I’m not sure how well this is going to go over; it really is an odd little story. I just figured it was about time for one of my favorite members of the supporting cast to have a little fun. By fun, of course, I mean agonizing physical and emotional pain. Though, it is yaoi… what would *you* have them do for fun?

* * *

Sleeting rain knifed through the pine trees, soaking the packed earth of the forest path. It had been pouring since late afternoon; rather, it had been pouring for the last two months straight, but at least rain was preferable to the snow that had been threatening to begin for some days now. Occasionally, a flurry of it would spiral down to break the monotony, would dust the forest floor with a fine coat of white, like morning frost. But stubbornly the weather clung to the last threads of autumn, and as soon as the rain started once more, the snow never lingered long.

The fifty men on the road the to Kyoto, weighed down by precipitation, might have once been an unusual thing to see on a night like this, but seven autumns had gone by now, and there had been plenty of time to become accustomed to the sight of men in uniform. Their crimson coats were soaked through, stained with mud and torn and frayed in places, but there was a tremor that passed continually through their ranks, like waves in a glass bowl. A lightness – a buzz of conversation – that did not come easily to hardened veterans, but was natural for those new to battle.

Sagara thought it odd that he should be in such high spirits tonight. He was drenched through four layers of clothing, feeling the uncomfortable shift of his heavy tunic with each step. It was late, and he was tired; it was chilly, and he shivered. Mud sucked hungrily at his boots, drawing each step in to the ankle, releasing it reluctantly, with a sharp sigh. Yet still, he couldn’t keep away the tiny smile that kept returning to his lips every time he let his guard down.

It hit him hard sometimes, like a bullet, and he knew, knew with perfect clarity, that this belonged to him. When he concentrated on it, he could hear the mud at his back sighing beneath half a hundred other pairs of boots, could hear murmurs of gossip, hushed laughter. This was his, all of it.

"Captain?" A timid voice came just on the heels of the tug at his sleeve, and he glanced down into the dark eyes of the boy.

He smiled, that same weary, worn smile as always. "Yes, Sanosuke?"

"Are we almost there?"

Sagara chuckled softly, in spite of himself. "Almost. Are you tired?"

"Only a…" Sanosuke trailed off, swallowing a yawn, "…a little."

He gestured to point just beyond the crest of the next hill. The low-hanging clouds were stained with a dull yellow glow. "See those lights? That’s where we’re going."

Sanosuke nodded. "Oh. That’s not so bad." He grinned suddenly, and the rain almost seemed to recede a bit. "I bet you can even see it once we get over this hill." And without any more warning than that, he bolted.

"Hey!" Sagara protested, but there was no way he could have caught him; the kid was already gone. He laughed softly to himself. Sanosuke… he was one of the best of them as far as he was concerned.

When he reached the top of the hill, the boy was there waiting for him. He sprang to his feet as Sagara approached, and pointed down the slope. "Hey, I was right."

Sagara raised an eyebrow appreciatively. "So you were. Now… why don’t you run ahead and find us somewhere to stay, hmm?"

"Yes, Captain." Sanosuke bowed smartly, and then he took off again, only sliding a little on muddy downward slope.

It would be another twenty minutes, Sagara guessed, before the mud beneath their feet gave way to paving stones. When compared to all the walking they had done the past few days – not to mention all the sleeping on wet pine needles – that was nothing, and for a moment he was unnaturally glad he had decided to march the rest of the way into town tonight. He had done the right thing.

And wasn’t that always what always worried him the most? They had given him command of this army as though it were a trivial thing. Perhaps, to them, it seemed that way, but he knew… it wasn’t, it was anything but trivial. The Sekihoutai hadn’t seen much combat in the six months since its formation – not nearly as much as Sagara himself had seen while he carried a sword for the Shogun – but what they were doing was more important than war.

He believed that, really believed it; it wasn’t just something he told the men on rainy nights like this one. What they carried with them now was peace, was… resolution. And when compared to that, fighting was the trivial thing, as far as he was concerned.

Sagara glanced up, still smiling gently to himself, and he was surprised to find Kyoto’s walls towering above him. From behind him, he could hear relieved laughter, sighs and groans as his men stretched their weary limbs, but before he could turn to join them, someone called out to him.

