Characters: Urahara, Ishida
Summary: Urahara never did find out what he really wanted.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for Deicide arc
Timeline: during Time Skip
Author's Note: To Penny: Lucky for you, I already had an idea in the works.
Dedication: Dedicated to MyPenIsSharperThanYourSword.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
In all his years of life and death Urahara likes to think he's become a relatively adept judge of people. In fact, he likes to think he's a highly adept judge of people. Sure, he's no psychologist, but when he's presented with someone to watch it doesn't take him long to spot patterns of behavior, mannerisms and insights into personality and mentalities. Even if the person in question has all but mastered the art of hiding things and specifically thoughts from others, for Urahara it's like staring through glass.
Well, somewhat. In the case of some of those people who are good at hiding things, it's like staring into fogged glass. He can make out the shapes, but he it takes quite a bit of closer inspection to tell what they are.
"I have to admit, I get a lot of strange visitors but you weren't one of the ones I expected to find waiting on the doorstep today."
It's an odd greeting, Urahara has to admit, and he can't help but notice when the visitor, usually a bit more conscious of potential insults like that one, just nods absently and gives a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose not."
Urahara raises an eyebrow at Uryuu's lack of reaction but doesn't remark on it. He's pushing it enough as it is.
Instead of noticing the half-insult, Uryuu instead casts a cursory glance around the shop. He's still standing in the doorway, isn't showing any sign of coming in, and after a moment, a flicker of surprise shows over his face. "Where's everybody else?"
The shopkeeper laughs ruefully and tugs on his hat. "Ururu and Jinta are off at school and Tessai's gone to pick them up. The shop seems so empty without them; it's amazing, really."
Uryuu tilts his head and frowns. "And Yoruichi-san's gone as well?"
"Yoruichi-san comes and goes as she pleases. She decided she wanted to go visit Rio again." Personally, the thought of Yoruichi stretched out on a beach somewhere in Brazil is one that Urahara has a hard time contemplating, though he really doesn't know why. Yoruichi always goes south for the winter; she hates the cold.
"Oh." Uryuu remains standing just outside the shop in the doorway, clutching the strap of his bag in one hand and looking distinctly uncomfortable. Urahara can't tell if he's trying to think of something else to say or if he's on the verge of saying goodbye and continuing on towards home.
On the off chance that it's the latter, Urahara nods and smiles gently. "If you want to come in, just leave your bag inside by the door."
Urahara chooses that moment to turn around and head back into the shop's interior so he hears rather than sees Uryuu's bag hit the ground with a muted thump and quiet footsteps as the boy steps over the threshold into the shop.
"I'm going to guess you're not here to buy anything," Urahara calls from the back room. He sticks his head out the door of the back room to see Uryuu lingering close to the doorway, looking for all the world like he's seriously considering grabbing his bag and running in the opposite direction. "So would you mind terribly coming back here and helping me with something?"
For a moment, Uryuu hesitates; plainly the thought of being alone with Urahara in a room which he can't readily get out of isn't one he relishes. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Then he nods slowly, keeping his eyes trained carefully on Urahara's face to watch for reactions. "Sure."
"Wonderful! Just come back here."
With a barely noticeable hesitation, Uryuu leaves the doorway and starts towards the back room.
Honestly, why does everyone look at me like I'm going to eat them or something? If they're looking for cannibals, that would be Mayuri they're looking for, not me. After making sure his young visitor can't see his face, Urahara grimaces. Oh well. At least he's better about it than his father—not that it would be difficult, all things considered.
When Uryuu comes in to the back room and Urahara flips on the light, he frowns, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs. "What's all this?"
The 'this' Uryuu is asking about is roughly three dozen or so crates scattered around the room, some in stacks and others simply resting on the slightly dusty, bare concrete floor.
Urahara adopts his best expansive "confident salesman" smile and sweeps his arm to encompass all the crates. Uryuu's expression grows, if possible, even more incredulous; he leans down by the one nearest to him and looks inside. "New merchandise for the consumers' convenience. We have candy, books, clothing—"
"You can't sell this." Urahara had had his pale eyes trained on the opposite wall, but with that they're on Uryuu, who, having knelt by one of the crates filled with clothing, has taken one of the items out for closer inspection. He is coughing spasmodically thanks to musty mothball fumes, holding a hand clapped over his mouth and has a white blouse draped across his knees. The words come out between coughs.
