Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach. I don't, and muck around creating fanfics like this to exorcise minor obsessions.
A/N: Impossibility, possibility, probability? This is embarrassingly 2 years+ overdue, as I owe squidgeesushi a certain pairing. Scenarios were considered, discarded, and finally something popped up to stay (which may or may not be due to finally resuming the reading of bleach manga after more than 2 years). The only thing I borrow from the final chapter of my previous bleach fic [that has been classified as AU, due to the manga] is the gift idea. No other association whatsoever. Since I did this in quite a few frames of mind in various shades of different moods which may incorporate paradoxes, the title is pretty apt, because I'm not sure what I'm going for. But as with all major flailing, it started from a prank.
Setting: Just after Aizen has abandoned Soul Society, Ichigo and co. are recuperating in the Court of Pure Souls. While those awesomely crazy kids get up to their own hijinks, they aren't the only ones stuck in knots… Like Ukitake Jūshirō and Shiba Kūkaku.
Snowball Math of a Monochromatic Rainbow
War.
Such a simple little word with so much effort built up for the preparation, the gathering whirlwind was a drumroll prelude to a sharp burst of violence that would preserve Soul Society... or destroy it. Hence every peaceful morning with singing birds and pristine cloudless skies was valued, especially when temporarily devoid of the tension plaguing the Court of Pure Souls.
Today was one such marvelous example, but a certain captain had his face buried in his hands, unwilling to leave his bed or look out the window. For the first time that day and the nth time in 24 hours, he was mired in the river of Ohwhy that bordered the land of regret.
Why, oh why had he listened to Yoruichi? Even if Yama-ji had a soft spot for her (which did not always translate to her ideas being prudent or sensible) and she could be most persuasive, why had he contributed his handwriting to the note? If Shunsui knew, that one would laugh too much to drink for at least half a day. But part of him understood too well. Among the thirteen divisions, emotions ran high off the battlefield. And in most instances, it was secretive and confusing, which led to much hilarity and guesswork.
If only they were not so similar… The former second division captain liked decorating his haori with pink chalk for a laugh, before he met up with other captains for tea. The current Shiba clan leader had long ago boxed his nose in front of an aghast vice-lieutenant Kaien due to "repetitive nagging", prior to introductions. In both cases, they were headstrong women who could suddenly be so heartwarmingly tender that if you blinked, it'd be a miss. Yoruichi. He hadn't seen her for so long. She and Urahara Kisuke had a connection too thick to be passed off as friendship. Then there were the rumours resurfacing about the current second division captain and her. And how could he forget the suspicious intensity choking the voice of an unusually talkative Kuchiki Byakuya, when she appeared at the White Tower of Penitence to whisk away Kurosaki Ichigo? She had deliberately ignored the sixth division captain, and his reaction had the petulant insistence of a boy chasing after recognition... or something more? Didn't the Kuchiki clan leader hate the older Shihouin prodigy? But from what he knew about the two runaways of a hundred years ago- When had he turned into a fishmonger at the wet markets, considering gossip to this extent?
Shaking his head and fishing under his bed for his sandals, he had to get up. There was much to be done, if the shinigami were to triumph over Aizen Sōsuke in winter.
"Sentarō! Kiyone!"
After giving them their orders for the next two hours, he waited until they vanished. Then he sighed. He really had to stop procrastinating. There was paperwork to attend to; the weather and his health was off to a good start- Shooing all nonsense from his mind and taking another minute or two to make himself presentable, Ukitake Jūshirō was ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead.
Sleek nimbus of sunlight glancing off a steel saucer caught his eye, as he opened the door. Brief and radiant, for a moment the flash was gold until it hit, then met to become a grayish-blue. Like her smile, he looked away and found himself looking at- An equally shiny smile, framed by a more brilliant blue-green pair of eyes.
The thirteenth-division captain wanted to dive back into bed.
The recipient of his note was standing right in front of him. To buy time, he had to ask. His voice came out steadier than he had imagined.
"Kūkaku-san, how did you get in here?"
Shiba Kūkaku grinned more widely, tossed her cape dramatically over one shoulder, and stuck one hand on her hip. Despite the alluringly cocky pose, he could almost see the demon horns hidden under her makeshift bandanna.
"Where are your manners? Ain't it obvious? Jidanbō owes me. Besides..." Grabbing his arm, he was almost towed out.