"Captain! Captain Sagara!" Sanosuke reemerged, from a side street. "I found us a place," he announced, beaming. "It’s called the…" He tilted his chin back, chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "The… Aoi-Ya. That’s it."

"Good work." Sagara ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately.

The inn he had found was only a few blocks from there, tucked neatly on a side street. As they climbed to the porch, a slender woman with long black hair slid the panels open while she indicated the rooms that had been set aside.

Sanosuke lingered a while about the entryway while the others wandered deeper into the building. Sagara recognized his expression; he was waiting for something. All it took was a few more compliments, and a friendly clasp on the shoulder to convince him to be on his way.

The men withdrew, leaving Sagara with the longhaired woman who had shown them in. He watched her carefully as she turned away from him, the straitness of her spine, the set of her jaw… and he lowered his eyes a bit. "I appreciate you letting us stay," he offered softly.

"It wasn’t as though we had much of a choice." Her voice was even, without an edge, despite the venom in her words.

Sagara shook his head. "No… you should have said something if you didn’t want us here." By then she was walking, and he trailed her a few steps, unconsciously. "My men are exhausted; we’ve been on the road for weeks."

"I can see that." She took a side door into the kitchen, hair flicking out behind her as she moved. "You’ll all catch your deaths if you don’t stay somewhere, right?"

"It’s possible." Sagara stopped in the doorway, let his shoulders fall a little. Her voice hadn’t been so cold right then… or maybe it was just his imagination. "I have to take care of them, the best I can. You understand, don’t you?"

The woman turned once more, and her hair feathered before falling neatly down her back once more. "Perhaps," she said slowly, and held out a tiny white bowl of sake to him. "You’re lucky, you know, that you’re not like other soldiers."

"I don’t know… how I’m supposed to take that," Sagara admitted around a quiet laugh. He took the bowl from her with an appreciative nod. "Mmm, still warm. Thank you." He took one swallow, shivered as the heat sliding past his insides only made the chill against his flesh sharper. He drank again, and, with a grateful smile, passed the flask back to the longhaired woman. Murmuring a few more words of thanks, he slipped into the hall.

He knew now that he was exhausted; not that there had been much doubt before, but he hadn’t felt the sleepiness then – when he was around people, when he was still moving, determined and single-minded – like he did now. His eyelids fluttered heavily, and he stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.

And there, he stopped, mid-step, when he realized there were eyes on him, another gaze lingering heavily on the nape of his neck, just where skin became visible above the collar of his uniform. He gasped softly, near soundlessly, and he turned.

Shadowed like he was, Sagara could barely make out the boy’s face. A vein of moonlight spilled through the open screen behind him, haloing him in pale silver without actually illuminating his features. Just like a wraith.

Sagara’s lips parted slightly, and then the boy said, "you’re military."

"Umm… yes." Sagara smiled thinly, his eyes flashing briefly, nervously. "I am."

The boy stepped forward, just once, but it was enough to cast the light across his features a little differently. And at that instant, Sagara couldn’t even be surprised that his feet had made no sound on the wooden floor when he moved. "This inn has a good reputation," he said heavily. "It doesn’t need any trouble."

For a moment, Sagara couldn’t answer; he swallowed dryly. It was… something about those eyes, that frozen blue that pierced right through him, pried him open and pinned him in place all at the same time. "And we didn’t intend to cause any," Sagara said, as soon as he was certain he could answer evenly. "We’ll be gone in the morning."

The boy had lips that curved like a doll’s, and they twitched in stern discontentment. "I’ll have to insist on that."

"Really?" Sagara bit back a smile; this was turning out to be interesting. "And who might you be?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, long dark lashes catching a stray thread of lighting and splitting it in slats over his cheekbones. "I want your men out of here. By dawn."

And with that said, he turned to go. This time, Sagara couldn’t help it; he buried quiet, good-natured laughter in his palm, and then raised his hand to the stranger’s receding back. "My name’s Sagara!" he called. "Souzou Sagara!"

The boy snorted quietly, and then a shadow at the end of the hall swallowed him up, and he was gone.