The smile dies off of Urahara's face. "Beg pardon?"
Uryuu shakes his head, swallowing down coughs, an uncomfortable gleam glazing his eyes for a moment before passing. "You can't sell this, Urahara-san. Look." Urahara leans down and Uryuu points out the stitching holding the sleeves to the main body of the shirt. "The stitching's too loose." He holds up the blouse and Urahara can see plainly that the sleeve isn't fully attached to the main body. The stitching's starting to pull apart, and it's pretty obvious that this wasn't part of the original design.
Smoothing down the blouse, Uryuu starts to dig through the crate. Another wave of coughing hits the air. He emerges with a stack of clothing in his arms, eyes watering and his cheeks red from coughing. He examines each one in turn and grimaces. "It's the same with all of them."
Well damn. "I guess that would explain how I was able to get them so cheap," Urahara mumbles. On second thought, if he hadn't been so busy with other things that day the price tag probably would have been raising some eyebrows, namely his. It's too late to worry about that now. I'll have to see if I can return it.
Meanwhile, Uryuu folds the clothes almost primly and puts them back in the crate. "Urahara-san, where did you get these clothes from?" Urahara can't tell if the fluctuation in his voice is simple curiosity or something else.
"No need to concern yourself with that," Urahara assures him hastily, jerking his hat down over his head; surprisingly, it's that Uryuu frowns at, and not the evasion. "Suffice to say that I won't be buying from them again."
Blue eyes narrow as he stares at him but Uryuu nods, and if he doesn't accept this explanation at face value he doesn't openly question it. Urahara resists the urge to frown; this certainly is… atypical.
"What was it you wanted my help with, Urahara-san?"
"Oh yes, that!" Urahara smiles brightly and again a slight wave of disbelief flickers over Uryuu's face. He replaces the last of the folded clothing in the crate and stands, brushing dust from his pants. "Since I am for the present bereft of any help and likely will be for a few hours yet, and because Ururu and Jinta will have homework to do when they get home, I was hoping you'd help me get some of this onto the shelves—barring the clothes, of course. I've already made all the necessary arrangements; I just need them out on the shelves."
Uryuu nods again and, almost with relief, he turns his eyes to the crates. "Which ones have clothes in them?"
-0-0-0-
In the end, between them Urahara and Uryuu manage to eliminate eight crates from the assortment. Not as bad as I thought, Urahara reflects gloomily, but there goes a lot of profit down the drain nonetheless, especially considering Ishida-san won't repair any of it. At first, Uryuu was willing to see what he could do about going about redoing the stitching and resolving the host of other issues afflicting Urahara's defective clothes. However, when he realized that there were eight crates full of those defective clothes, he shook his head mutely and refused. I suppose we all have to have things we're not willing to do.
As of right now, they're about halfway done putting boxes of Belgian chocolates on a shelf. There are black Sharpie-pen marks over a certain area of the cartons, the acrid smell making Uryuu wrinkle his nose. The reason they are there is quite simple: Uryuu pointed out the small but conspicuous "Not for Resale" label on the boxes, and Urahara doesn't want to be hauled in by the police. Ignoring the dubious expression of his "accomplice" Urahara asked Uryuu to go get a Sharpie out of his desk and Uryuu, despite his misgivings, did so.
No one will ever have to know, unless Uryuu chooses to blab—which, knowing him, he might.
"So, was there any particular reason you chose to visit me?" Urahara affixes another gentle smile to his face despite knowing that, in all likelihood, it won't have the effect of relieving any degree of wariness on Uryuu's part. Quite the opposite, really; if the smile isn't coming from Orihime Uryuu tends to be strange about things like that.
Just as Urahara suspected, Uryuu doesn't seem to be at all put at ease. His eyes shoot to the floor and his face is obscured by a curtain of dark hair. "No… No reason. I just… I just wanted to talk."
