"You should return," he says, "when you have a proposal that is no longer a blatant attempt at taking advantage of the generosity of my house."
He flips the proposal over, folds it back into its original form and slides it across the table to Takamatsu Kazuhiko, eighth head of the House of Takamatsu. Kazuhiko receives it wordlessly, turns and leaves the room, not bothering to slide the door shut behind him.
He stacks the papers from the previous discussion away, takes the time to have a sip of tea. A light breeze sweeps in from the window and brings with it the light scent of flowers and summer.
It is a gorgeous Saturday morning and the work-weekend has just begun for Kuchiki Byakuya.
"I don't get it," Renji says after they spend about an hour beating at each other with sticks on a lovely Thursday evening, "Why're you still training with me?"
Rukia pulls her head out from under the tap.
"Huh?"
Renji scratches the back of his neck, "I mean, you live with Captain, right?"
She throws her wet face towel at him but he ducks and the towel makes a sad kind of squelch on the sandy training floor.
Renji would not understand how difficult it still is to talk to Brother. Yes, they have lived in the same house for decades now, but they still rarely speak, and even more rarely still does he mention anything of their shinigami duties. To ask him to take time out of his schedule to train her…
"Hey," Renji's voice breaks her out of her thoughts, "it's not gonna be that bad." He picks up the towel, shuffles over, "I mean, he's evil but he's fair."
"It'd be awkward," she mumbles, wishes she hadn't thrown the towel at Renji because it is now sandy, "and he's busy."
"No one's busy on weekends," Renji says.
"Brother is," Rukia snaps, "and I don't want to impose on him."
"Sheesh, don't know what's got you all bothered today," Renji says, "alright, alright, yeah His Royal Highness is probably busy on the weekends doing His Royal Highness things but there's no way you're imposing on him."
He leans in, a big smirk on his face, "When's the last time you asked him for something and he said no, Rukia? Cos last I checked, that's never actually happened."
Renji puts a faux-thoughtful hand to his chin, "I don't even think he'd be able to say no to your face if you marched up to him and asked for permission to be a lieutenant, y'know?"
She smoothes the invisible wrinkles in her clothes as she waits in the waiting room. A servant places a cup of tea, her favorite teacup, in front of her then ducks shyly and scurries away, feet making no sound on the tatami.
Rukia can hear her heart pounding in her ears, can feel a chill begin to creep down her spine.
"Seike," he says when the door does not slide open.
"Yes, Byakuya-sama," the retainer enters, "I will send your next appointment in shortly."
He frowns slightly where no one can see him, then smoothes it down. Perhaps the ridiculous request Takamatsu made has irked him a little more than he wants to admit but he is a little miffed that he is being made to wait for the next appointment.
A quick check. Rukia is in the compound today, a rare occurrence - he knows the constant flow of guests here to see him for business disrupt the peace and she does not like small talk.
The wind rustles the leaves of the small bamboo grove outside his window and rays of the morning sun play across the table. It really is a nice day.
Perhaps Seike is trying to give him some time to rest. He has noticed that the staff have taken to giving him more space after the Winter War. Why they think he needs it he does not know.
The door slides open.
"Rukia," he manages in surprise, addressing her improperly before she addresses him as the guest is supposed to do.
"What is the matter?"
Does she not know that she can speak freely with him and does not need to, need to make an appointment with his retainer? He swallows the bitter clench of his heart that wells up.
"Brother," she says, hands folded neatly in her lap, gaze fervently focused on the space between his eyes, "if it would be possible, given how busy you are, I would very much like to have the opportunity to be trained by you and to learn from your extensive experience as an officer of the 13 Court Squads."
She bows, and as he watches her seated before him, there is a strange twist of pride and sadness that he knows is just him being selfish. But having that knowledge is insufficient to make the feeling go away. He knows that he should be proud that she has managed to pick up on the way the nobility phrase requests, and he is, but for her to feel the need to do so to ask anything of him...
Her head is still bowed, waiting for his response. He would praise her, but now is not the time. She is waiting and he should not keep her waiting. It would be improper.
"It would be my honor," he says and notes with no small amount of amusement how her head jerks up and her eyes widen.
"Seike."
The door slides fractionally open, "I can have your remaining appointments return tomorrow, my lord."
"Do so."
He turns to Rukia, "Shall we begin?"
"N-now?" She scrambles to her feet. She is not dressed for this. She had put on a nicer set of clothing, because she'd be darned if she would give him any reason to turn her down, no matter how trivial - she had not expected it to be this... easy.
