DROPS OF BLOOD AND FELLOWSHIP

By MICA-CHAN

He sheathed the sword and turned his back to the lifeless body stretched on the street. When would this people learn? They were being crushed one by one, and still, there always seemed to be another one from where the first came. A boundless factory of traitors.

He got into the house and put the sword away while cleaning his hands and face. He was tired and hiding his pain took way too much of him then he first thought. But the duty impelled him to continue. The duty and, he had to admit, his pleasure for the fights. He still didn’t find joy equal to that of unsheathing the sword and pushing the enemy to his best.

There were days when he asked himself if he had bonds to his own life. The truth is, he didn’t know. He was raised to give the best of himself, trained roughly, surpassed his own limits, improved his technique and had conscience that few were those who could stand a chance in a fair battle with him. And still, the excitement he felt when he first touched a sword was always there. But the fear of death was something unknown to him.

Suddenly, he felt a pounding pain on his chest and the deadly cough that had been serving as company for three years once again bathed him in blood. He looked to his own hands stained with the red liquid and cursed that disease. He didn’t fear death as long as it were honest and worthy. But what dignity is there on succumbing toward such damn disease?

He knew his time was exiguous. He could feel his life fading away day after day, but he refused to accept that something that banal would harvest his joy on the simple moments. And that’s why he dedicated with even more tenacity. He wouldn’t let anyone realize his condition, neither would he become soft toward his men. He went through hell to get where he was, and wouldn’t let his own body betray him.

“Okita-san, are you alright?”

He turned around surprised to hear 3rd Division captain’s voice.

“Saitou-san! I did not know you were here.”

“There was not much to do out there.” He strongly glared at the other man. “How do you feel?”

“Oh”, he answered with the usual smile. “Very good.”

Saitou walked to his friend and watched the pale skin and the trickle of blood in his lips, despite his juvenile smile.

“If you say so...”

Okita turned his back to the other captain and once again began washing his hands and face, getting rid of any trace of that disgusting disease. Saitou stood still, looking at him from above. Sometimes the difference between their size would annoy him.

“I believe I should congratulate you for the battle against the lad. Battousai’s technique is definitely extraordinary and the two of you together was a memorable spectacle.

“Hmph”, Saitou moved away, slightly irritated. “It was shameful. I should have been able to finish him.”

“Yes, you should. But if you were not equally good, we would not be having this conversation.”

“That does not justify it.”

The boy smiled as a reply and put his sword back on his waist.

“In fact. However, your situation is still better than mine, don't you think?”

Saitou squinted, showing concern.

“No. You could have defeated him if you were well.”

Shinsengumi 1st Division captain lifted his shoulders in disdain. “I believe we shall never know, right?”

Saitou leaned on the wall and lighted a cigarette up. He watched as Okita removed some hair out of his eyes and looked to the sky, thoughtful. Okita-san was an amazing young man, he had to admit. Whoever saw him with his fun and gentle appearance, would never imagine how lethal he could be. Maybe that was exactly what most intrigued his friend. He was a master with swords, loyal and obstinate, and still, could be lovely as a person. His fragile appearance and his young face would bring forth the instinct of protection in people.

But truth is, as much concern Saitou would bear toward the bud’s welfare, Okita Souji didn’t need to be watched over.

“Saitou-san.”

The boy saw the other tremble when hearing his name. Hajime had been watching him for quite a long time and he knew what went through the swordsman’s mind.

“You shall not waste your concern.” Okita’s eyes closed and small dimples appeared on his face while he smiled. “Of course my health lacks care, but I believe my skills are beyond that.”

Saitou’s eyebrows lifted, in a look pure sarcasm.

“And do not make that face. Do not mock me for I am still alive.”

“I did not say a word!”

The lad walked to the 3rd Division captain and lifted his head, looking at his eyes. “Why not show me how great your care is and offer me some good sake?”

“Sake? Right now?”

“The time is just as good as any other.”

Saitou bore Okita’s intense look. A man who is ready to die, but not to quit nor weaken. He got rid of the cigarette and agreed with a half smile.

Even if you do not want me to, Okita-san, I shall do my best to keep you alive as long as your body will permit, thought Saitou while following the friend outside the house in search for the promised sake.

THE END.

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28/12/01.
Notes: It’s very short, I know. But since I’ve seen the OVAs I’ve fallen in love with Okita-kun. If I did both OOC, I’m sorry. That’s my first fic with Saitou and Okita and, believe me, it was not easy. Both are too difficult to write about.
Well, as my English is terrible (I’m Brazilian, so I speak Portuguese...my English is good enough to read and understand, but not to write a beautiful text. At least, not so well as I do in Portuguese ^_^), I asked to a dear friend to translate to me. He knows who he is...and I am very, very thankfull for his work.
Feedback: gwydion_mordred@yahoo.com.br / mica@Aoshi-sama.zzn.com