Urahara puts another carton of individually wrapped Belgian chocolates on the shelf and he's not sure why but he does so more slowly than he has with the last ones. "You have friends to talk to, don't you Ishida-san?" The mildness of Urahara's tone deeply belies the sharp inquisitiveness beneath. "At least, if you call them friends, and I suspect that you do." Uryuu doesn't answer; he keeps on putting the boxes of chocolates on the shelf, his back turned to the shopkeeper. "And I don't get the impression that you're entirely comfortable in my company." Isn't that the truth? Urahara thinks, eyeing Uryuu and wondering at how he never lets him get too close. Whenever Urahara steps within, say, two feet of Uryuu the latter immediately backs away; sometimes it's subtle and sometimes it's just not.
"Well I…" He seems to be having difficulty with the words "…I wanted to talk to you."
Though Urahara nods blandly, his mind immediately starts to process this particular detail with extreme interest.
Out of the four human children Urahara has come to know in the past few months, Uryuu is noted for being the one who never wants to talk to Urahara. Yes, he comes when he needs to talk to Urahara, when it's absolutely necessary that he do so, but Urahara doesn't think he has ever known Uryuu to want to talk to him. Not for anything.
So Urahara's question is quite simple. He can think of a few answers, none of them pleasant and all of them painful, but he still has to wonder: What on Earth does Ishida Uryuu want to talk to him about?
Urahara's new smile is encouraging, or at least as encouraging as possibly the blandest smile in history can be. "Then what do you want to talk about?"
Uryuu doesn't answer, and Urahara can't say he's entirely surprised.
They finish up with the Belgian chocolates, then go through the candy bars, and after that it's on to stocking the shelves with the five or so crates of books. Personally, this is the part Urahara finds somewhat boring—he knows what's going to sell out of the crates he's piled up in the back, and it's not going to be the books; Really, it is quite sad how little today's youth appreciate good literature—but Uryuu seems to take some enjoyment in it. Occasionally he recognizes a title or an author and sports something that on someone else might be the suggestion of a smile as he puts the novel in question on the shelf.
After about five minutes of silence in which Uryuu avoids Urahara's gaze and Urahara continues to wonder just what he's doing here, Urahara notices something.
Or rather, Uryuu notices something.
Urahara is just putting a colossal copy of Anne of Green Gables—always a good seller—when he notices Uryuu's eyes following his right hand with a sort of morbid, badly-hidden fascination.
"So you've noticed the scar, have you?" In particular, Urahara is referring to a deep red ridge of flesh between his ring finger and his little finger, an old scar that even after more than two centuries of life refuses to go away, or even recede a little bit.
Uryuu nods wordlessly. Then, apparently remembering that staring is considered rude, a dull flush rises up his neck and into his face. "It's… it's conspicuous," he mutters, putting an existentialist work next to an Agatha Christie novel. His eyes shoot to the ground again.
Hoping that maybe this will get somewhere with figuring out just what Uryuu wants to talk to him about, Urahara decides to entertain his visitor with a short story. "When I was being initiated into the Second Division one of the Shinigami overseeing my initiation decided I could live without a finger."
Given that Urahara quite obviously still has ten fingers, the interest in Uryuu's face shows plainly his desire to know what happened next; Urahara wonders if he's always been this… curious. "And?"
"I convinced him otherwise," Urahara answers succinctly, tucking Anne of Green Gables securely into the shelf. That is all he will say on the matter of the scar on his hand and Uryuu seems to respect this; even though his eyes still burn with curiosity, he doesn't ask further on the subject. "Have you any scars to speak of, Ishida-san?"
If Urahara's suspicions are correct, Uryuu does have a rather conspicuous scar, given that Uryuu's back to the way he was before his confrontation with Urahara's former Third Seat in Seireitei and going on what Urahara knows about Ishida Ryuuken, and that the man's more than ruthless enough to do it. It probably wouldn't be prudent to bring that subject up without Uryuu addressing it first; it wouldn't do to have the boy stomping out of his shop in a huff.
In response, Uryuu folds the books in his arms under the crook of his right elbow and holds out his left hand, palm facing towards Urahara.
