Characters: Ryuuken, Soken, Uryuu
Summary: Soken never reproached him but the words were still there. Ryuuken couldn't be sure if it was his father's words or his own he was hearing.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Timeline: Pre-manga
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
"You need a cane." The words are flatly spoken, out of obligation, not from any real concern, and spoken only because Ryuuken can't fail to perceive Soken's noticeable stoop and slightly uneven step.
"I'm alright," Soken waves him off with one gnarled hand, and Ryuuken is secretly relieved to be given an excuse not to press the issue. It's hard not to notice the way Soken doesn't step evenly now. He's always had a limp, for as long as Ryuuken can remember since he was a small child, but he's never really seen it before, never watched him strain to walk with his back upright and without giving deference to one leg over the other. And he's also never noticed how small Soken's become in old age—he was never very big and at his tallest was shorter than his adult son but now his back's bent and bowed and he's not much bigger than a child.
Uryuu's in another part of the yard, sitting on the lower limb of the old oak tree—Ryuuken has plenty of memories of that tree too—long, thin legs dangling off and not really paying any attention to their conversation. Not that he needs to. When Ryuuken stops the car Uryuu hops out and hugs his grandfather and barely spares a glance for him, and Ryuuken feels the twinge of possessive resentment in his bones, despite everything.
It galls him that Uryuu's happier here than he is at home.
"I'm sorry." Ryuuken looks down and folds his hands in his pockets. "I was called into work unexpectedly; I know this isn't normally—"
Soken gently pats his shoulder, before Ryuuken stiffens and he pulls his hand off as if burned. "It's perfectly alright, Ryuuken. Do you think I would ever be unhappy to have my grandson's company?"
The same company Ryuuken is rarely allowed to have. Uryuu is over here almost more often than he is at home, sometimes for days at a time.
He wishes Soken wouldn't remind him of that.
Predictably, Soken picks up on his discomfort. "A child will always love their parents. You know that."
The old man's being gentle but it still makes Ryuuken's blood burn. "No love is unconditional." He shakes his head, weary, and whispers, "No love is ever unconditional. There's always something that can break it."
Soken pretends not to hear.
It's time to go. "You will take care of him, won't you?"
"I always do."
Only Soken could manage to say that without so much of a hint of reproach in his voice—at least not outwardly. But Ryuuken still can't bear to look him in the eye as he walks away. He's not sure of what he would say, if he did.