inkstains

. o .

(tell me your whole truth )

. o .

He knew that look. That damned, soulful, heart-in-her-eyes look that could stop hardened criminals and irate merchants in their tracks. And wandering swordsmen who were about to step through great glowing gates, it seemed. His arms were crossed as he stood just behind her – and he smirked at the orange-haired young man because she wasn't going; she was staying with him, where she belonged and where she wanted to be, so take that, Kurosaki. He couldn't quite see her face, but he had not known her for longer than this ryoka had been alive to not be able to sense her expression from the tilt of her head or the way that her fingertips drummed lightly against her sides.

As her stance shifted to well-this-is-awkward-but-we'll-figure-it-out-someday, Renji's smile grew. So she maybe had it bad – but she was, he thought, choosing to stay here. With him. Of her own volition.

Well… not exactly with him, but the first things he'd learned on the dusty back streets of Rukongai were to value loyalty and to take what he could. He'd also learned how to read people – that bastard of a Fifth excepted – but even a blind person could tell that Kurosaki changed people. (And, okay, maybe he'd totally missed Tousen-taichou until the ninth's captain had spirited he and Rukia up to what was very nearly the executioner's block, but give a guy a break…)

Hell, he thought, Kurosaki won over Eleventh Division hook, line, and sinker, and theirs is a division that keeps to their own unless it's over swords. Renji wasn't certain whether to be impressed or scared at the fact that that within a week, Zaraki-taichou had started grumbling about the lack of anyone worth fighting within fighting distance.

He'd been avoiding the volatile captain and his deceptively diminutive shoulder ornament for three days; the last time they'd met in the halls, Yachiru had bounded from her captain's shoulder to Renji's, asking if he'd heard anything about 'Ichi-chan' while eyeing Renji's hairline with a speculative leer. The redhead had shrugged, filing the nickname away with a trace of glee. But he managed a "nah," that was slightly more polite than usual, omitting the 'brat' that was usually tacked on. The gleam in Yachiru's eyes was downright dangerous.

Renji had had to extend his tattoos to cover a bite mark from the last time that Yachiru had been mad at him, and didn't want to repeat either experience in the near future.

Really didn't.

So now he was writing a report, feet up on the table and swirling the calligraphy brush not in the characters that would describe his second-to-last mission, but a lazy caricature of the little pipsqueak who(se teeth) he was avoiding.

The mission in question had been boring – it was the last one before he and Kuchiki-taichou had gone to get Rukia back, after which everything had promptly decided to go to hell in a hand basket. He'd forgotten about said mission report until Byakuya had pushed it at him earlier that day, raising an eyebrow in what Renji swore was the Kuchiki smirk when the redhead took the parchment with little protest...

He hated writing reports, and Byakuya knew it. But the reports had to be filed, and his Captain was still bedridden, so... Still, his mind wandered. As he put the finishing touches on the caricature, his lips quirked up into a grin. Renji had always been a better artist than Rukia, and she echoed as much as she suddenly appeared and leant over his shoulder, scaring him half to death.

"Dammit, Rukia!" he cursed, glaring up at the brunette.

"You should have heard me come in," she teased.

"…was busy," he grumbled, trying to cover the pink-haired demon on the lower corner of his scroll.

Rukia's smirk grew. "I see that," she replied. "Only, the last time I looked at vice-captain Yachiru, she didn't have claws or great big teeth like the ones you've given her, Renji. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"The girl who draws cartoon bunnies all the freakin' time is critiquing me?"

"And what," Rukia fumed, suddenly in his face and glaring fiercely, "is wrong with rabbits, Renji?"

Renji knew this expression too (oh, he knew it personally), and grinned despite himself at the vivacity in her voice, in the curve of her shoulders – he'd take her on in a heartbeat, happy to see her bouncing back to the Rukia he'd known (far too long ago) – but the bottle of ink was already balanced precariously, mere inches from cascading onto the expensive tatami - and think what he would about Yachiru's teeth, a pissed Byakuya was another matter. "They're sissy," he muttered. "Dorky."

Huh. Her slap upside his head hurt worse than usual. That meant Kurosaki'd probably been on the receiving end of her ire, and he wasn't certain if he was happy for it. And again? Well, that was enough. "Oy! Stoppit, damnit!"

She tried to weave out of his reach, but he was faster; darting an arm around her and disabling her arms, he mussed her hair roughly – affectionately, said a smug voice in his head that he buried promptly. He was not affectionate. He was glad she was alive. That was it.

"At least I'm not drawing on mission reports," Rukia sniffed, and Renji swore. As happy as he was that his Captain and his best friend were on better terms now, she was starting to sound like her brother – and one Byakuya was enough for two lifetimes. Besides, friends didn't let friends sound like pompous (albeit admirable, honourable, insanely powerful) windbags. So he laughed, and changed the topic. "Except that one time, when…" Renji teased, letting his voice trail off suggestively.

"They're thinking of giving you Karakura," she said, her voice softer as she settled on the floor next to his chair.

Well, this was news. "What?" he managed. "You've gotta be kidding. No way am I babysitting Kurosaki and the Quincy and them."

"You have to – I mean, it's only for a little while. Until the dust settles. Please?"

It was his turn to invade her space, leaning over and looking at her carefully. "Uh uh. You - asking nicely? Either you've been hit on the head real hard when I wasn't looking or this idea is your fault, Rukia."

"Maybe a little," she conceded, but her gaze was even.

His wasn't. "…the hell were you thinking? Were you thinking?"

Rukia laughed, but it wasn't a humourous sound. "You think, Renji. It has to be you. No-one else can go, and you do know your way around."

He narrowed his eyes in thought – she did have a point, damn her, but he hadn't been celebrating the fact that they both were in Soul Society at once only to be punted down to Earth. Still, he knew he had no choice, so better not to guilt her over the things that really mattered… "Since you put it that way," he preened, grinning deviously, "I might be able to do it. But you owe me, y'know."

"Try not to kill him," she said, simpering, and laughed as he seethed. "I think I like him." His expression told her exactly what he thought about that, and she chuckled before sobering. "Thank you, Renji."

Well, damn. He knew her expressions off by heart and knew it'd be his turn for the same smile that she'd shot at Kurosaki someday, but it wasn't supposed to happen now, and his mouth just wouldn't work, silently forming words without any vocalization.

Rukia's smile turned genuine. "Take care, Renji." And as quickly as she had slipped in, she was gone; her mercurial half-smile a last thank you as she disappeared around his door.

He had to smile a little like an idiot as she left. For all he bragged about knowing all of her looks, Rukia could beat him at his own game every time. Still, though Renji Abarai would never admit it to another soul – living, dead, or otherwise – he wouldn't change that fact for the world.

. o .

( I'll carry the weight of you, I swear )

. o .

finis.

. o .

this would not have seen the light of day without: Vienna Teng's "Enough To Go By," Postal Service's "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight," Bright Eyes' "Lua," Bon Jovi's "Always" (...because Renji would totally sing it. Those sunglasses? Admit it; it works, in a deliciously cracky way.) Because I obviously need another redhead. An entire cast of characters too crazy-pretty-awesome for their own good. This was more a test than anything; thus, the canon (not mine) is probably, but hopefully not, stretched in a mildly non-canonic fashion. (wow, though this was fun.)

Thoughts and feedback are always appreciated.