Urahara has to squint to see it, but sure enough he does see a long, thin scar on Uryuu's palm; it's a fine white line stretching from the flap of skin helping to connect the thumb to the palm all the way to the other end of his hand. It doesn't look fresh, maybe about two or three years old, and it looks all the world to Urahara as though Uryuu once sliced his hand with a knife. He frowns internally. He's not a clumsy child, well except maybe with words. Ishida-san is definitely clumsy with words, but that's all he's clumsy with. I wonder how this happened.
However, Urahara's sudden thirst to know goes without being sated, because Uryuu shows no sign of wanting to explain how he got this particular scar. Instead, Uryuu goes back to placing books on the shelf, being careful with a battered copy of The Hobbit and not so careful with Moby Dick, which he grimaces at.
Okay, so now I know that Ishida-san dislikes Moby Dick and possibly likes Tolkien. Well, this is enlightening.
"You know what they say about battle scars," Urahara remarks whimsically. "They—"
"They are the sign of a life that may or may not have been happy, but never got boring." Either Uryuu doesn't know he interrupted Urahara or it just doesn't embarrass him as much as something like that would have fifteen minutes earlier. He goes on placing books, going to the crates in the back room when he runs out of books to place on the shelves.
"I'm going to take it you picked that one up from your grandfather?" Urahara asks, the hint of a rueful smile playing around his lips. In fact, he picked that one up from Uryuu's grandfather; the old man—How odd to think of him as old now—was always spouting lines like that.
Uryuu's eyes glaze over a little at mention of his grandfather, but before Urahara can start to get properly concerned, the boy nods, no longer paying a great deal of attention to putting books on the shelves. "Yes. When I was seven, I umm… I saw a strange-looking burn scar on Grandfather's arm. He told me he'd gotten it when the atomic bomb was dropped over Nagasaki; apparently there was more where that had come from but he wasn't going to show me." He remembers that he has a stack of books in his arms; Tender is the Night goes on the shelf, then The Stranger. Uryuu pulls a face, grimacing in such a way as to indicate confusion. "From there, I'm still not entirely sure how but the discussion ended up with me hearing a story about what happened to Nagasaki after the bomb was dropped. By the end of it I probably knew more about World War II than anyone else in my class."
For a moment, Urahara just stares into space as he processes the information he's just been given. Then, he says the only thing that could possibly be considered appropriate. "That's a horrible thing to be telling a seven-year-old."
"I didn't think so." Uryuu comes to the defense of his grandfather with a frown and a response whose sharp edge is barely hidden. Looking away, he goes on more quietly, a strange note in his voice, "I've always known about death."
Yes, I suppose it was unavoidable. Urahara finds himself wondering just how much Uryuu misses the days he could still listen to his grandfather talk on and on about anything in the world, and know he could say anything in return.
"You know—" Urahara decides it might be time to lighten the mood; maybe that will put Uryuu at his ease enough to tell him just what it is he came to talk to him about "—I've always had an issue with calling all three of you Ishida-san."
The slight tilt of the head indicates Uryuu doesn't know where Urahara is going with this.
"I mean, I'd known your grandfather since he was maybe thirty-four years old and it just made sense to call him Ishida-san. Your father I called Ishida-san as well because I got the impression that if I used his given name anywhere in an address he'd probably bite my head off, until he and his father were both in my company at once. Then, calling them both Ishida-san just got confusing so I kept on calling your grandfather Ishida-san and started calling your father Mister Ishida because really, he looks like someone you'd be calling "Mister", don't you think? Of course, it's a simple enough matter to be calling you Ishida-san. You've never been in my company with any of your kin at the same time, and I get the feeling you'd bite my head off if I ever called you Uryuu. Do you understand?"
Urahara's well aware that his tone has gotten increasingly whimsical and absent throughout this little monologue of his, and isn't sure he cares about the sort of effect it must be having on Uryuu's perception of his, let alone what the revelation that Urahara has been intimately acquainted with his family for three generations must be doing. And God knows what the revelation that, in effect Urahara knows more about Uryuu's family than he does must be doing to his brain functioning…
Dark blue eyes hidden behind spectacles look a little glassy, but other than that Uryuu hides his confusion, whatever confusion he must have, quite well. "Yes, I think so." His voice is deliberately light.