"I thought of going for a walk; figured I could use some company to exercise the boredom. Surely you can spare a small slice of your day before sinking beneath a captain's duty, eh?"
He could feel his gut sinking, and it was not because of responsibility. The note. She must have figured out who had penned it. He had been pondering things connected to Yoruichi so very much, that to have her appear on his doorstep instead- What was he supposed to think now? Previous moments where he had fancied himself experiencing a mellow ache in the chest, when faced with Kaien's sister, was now a confused stutter. The stopper in his throat was the clot of fearing that perhaps, he had imagined too much and felt too little.
Relief. Kaien's favourite spot in the training ground near the woods. They could go there, and there would be no worry of meeting-
"Your manners, Jūshirō … since when do you use honorifics on me, huh?"
The answer was slow in coming, as he concentrated on dictating the destination route.
"Oh, you can be quite forceful! Captain, this is very unlike you. Where are we going- Ah!"
A wide strip of sparkling water wended its way between grassy riverbanks. It bubbled merrily enough, with the sunlight mocking him by brightening the colour to match her eyes. Kaien had jokingly named it the Straits of Shimonoseki. His wife had swatted the vice-captain across the head, when the joke extended to mentions of the river being beautiful enough to drown in. Bushy canopies of the trees resembled the Shiba clan's hair, wild and uneven and strangely neat. Despite the deaths of those who had loved this place, this spot seemed determined to remain a soothing secret, and grin defiantly at the weather, like the smile of-
A chaotic rainbow of squares was shoved in front of his face, plain and patterned and the size of his hand. Silver specks, green and white zigzagging, brilliant gold, scarlet red spotted with yellow… the selection was mindbogglingly pretty.
"Pick a piece. Fold whatever you first think of. Don't ask."
"But- What if-"
You gonna make me repeat myself? was THE reminder in an ominous twitch of her eyebrow. Sighing inwardly, he sat down and acquiesced. When he was done, she merely gave it a cursory glance, and asked him to pick another piece. And fold something else. Ukitake Jūshirō wondered what she was up to. When he meant paperwork, he had not expected to be late to his office because of whimsical handicraft.
Her fingers picked up the first thing he had folded. "Kerokero."
Huh?
"Do you know that in the human world, japanese frogs go "kerokero", while english frogs go "croak, croak"? Or maybe it's frogs and toads."
He was definitely lost. She was not smiling. As far as he knew, Shiba Kūkaku did not do whimsy, go in circles, or ponder on insignificant things. So what-
"Yoruichi told me that."
Still crouched on her knees, engineered woodwork carefully picked up the second paper object. Watching such a simple action sent a tiny ripple through his bones. Balancing it in the palm of her hand, the action was… sweet.
"Is this a paper ball or a water balloon?"
Jūshirō found his vision filling up quickly with blue and gold stars, right before they gently boinked him between the eyes. Startled, he fell over. That earned him a lot of chuckles. He didn't find it funny. She rewarded him with a lopsided smirk, before standing up. Having to crane his neck would be tiring, but she saved him the effort by putting some space between them. Something was very off, but he could not put his finger on it.
Her clothing was typical Shiba attitude, without impedance and primed for action. From steel-enforced wooden clogs to a precarious knot holding together the plain white skirt, to the somewhat revealing er, upper half of a pleasing pinkish-fuchsia hue… the shade was similar to the pink chalk Yoruichi had used to playfully mark his haori with. A twig was whirling between her left fingers.
"You're not all that white or jumpy, unless we're talking about your defenses or emotions. When you do hop, you're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Bending down, the twig brushed his chin.
"And your mouth is open."
He promptly shut it. Was Kūkaku considering a second profession? Psychology was not what he would recommend. Fireworks was more her style. What had gotten into her today? Was she possessed? Had she been injured in the head? Was she on the verge of a nervous breakdown? How was he going to inquire about any of those suspicions, without getting boxed in the face?
"But then again, that's why we have the mutual friends that click so well. Amphibians, and I don't mean changing gender where necessary."
A small smile gracing her lips illuminated the morning with an appeal that made the thirteenth division captain much less eager to get to the office. But anticipation of where she might be going underlined it with tiny beads of dread. In red. Twice over. Confusion kept him steadily under her focus, and he felt like a little boy being lectured by Yama-ji again, only Yama-ji was not this attractive.
"With walls that relax but refuse to be breached, and appearances that keep others comfortable at a certain distance, solitude maintains and tests our sanity. No wonder we have similar buddies."
