Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach


Damn Proud

KenShuu

On the third week of the second month of Kensei's reinstatement into the 9th division of the Gotei 13 Hisagi Shuuhei finally ran himself into a long expected, stress and sleep-deprivation induced coma. It was impressive really, that he'd gone almost three months with less than five hours of sleep each night, fighting work and ghosts and his captain, tooth and nail. Eighth seat Soto Itzal found him sprawled across his desk in the editing room and bodily dragged him into the staff lounge of the newspaper department that Friday evening, laying him on the couch before heading home. The work day was over and Shuuhei was much the man of privacy, he would greatly prefer waking up nearer to where he had fallen asleep … and he had never divulged the information of his house's whereabouts for Itzal to bring him to, even if the option were available.

When Kensei found Shuuhei it was nearly 10 p.m. and Shuuhei's limbs were thrown haphazardly over the headrest and ends of the couch he dominated - soft snores floated through the air to Kensei's ears and the older man shook his head with a frown - having expected the scene weeks ago, but dissatisfied that it had occurred at all. For his brashness and rough exterior Kensei, like most of his fellow captains, was not oblivious to the well being of his subordinates. Shuuhei had been working these past weeks well into the morning hours, training at a rigorous regimen which left his body blistered and bruised, and so tightly strung with his own thoughts and meanderings that even the flawless professional facade he'd perfected so well fell away with the black circles which became more visible under his eyes each passing day. It was preservation of their superior's pride, and only that, that sealed the lips of the 9th division members, but for Kensei, his hesitance to approach his vice-captain had nothing to do with Shuuhei's possible embarrassment. The silver haired captain knew his subordinate to be a strong man, and not an easily embarrassed one, and even if he had been, it was not in Kensei's nature to soften the details. No, Kensei's hesitance stemmed from something a little closer to the heart, a little harder to articulate.

That aside, Shuuhei needed to go home, and Kensei wanted to go out. He felt within him, that he could drink, and not think of this man - the kid who'd grown up into a fine solider, scared, torn and all - and Kensei could be happy.

Kensei paced up to the couch and shook Shuuhei's shoulder - not particularly rough - but a lot rougher than an ordinary squad member might. When that didn't wake Shuuhei, he tried a bit harder.

Kensei was a brash man on good days, but right now it was late and he was irked so on his third attempt he hollered "Wake up, kid!" and got a sort of mean satisfaction out of watching his second-in-command do a full body twitch and hit his shin on the couch's side table.

The satisfaction turned quickly to dissatisfaction when Shuuhei, having not noticed Kensei or perhaps not prioritized between his injury and his superior in his hazy state, winced and pulled up the leg of his uniform to inspect the wound. A couple large bruises decorated the tan skin and it looked like a red crease was beginning to form over one of them.

"What the hell are those?" Asked Kensei, leaning down to get a better look. Shuuhei pulled the material back over the bruises quickly and swiveled so he could sit properly on the couch.

"Nothing sir," he said, his back ramrod, "just some bruises from a sparring match yesterday."

He added, belatedly, "good evening Captain Muguruma," and did a half bow of sorts from his sitting position. It occurred to Kensei that had he not been so close, Shuuhei probably would have been standing already and so he discretely took a step back.

"Get up, kid, I'm taking you home," Kensei barked. It came out harsher than it was supposed to. Shuuhei shuffled to his feet, wobbled slightly and bowed more fully.

"I can get home alone sir," he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Kensei scoffed, "no one means to fall asleep at work, and I'm taking you home. We need t' talk."

There was a lot of unresolved tension between Shuuhei and Kensei, and Kensei felt in now. Felt it the entirety of the time he'd been back in Soul Society, in which he said very little, despite knowing things ought to be clarified. Shuuhei walked sightly ahead, if only to guide the two and he walked with such pristine reserve that Kensei wondered if any of that feisty kid from a century ago remained, and he cursed Tousen for killing the spirit of this kid, and he wanted to kick himself for not fostering it more in his return.

"Hisagi," he said. Shuuhei didn't stop, but slowed a bit and glanced at him.

"Yes, captain?" He responded.

"You've been acting like a fucking child," said Kensei, "running around with your tail between your legs; brooding." Shuuhei stopped then, on the corner of a cross section between the 12th district and a wooded area that outlaid it. He rubbed at his right eye with the palm of his hand, like a kid, and Kensei could tell that he was exhausted. He wondered if Shuuhei's answer would have changed in a different place, at a different time; with a sounder mind.