I think I may be getting somewhere with this. The look Urahara shoots at Uryuu is piercing. "Your father can be the most forbidding man—and the most vicious one, when provoked," he remarks casually. "He's not at all easy to live with, I should think."
Uryuu stiffens, back going rigid, arm caught in the act of putting a thick tome on a shelf. He licks his lips; with a remarkably even voice, he replies quietly, "No…" A deep breath is drawn "…He's not."
Urahara starts to nod understandingly and decide that he probably isn't going to like this, when halfway through his nod he's interrupted by Uryuu turning around to face him, arms now devoid of books and face strained and even paler than usual.
The shopkeeper Shinigami smiles gently. "Yes?"
"I was just wondering…" Uryuu breaks off and stares at the ground as if looking for rehearsed words there "…I was just wondering…"
Well it's about time.
"…I was just wondering if you could do anything to help Kurosaki."
Wait, what?
In truth, Urahara didn't expect Uryuu to say that, and it doesn't look like Uryuu expected himself to say that, because his face contorts and he looks down again, eyes burning holes into the floor.
Well, maybe this is part of what Uryuu came here intending to say, but this can't possibly be all of it—Urahara is sure of that.
For now, he frowns. "If Kurosaki-san has any wish to be restored, why doesn't he come and ask me himself?"
The look that comes over Uryuu's face is one of dull surprise. "You haven't seen him at all since…" Uryuu loses track of his words again and he looks away, staring over the books as if this is something he much prefers to be looking at over Urahara.
Urahara understands, and he shakes his head, brow furrowing. "No. I haven't seen Kurosaki-san in two months." His voice grows sharper. "What's wrong with him?"
Uryuu shrugs, a hint of what might be misery passing over his face before being hidden. "He's just… different," the boy mumbles, now studying the floor once more. "It's hard to explain. I… I don't…" He sets his jaw and looks up "…I thought you could help." It's a horribly small voice that says that to him.
Yes, that's what I thought at first too. Do the same thing for the son as I did for the father; it seemed so simple.
Thankfully for the son, I realized it wouldn't work before I could tell him. The circumstances of Kurosaki-san the Elder losing his Shinigami powers were different from that of his son; the same thing won't work for the son, would probably kill him.
Good grief. Urahara winces. Well, what made you think wouldn't get this request from one of his friends eventually?
Absolutely nothing.
Urahara shakes his head, tugging his hat down to obscure his face; just as with the first time, Uryuu frowns briefly. "No, I can't help him. This is beyond the scope of my abilities to fix," he admits reluctantly; Urahara has never liked having to face up to a problem he can't solve.
"Can't you do anything?" Uryuu's eyes widen; he seems to be restraining some submerged emotion from coming to the surface of his face. He stares up at Urahara desperately. "Anything at all?"
"No, I'm sorry."
"Oh." Uryuu once more allows his gaze to sweep the breadth of the floor; Either there's something truly fascinating on my floor that I'm presently unaware of or Ishida-san has the worst time of making eye contact of anyone I have ever met. "Oh," he half-whispers. "Okay." It's not okay, Urahara can tell.
Urahara sighs deeply and places three copies of The Poisonwood Bible on the shelf. He turns and manages to smile at Uryuu, a different smile from all the rest—this one is more tired than anything else. "Was there anything more you wanted to talk to me about?"
Uryuu starts at this and stares up at him, brows heavily knitted. He ducks his head momentarily to lick his lips, then forces himself to make eye contact again. "I… I…" Blue eyes cloud "…No, there was nothing," Uryuu says, using that too-small, too-quiet voice again.
The shopkeeper tilts his head. "Are you sure, Ishida-san? Because I am quite open to more conversation, if that's what you want."
The boy abandons books and shelves, and starts toward the door. "I'm quite sure, thank you Urahara-san."
His tone of voice is such that Urahara is almost sure he's lying.
Uryuu pulls his heavy brown leather bag back over his shoulder, adjusting the strap.
"Well come back again if you want to talk," Urahara calls after him. "Come back any time if you just want to—"
The door slams.
"—talk."