"Are you otherwise occupied?" his voice breaks into her thoughts and she realizes that she has kept him waiting.
"N-no," she says, and is immediately disappointed by how nervous she is appearing. She knows she has no reason to be intimidated by him but by the gods if there is one thing she does not want to do is disappoint him and it just feels like everything she does is disappointing.
He nods and she follows him out the door, padding silently behind through the winding corridors. She knows he could walk through these halls blindfolded, backwards, probably even on his hands, if he were that sort of person, but he is not and neither is she and still, after more than fifty years, the Manor confuses her.
She has never trained in the Manor, so it comes as a surprise that there is nothing particularly spectacular about the training grounds. The dummies look exactly like the ones found in the Divisions, the sand the same dusty windswept color.
He stands by one of the walls, says nothing. She thinks she may be catching a flicker of nostalgia, a softening of the corners of his eyes, but that could just as easily be a trick of the light filtering in between the bamboo leaves.
"Ugh," Rukia flops onto the dinner table ten minutes late and looking like someone had just dragged her hair-first out of the shower.
Renji slides a mug of beer over and it bumps to a stop against her elbow, "What's got you?"
She raises her head from the table, tugs the mug handle closer with her little finger and leans on the rim to sip at the alcohol.
Renji takes a swig of his own drink. If he did not know any better, he would say that she had just returned from a stint of training the newest recruits, judging from just how tired she looked, but he does know better and it is Sunday and Rukia does not work under an evil bitch so that cannot be it.
Rukia mumbles something he cannot discern into her drink that sounds like bleagh blargh ugh why did I think it would be a good idea.
Good idea? The last thing... Oh.
A grin grows on Renji's face. It turns out that he might know an evil bitch that Rukia might have been working under, which might explain how tired she looks. Captain Kuchiki is a hard worker and he expects everyone else to conform to his unrealistic standards. Cough evil bitch cough.
"It'll get better," he pats her shoulder. His grin widens, "He won't kill you. Remember, for some strange reason, he actually likes you. I can't imagine why."
"Grargh," Rukia says into her drink when he knows she wants to say, "Go fuck yourself."
She sips slowly at the beer, lifelessly poking at the meat skewers. She looks so miserable that whatever glee he has at finally having a partner-in-training-pain quickly evaporates.
Renji sighs, "Alright, what happened?"
Rukia turns slightly towards him but will still not meet his eyes.
"I asked and he said yes and then we went straight to the training grounds. He didn't say anything so I just started warming up. Then he didn't say anything so I went into the usual kata and kido practice with the targets there, which I suppose was alright but he still didn't say anything so I did some meditation, which wasn't very effective because I could not focus because he was standing there not saying anything and even though we know each other he's still terrifying and I'd hate to screw up, not that my stray reiatsu would be able to hurt him. When I gave up meditating, he didn't even say anything about the training, just nodded and excused himself to dinner with the Elders and some guests. So I sort of tried to drown myself in the steam of the bath but the staff reminded me that I had dinner with you so nothing has gone right today and I'm sure he hates me now."
Rukia's chin clunks onto the table. She picks up a skewer stick but uses it to poke at the plate of peanuts instead of eating it. Renji tries his darndest to squash the snigger floating up his throat but it does not work and he bursts into laughter. She whips her head around, eyes agitated, skewer still in hand.
He holds out a hand to preempt her angry outburst, then takes a sip from his drink. Sure enough, she deflates.
"He doesn't hate you," Renji grins, "When's the last time you heard him say something longer than five sentences in a row, Rukia?"
"But we're supposed to be training," she pouts into her drink.
Renji shrugs, "That's just how he is with everyone. You know that."
"But what if he doesn't want to do this and is just putting up with it because I asked?"
Renji ruffles her hair with a hand that she swipes away, "Go back on his word? This is Captain Kuchiki we're talking about, right?"
Rukia hardly looks placated but she frowns and takes a sip.
"What if he's not saying anything because he's disappointed?"
Renji lets out a bark of laughter, "You disappoint him? With kata and kido and meditation?"
Rukia's brows knit.
"Rukia," Renji smirks, "last week he forgot and left me in charge of kido practice for the division. That look on his face when he came back from the Captains' meeting was disappointment, not whatever you think you saw."
"Brother is far more nuanced than a baboon like you could possibly understand," she snaps at him but she rolls her eyes and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly.
Renji snorts.
"Uh huh."
Their next meeting goes fractionally better, if by fractionally better she means he now speaks to her.
