTHING is fucking HELL. And to be alive is fucking HELL in hell itself magnified.

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I love you dear Fliss and want to with you.