Ukitake Jūshirō nearly choked on the next breath he took. Strange. Too weird. She was definitely in a rare mood, which reminded him of Yoruichi. Both could be too- too- Had she waited so long to analyse him in detail? Was this what they called feminine intuition? There was a prickling discomfort under his scalp, which he had to resist scratching. And his mind immediately rejected what had been said by refusing to think about any of it, which was more than a hint that there might be some accuracy to the observations.
He pulled himself to his feet.
"You've never done this before, and your behaviour worries me. What's the matter? I have pressing duties to get back to."
Her reply reflecting another switch to very stiff formal speech was not an answer.
"This note brought me here."
His handwriting gaped back at him. He hoped he had not gulped aloud.
[My feelings and admiration for the oceanic sky are embodied in this gift- Secret Admirer]
"Yoruichi has played the wrong prank this time. The gift will be returned."
"But why? Do you not like the gown?" Oh no, I've just exposed myself!
"Ukitake…" That came out almost as a sigh. And her smile shrank, now imbued with a weight that could make it collapse and vanish at any moment. They were standing at least six paces apart, but he felt infinitely closer and further from her than he had ever been before. And the intonation of his name was a stark reminder of another woman who had infused it with very similar melancholia while bearing a great burden, on the bridge at the White Tower of Penitence. A hundred years had passed, and he still could not separate the two. They could have been soul sisters, but who the moon and the sun was remained indistinguishable.
At any moment, he might suffocate under the weight of his feelings and ineptitude. And that damned frequent cough was unfortunately being too considerate, not even disturbing him and giving him leeway to excuse himself.
"There is a war to win. But that's not the point." So saying, she turned away.
Enough was enough. Exhausted into exasperation and reservations melting in curiosity, he was going to get to the bottom of this.
"I don't believe you came to visit just for this. You know I and several others would appreciate your help, even if Yama-ji is stubborn about it. Besides, a note would not make you go to this extent of er, attempting to read me."
He had given himself away, but she could no longer smile.
Faint rustle of his robes told Shiba Kūkaku that he had come closer, while maintaining a careful distance. Always polite, never completely losing himself no matter how flustered he became… Kaien's sister envied the control this man possessed. Ukitake Jūshirō, Shihōin Yoruichi, Urahara Kisuke, Kyōraku Shunsui, they were all creatures of the same ilk and far too ambivalent. At times, she detested her valued friends, using supposed resentment of shinigami as an excuse. Only when deluged by too much of their memories, solitude then became a painful loneliness. And such loneliness was increased by their presence. But most of the time, they were not there. So really, how could she blame anyone but herself?
"Even if… what you say may be true, then what are you trying to accomplish here? As birds of similar feathers, you're not being completely honest. And that creates a barrier. Or reinforces it."
She did not answer him. Artificial limbs could not feel, but the barest pressure on her right arm burned like a steaming iron. She moved away, but his grip did not give.
"So tell me, please. Do you trust me?"
Staring at the unblemished sky, she did not see the clouds. Summoning up her courage for what she really wanted to say, Kūkaku was unsure of how to go about it. He wasn't Kisuke, but could also inflict the rare urge to be gentle towards him. Did Yoruichi have moments like this? Che, everyone had probably been hit by uncertainty at some point or other. She had to resist an inane compulsion to ask the man behind her whether her hair was poking him in the eye. But none of this showed.
"A young Kaien once said his two favourite women are like twins. It made me happy. It also made me think of your soul slayer. I wonder about its abilities. A paper ball or water balloon could say so many things about you, or others. The sky and the sea… like Yoruichi and me. Ukitake…"
He was now standing in front of her. Visage grim, mouth a thin straight line, his bearing was as admirable as a wooden soldier. Kūkaku almost did not want to say it. But she had to, because she owed it to their friendship and frankness. Also, she was tired of playing that fine game of diplomacy with him, where walls could not be breached. If only for a moment, she wanted to be separate from her best friend. She also suspected- And if this man was not aware of the possibility, she would wake him up. But she could not do it and look him in the eye. So she tried to turn away, except his other hand was now wrapped around her tattooed arm.
"I am not Yoruichi. I will not be a substitute for her."
