Birthday fic for one of my favorite female characters in any fandom.

Hideaki Sorachi owns Gintama. Love and peace. : D

In a display of relief that her day is ending, she wipes her brow and laughs. Such a day's business is unexpected for the ramen shop owner, who normally at around this time of year pulls meager, but steady enough sales. But this particular day's work simply blurs through her mind; the customers came steadily, and in droves, even, leaving her little time to dwell on the real significance of that day.

The stack of dishes is piled on her counter, adjacent the sink, and she can't help but smile. After all of the steady flow of customers, she manages to finish this day on a positive note, even if a particular long-haired idiot never came to visit.

Especially because he never stopped by today, she convinces herself.

She's way too hasty to assume that he wouldn't visit, though. Mere seconds later, as if her thoughts summoned him, the door slides open and makes that familiar clicking noise as it closes. She does not have to turn around to confirm that it was that man that had entered. In the entire time she has known him, she can sense that he's entering the shop merely by his manner of opening the door.

She sighs. Her dream of having a day pass without having to deal with his idiocy is simply that. Without hesitation, she addresses him with her back still turned to him. "You're late. The shop is closed, you know."

He smirks. "Who says I'm here for soba, Ikumatsu-dono?"

She's at the sink, continuing to scrub the dishes, as he approaches the counter and slides one of the bar stools closer to him. Without questioning why, she senses in that awkward silence that hangs between them a kind of camaraderie – more like a truce, really – that she's longed for, whether she wants to admit it. Even in her exhausted body, she can feel relaxed and calm around him and yet energized at the same time.

A smirk begins to form along one of the corners of her mouth. She continues to face the wall while the stack of dirty dishes dwindles into the stack of cleaned ones.

"Nonsense. I owe you."

Katsura's only reaction is that his eyebrows arched slightly. There might have also been a tiny smirk, but even that's arguable. What isn't open for argument, though, is how perceptive this woman is. Has she really figured out his plans? If she did, why, then, didn't she turn everyone away from the start? What is she trying to prove to him? Is she even trying to prove something?

He sighs, and after tucking his arms discreetly inside his haori sleeves, he continues. "I see. So, then, I hope my men didn't cause too much trouble for you today. If they did, I will-"

"I know what you were trying to do." Her interruption trails into a tone of sadness, with gravity now acting on her smile. The stack of dirty dishes soon disappears, instead with a different stack set up on the other side of the sink. She places her cloth aside, raising her head, but remains facing the wall. "I really do appreciate your effort. Your men were surprisingly polite, for what it was worth – some of them even tipped excellently. It's more than I could have ever asked for. But…" She turns, facing Katsura, who's still listening intently at the counter, and presents a thickly-stuffed envelope to him. "…I don't need any of this."

He receives the envelope she hands him, the same neutral expression that he typically displays around her. Upon a brief inspection of its contents, he gazes at her again. "I understand," he says simply as he tucks this envelope back into his sleeve.

Rummaging through his kimono, he grasps on to a couple of items stashed within and withdraws his hand.

"I can't force you to accept something from my men. Ikumatsu-dono, will you at least accept this? As something from me."

On the counter, he places a small bouquet of flowers and a small wrapped box with a card attached. It isn't much of a presentation to her. But, the one thing he's learned after his many failed attempts is to force himself on her in a more subtle manner.

He sighs. He knows the reality of her accepting his offering is despairingly bleak. The woman has never been interested in material goods or prestige; she even goes so far as to renounce her status in her own family to live a simpler life. And yet, he hopes that she could at least accept this simple gesture, as an act of kindness, for his sake. For her own sake.

No sooner does he place the presents on the counter than the awkwardly wrapped package hovers, drifting upward in front of him. His gaze is drawn, fused to that package, where it remains at her eye's level after a few moments. With a smile on her face, she twirls the package with her hands as she casually inspects the wrapping all the while.

She returns the package to the counter and casts a glance at him before resuming her work. "Do you honestly think I'd accept something like that? Please."

Acceptable enough, Katsura thinks; that she even acknowledges the gifts on the counter satisfies him. He decides that maybe he should leave before the Shinsengumi decides to raid the shop again, or before she starts to throw things at him again. In all of his rationalizations, neither of those things seems like anything he'd ever want to experience, again. He is certain of this.

He slides across his stool and pushes it under the counter. "I'll leave those there for you, then," he says as his only announcement of his intentions, and he advances to the door without looking back. But, just before he places his hand on the door, he pauses, hand extended in front of him. The voice of whom he has tried countless times to give his affections beckons him, stops him, and forces his hand to fall back to his side.

"Didn't you come to give me a present?" she asks, her tone heavy with admonition. "Why are you leaving?"

He does not normally flinch when he hears the voice of someone addressing him in such a lecturing tone. But, there is something about this woman's voice that seems to break apart every single morsel of his self-control. These words, this time, they are not different. He swivels his body, surprised expression and all, facing her again almost involuntarily.

"Ikumatsu-dono…" was all he is able to say in response. He allows himself the pleasure of remaining on standby near the door, waiting for her to clarify her intentions before he approaches the counter again.

Her gaze centers on the flowers, then soon returns to him. With arms folded across her chest, she says, "You really are a troublesome fellow. Giving me presents that won't even last." After letting out a deep sigh, she relaxes her arms. "If you still want to wish me a happy birthday, I suggest you sit at the counter and not say another—"

"Happy birthday, Ikumatsu-dono," he says, grinning smugly as he approaches the counter.