Disclaimer: Neither Bleach nor its characters belong to me

I really hope you enjoy reading it!


He looked down at the woman laying in the crook of his arm, securely at his side. She slept peacefully, despite her wounds, resting her head on his bare chest. Her dark lashes fanned against her pale cheeks elegantly and her raven hair, which had grown longer these past few years, cascaded across the sheets and off the edge of the bed. He lightly fingered the rough bandages wrapped around her chest and abdomen, and regret and self-loathing engulfed his being.

She had berated him earlier for having a self-pity party, but now, as she slept, as the moonlight played upon her sleeping silhouette, how could thoughts of regret not wash over him? She could have died.

"You've been saying that for years!" she'd shouted that afternoon as he redressed her wounds. "'You could have died. You almost died. I'm such an idiot,'" she mimicked in a voice which in no way resembled his. "I'm a big girl, Ichigo. I've been fighting for years. Despite what you may believe, I am capable of taking care of myself," she tried to reassure him.

He'd nodded wordlessly, biting back the harsh words swirling about in his mind and mouth, and she'd sighed and leaned back against his chest, bringing his arms around to cradle her gently. Her right arm went up to grip the back of his head and neck.

"You know what your problem is?" she'd asked quietly, turning her face towards him.

"What?" he'd breathed into her ear.

"You care too much."

He'd shaken his head crossly. "Idiot."

And she'd pulled his head down until their lips met.

Now, she was fast asleep. She was safe.

But, if he was honest with himself, just "safe" wasn't enough. He wanted more, more for her, more for them. He loved his life; truly, he did. It was an honor to protect innocents and serve alongside those who'd become his friends and do his shinigami duty. In a selfish perspective, he loved the strength and power he'd acquired in order to do his job well; it brought the ultimate ecstasy, the pure power flowing through his veins like a drug.

But he hated when she got hurt. He hated himself when she got hurt. Yes, she's capable of taking care of herself, he knew, but that knowledge did nothing to calm the rage or fear that cruelly beat his heart with a bat any time a drop of her blood was shed.

Sometimes, on a rare occasion when he had a few moments of silence to himself, like tonight, he wondered what it would be like if they were just...normal. Not shinigami. Not soldiers. Not subordinates. Not accountable to anyone else.

Just lovers.

Had they both been normal, had they both been just human, they could go out on dates--without being interrupted by a hollow call--they could finish school--without traipsing off to fight a war unidentified to the human world--they could have careers--without getting fired every other month for disappearing without notice for weeks at a time--they could have a family--without worrying about Soul Society's opinions of their "unconventional, unprecedented" relationship--they could grow old together...and die together.

But they were not normal.

And they were not just human.

He'd come to accept that. For now, he was content with sharing his bed with the tiny woman, with protecting her and their friends, with making sure, if need be, he'd be there to lay down his life for hers.

Subconsciously, his grip around her waist tightened slightly, and she moaned quietly. Her eyes fluttered open to see him watching her affectionately. She smiled softly and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "I'm all right." She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. "You all right? Can't sleep?"

He shrugged and reached to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine."

She snatched his hand before he could withdraw it and sweetly kissed his palm, then wove their fingers together. He sighed contentedly as she replaced her head on his chest, as they moved their bodies closer. With her free hand, she began tracing the lines, the muscles, the scars of his chest and abdomen lightly with her fingertip. There was a full moon so, in the light, he could see her movements and expressions easily.

It still amazed him, sometimes, how far they'd each come, what they each had to overcome to get to where they were. Years and wars later, they were closer than ever--in every sense of the word. What amazed him still was that she loved him in return.

He never thought he'd feel as he does for her. He had worked so long and so hard maintaining his image, keeping people away, and yet she'd gotten under his skin effortlessly. His biggest fear had been that if she got deep enough, if she saw who he really was, who he fought so hard not to be, she'd run the opposite direction, taking his heart with her. He wasn't the hero people thought he was. He wasn't strong.

He was a coward.

And still, she stuck around.

She'd seen him at his worst, at his lowest, but instead of flinching in fear, in disgust, she'd stood taller, and pushed him beyond himself, beyond the obstacles in his way, helping him pick up and reassemble the pieces of his shitty life on the way.

She made him strong.

She made him brave.

She completed him.

He was okay with the fact that she got angry every time he tried to protect her, as long as he never lost his other half.

"I had a dream," she stated quietly.

"Hmm? What about?"

She smiled. "Us."

"Yeah?" he asked, pulling her tighter against him, though wary of her injuries. "And what trouble were we getting into this time?"

She looked at him and smiled still, the reflecting light of the moon making her eyes sparkle and glisten a deep violet. "None. We just stayed in bed all day. No hollows. No family issues. It was pretty nice actually."

He smirked and rested his head back on the pillow, stared at the bland ceiling. "That wasn't a dream, it was a premonition. The gods have spoken: our duty tomorrow is to stay in bed and do nothing all day long. We must obey orders."

But Rukia thought he was totally serious. "Do nothing?" she asked, mildly shocked. "Laziness is not healthy, Ichigo," she stated matter-of-factly.

He looked back at her. "Well, I'm sure we could find something to do," he offered suggestively.

She blushed slightly but squeezed his hand. He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. It started slow, sweet, but she reached to pull him closer, ran her free hand through his wild orange hair, and the kiss deepened as their mouths parted.

He broke away first. He proceeded to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck, before plopping back down on his side of the bed.

She folded her arms across her chest and pouted.

"You're injured," he stated pragmatically.

She blew him a raspberry. "That line would never fly with you."

He smiled. He knew it was true. "Sleep. You need your rest," he whispered gently, and he pulled her back against him.

She curled into his side. "I love you," she murmured softly as her eyelids grew heavy in sleep.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, too." More than you'll ever know.

But he did not go back to sleep. Scowling, he continued to stare out the window, into the night, into the darkness, as though he felt something approaching, preparing to rip him from this dreamlike life he was living, until her steady breathing and the rising sun assured him they would be all right.