Takes place before the series starts. I've had this in my head for ages. About time I finally found the right words for it.
Disclaimer: Only Bleach I own is NaOCl.
The men file out past him one by one. Renji notices the kenseiken on the last one, and the overpowering reiatsu suppressed by a rigid dam of self control, but is not so petty as to care. Rukia stands straight, like a marionette held taut by invisible strings, but her head is bowed. His excitement at his own news evaporates, and Renji steps in front of her and waits for her to speak.
"Renji... They want to adopt me into the Kuchiki clan. They say they'll have me graduated immediately. And assigned to the 13th Division. Renji, I... This..."
Something in Rukia's eyes -- her eyes always did make him think of still, deep water -- reminds him of two scrawny children, arms moving in tandem, flinging stones into a river. Rukia would see how far she could throw them, but Renji only tried to make his own pebbles land close enough to hers that the ripples which marked their passing would intersect.
He extends his arm to place a hand on her shoulder and doesn't know if he is holding her up or holding her down. He forces a smile because he would never hold her back.
"If that's what you want, I'm happy for you, Rukia." He says this because it is true. "But... you don't need them. I'm your family." He says this because it is an even deeper truth and closer to his heart.
"Renji..." There are tears in her eyes. He's never seen her cry unless someone was dead. "Thanks."
She grabs his wrist and pushes his hand off her shoulder, not to escape, but to sink close against him. Renji wraps his arms around her and knows he will never have to hold her at arm's length again.
--
The fantasy dissipates in the wake of frost and sakura blossoms and Renji can barely remember its warmth. He watches Byakuya and Rukia walk away long after they have passed him, just in case she looks back. She doesn't. There are no magic words to change the past. Renji has no way to tell his younger self that what he thought was best for Rukia was not at all what she wanted. He made his choice, and so she made hers. She never looks back.
Ever since the day he said all the wrong things, the memory of standing on that river bank occupies some small corner of his mind. When he was young, every time two stones sank into still, deep water too far away from each other for their ripples to ever touch, he thought, Next time. Now he knows better.
Renji has no words to change the past. There is no next time, no second chance, no hope for a different future, just the dream he cannot ignore -- that stubborn fantasy that tangles the lines between nostalgia and regret -- and the wistful sigh, "If only..."