"I don't agree, Captain," Shuuhei said. And Kensei was glad it was here and now.

"You think I'm wrong?" He ordered.

"Yes," Shuuhei said, "I've been an ideal soldier, I have done everything Captain Tousen asked of me, and for you, I've trained even harder than before. It's not childish, Captain. It's effort; so much effort … and sometimes I think it's hardly worth it."

"You don't think our squad's worth it?" Kensei demanded. Shuuhei was silent for a moment, he glanced to Soul Society and back to Kensei, and he looked at him hard and with such profound longing that Kensei faltered a little in his glare.

"I used to have so much hope in squad nine, I believed in everything the captain said and I believed in your legacy," said Shuuhei, "but I don't even know who you are." He kind of laughed a little at the end, and absently scratched at the tattoo on his cheek. He looked exhausted. He looked beat to all hell. "I'm just trying to feel like I belong again, Captain. But I don't know if I ever will … is there even room for me in your squad anymore?" Kensei frowned briefly.

"Our squad, kid," he said. "It's our fucking squad. Stop the fucking pity party because that's shit and you know it. Squad nine has always been your squad. From the day you met me it was your squad." Kensei looked him square in the eye, looked at him hard and with a kind of aggression that boiled at the core of his being, his mantra, his core. "That's what that tattoo's all about right? Start thinking for yourself, pick up the pieces and fucking move on. You don't need to believe in anyone to make yourself a good man. You're a good man, Shuuhei. And I'm your captain. A real fucking captain, I'm not hiding behind some bullshit 'justice,' or a code or some Soul Reaper rulebook. I'm keeping good company and a good lieutenant and like you, like our squad, I'm just trying to do good. Fuck Tousen and fuck that fucked up zanpakuto of yours, if you ever believed in me the way I believe in that, squad nine is our squad."

Shuuhei looked on the verge of tears and the verge of exhaustion but he nodded numbly. His hair fell messily over his forehead, he looked like a train wreck but Kensei was so damn proud of him, so damn in love, it didn't matter.

"All I ever wanted to do when I was a kid was be like you," said Shuuhei, Kensei frowned and felt like his insides might have been ripped out that statement made him so angry, but Shuuhei didn't stop. He said: "and then all I ever wanted to do when I became a soul reaper was make you proud. I fucked up so bad, Captain. I could have followed Tousen to hell and back thinking it would've made you proud." And Kensei suddenly laughed.

"Yeah, kid," he grinned, "but you didn't … and I'm damn proud."

Shuuhei smiled a little. They stood there for a moment, and then Shuuhei waved in the general direction of where his home might have been. Kensei nodded for them to continue walking, but Shuuhei's walk was a stumble and Kensei recognized the full extent of the kid's exhaustion only when his shoulder cracked into the ground and he did a half roll to blearily hold it, mostly unconscious. Definitely not responsive to Kensei's shouts and orders to wake up.

"Fuck," muttered Kensei. Looking at him. Kensei muttered it again when he threw Shuuhei over his shoulder and again, a little louder, when he started shunpo-ing to his own house. It was apparent, and frustrating, that without Shuuhei directing him, Kensei might as well have been a world away from wherever it was Shuuhei lived.

Kensei lived in a small, one bedroom house much closer to the ninth, almost within earshot of the sparing grounds, and when he got there, he kicked the dog that hung around in front of his door lightly to the side with his heel and entered in a sort of nervous, unhappy way. It felt wrong, thought Kensei, even when it was all so damn simple.

Kensei thought about where to put the kid and then decided that given the circumstances of his departure from the woken, Shuuhei deserved a good sleep. Kensei could spend a night on the couch and not be too torn up. He left Shuuhei –– snoring lightly, grasping sheets, probably drooling –– on his bed, looked once for purely selfish reasons and then trekked it to the living room love seat with a stolen pillow, a throw blanket and a lot to think about.


This is mostly out of context now, but this is something I'd written several, several months ago ... up to a point. And finally decided to finish... well tonight actually. Still, I hope you enjoy. There's so little KenShuu these days, it's very sad.

Sorry about all the errors in the second half of this story. It was written in a very short time span with very little editing, and so I will, most likely, go back over it at a more appropriate hour.

Again, I hope you enjoy, and as always, please review!