His cheeks were drained of colour. Was her expression anything like his? Eyes darkened with a maelstrom of complexities she could not guess at and cheeks hollowed from his inconsistent health, the change only emphasised that tofu pallor. Alas, she was not adept at healing and herbs. Not like Yoruichi. But she could provide the balm of reality, and make this a clean break. Then they could all be safe again, within self-erected boundaries. Kūkaku was not willing to sacrifice a stable friendship for the risks of challenging those walls. She was a master of explosions, but not at blowing herself up. This was the fault of THAT prank, making her stubbornly pursue something best left alone (or at least wait until after the war). But what if he did not survive? Best to bring it up now. Those little punks-
Ukitake Jūshirō felt the heat before he saw it emanating from her left hand. Abruptly wrenching herself loose, she tore towards three small bushes less than thirty feet away and BOOM!
Two sweating and terrified shinigami squeaked "C-Captain!" while scrambling to their feet, thrown by the blast. More than bushes had been pulverised to smithereens, including some trees and rocks. There was not a peep to be heard from surrounding wildlife or insects, if any remained. Said captain was seized with the desire to behead them this time, due to a mixture of reasons. Yet, any punishment he meted out would be more merciful than from an obviously annoyed explosives expert.
About to teach the nosy spies a wrathful lesson in immolation, Kūkaku found herself unable to move further. Huh? It was not kidou binding her arms to her body-
Sentarō had to scoop up a fainting Kiyone, who could not take the shock of seeing her beloved captain with his arms around another woman. He did not need to hear his captain's shouting to know that they were in major trouble and had to vamoose ASAP. And no matter how much he liked making fun of Booger Girl, using what they had just seen might be too cruel as material. Or not, depending on how he felt later.
"Stop, please. They meant no insult."
Of all the times to be struck down, Shiba Kūkaku did not appreciate her conscience intervening. It would be so easy to break free, but not wanting to hurt him? Why did he have such a mellowing effect on her? For one whose inner rebel seemed permanently contained, he was feistier than she had reckoned. His body was enjoyably warm; his lips enticingly cool against her ear. After what had happened with Kisuke so many years ago, she had thought she was content with her life. But not when the proximity of this man led to the faintest questioning of that conviction. And somewhere, a traitorous part of her told her to enjoy the moment a bit longer, to give in and soften just for a while...
If he ever needed any clarity on the subject matter, Ukitake Jūshirō had just been enlightened. He had never seen Yoruichi or Kūkaku lose their tempers. When it came to potential problems, they obviously took different tacks. One stabbed, the other blew. After this, he was quite sure he did not want to see either one erupt. Kūkaku was the sun, blazing and direct. Yoruichi was the moon, honestly shimmering with enough light to be deflective unless cornered. And when it came to layers, they were more complicated than onions.
What he experienced here was a lightning zap. In that moment, the blade truly split into two. And it was a fierce wind chasing away the fog, reminding him of the first time he had truly seen his soul slayer.
"Kūkaku..."
Just as she wriggled a bit more freely and twisted around, their stares met. The sight was definitely anything but love, given the crooked brows, pinched lips and fetching shades of chilli-red both were turning.
A white-haired captain didn't know whether to flee or stay. A usually vocal fireworks-maker did not know why she persisted on this path, but now had an inkling of what to do. She would give him a chance to be bullied back to bouncing health and sweeter blushes. After all, in light of what had just transpired... Shrugging off his touch completely, she strode forward a few paces, and then stopped.
"Ukitake…"
Soft, so very delicately soft, like divinely thin sheaves of water silk wrapping itself about his limbs… he had not known she could sound like that; had her brothers been so lucky to-
"Come back safely from the war."
Chin lifted, eyes gentled by crinkles at the corner- Ukitake Jūshirō was overwhelmed and stranded. He could have been carried away by the swirling currents, and it didn't matter.
At that moment, he would gladly drown.
But it was too fleeting. She was no longer looking back at him again. White cloth settling about her figure, he could see the spine go erect, feel the metaphysical distance grow between them- And something plummeted in his chest.
Before he could tell her of what he had realised, she was gone.
But that could wait. After the war, perhaps they could walk together again for a longer time, even if Shunsui might tease non-stop.
And for the first time in ages, eyeing the sun, he noticed how wonderfully blue the sky was.
A/N: Whew, finally finished this fairly difficult pairing. A demon cat and a sixth-division captain have their own mess to sort out. Hm, to put Yoruichi and Byakuya as a second chapter, or classify as a new fic entirely...