"Is it easier for you to concentrate about your palm?" he says as they stand back from the kido targets which are smouldering but not on fire.
She frowns, sweat dripping down the back of her head further dampening her collar, "Palm?"
He looks back at her, holds out a hand, extends his index finger. She would never notice it in a real situation, as it is she may be imagining things, but somehow she feels the reiatsu pooling around his wrist, flowing down the back of his hand, swirling around the tip of his index finger.
It escapes in a single breath, a pin prick of power that exhales and leaps forward. The target is gone, only charred brick remains behind it.
The 4th Hado spell is not a spectacular display by any means, but there is something oddly breathtaking about its simplicity.
He turns back to her, "You may find it easier to draw your power out around a smaller, more defined point."
She does not know what it is that he has found fault with in her form, but she recognizes, is clearly and keenly aware that something is different in her form compared to what she has just witnessed.
She tries to gather her reiatsu around a point that is not her palm, tries to consciously gather her reiatsu about a point instead of letting it flow into the same familiar hum, but something feels strange and unnatural about the way the energy pools. For a second, she can hold it in place, feels the power tighten in on itself then it all fizzles into nothingness.
She bites back the huff that wants to escape. Brother would not appreciate her showing outwardly frustration. Outwardly frustration is not in line with the teachings of the Kuchiki.
In the corner of her eye, he stands unruffled in casual robes. She concentrates on the feeling of power and tries again, letting it well from her wrists, swirl about her hand and extend a tendril out toward her finger.
This time the power vanishes with an audible crack that stings the back of her hand an angry red. He frowns but makes no move to say or do anything, so she quickly soothes it with a whispered healing kido, and what she usually does, how it gathers when she does not think just suddenly feels wrong.
The noon sun beats down on their heads, she thinks she can see a bead of sweat gather at his temple - perhaps they are not so different after all.
"Sorry, I was held up," Kuchiki darts into the Eighth's training hall.
Nanao turns away from the targets, one still smouldering, "Not a problem, Kuchiki-san. You had a question for me?"
Unlike other divisions, the Eighth's hall is immaculate but for the targets which are lovingly charred, most of their cloth limbs in unrecognizable lumps on the floor. Lumps they may be, but neat lumps they are. Nanao takes pride in order.
Kuchiki nods, "I was just wondering if there is a recommended way to fire kido."
"A recommended way?"
"Well," Kuchiki pulls at a thumb with her other hand, "The Academy recommended we vocalize the full chant and gather power in our hands but they never did say anything specific about where or how we should do that."
"Where?"
"Yeah. Is there a particular part of the hand we should gather power around? I guess I just kinda do it without thinking and it just works..."
"If it works, I see no harm in sticking with it instead of forcing yourself into something different. I think you should do what works for you," Nanao says, remembering the countless numbers of unskilled Division members who cannot for the life of them even conceptualize kido. Kuchiki has never struck her as a person that was exceptionally poor at kido - as a matter of fact if memory serves, Nanao is certain that Kuchiki is quite a stellar practitioner.
"Well," Kuchiki's gaze darts to the floor, she moves on to tugging at an index finger.
Nanao has seen looks like these before, though never quite in the context of learning kido. More often they are accompanied by new recruits asking her if asking Captain Kyouraku out is a good idea. (No, it's never a good idea.)
Despite her reputation for strictness, Nanao is actually very bad at turning people down. She is also a sucker for helping others.
"Technically," Nanao says, holds out a hand, palm facing outward, "you can choose to gather the energy around any part of your body."
She materializes a small sphere of light at her palm, floating inches away from the surface like most Academy students see their instructors do. She kills it, turns her palm upward and brings out spheres that dance down the lengths of her fingers, flips her hand downwards and conjures light at each knuckle, lets them gather in one ball that rolls up her arm to her shoulder.
Kuchiki's expression is priceless, mouth agape, eyes wide as Nanao banishes the energy out into the air around them.
"W-Wow," Kuchiki breathes.
Nanao smiles, "Is this something you would be interested in learning?"
The joy drains from Kuchiki's face immediately - she averts her eyes to the floor once more, "Well, I-I kinda already tried..."
"And?"
"And I don't think I could do it," Kuchiki mumbles, "I don't think it's the sort of thing I can do." She fidgets.
"Nonsense," Nanao snaps, "Manipulating reiatsu is 95% focus, 4% determination and 1% talent."
"But I..." Kuchiki twiddles her thumbs.
Nanao frowns, not sure who would dare tell Captain Kuchiki's younger sister she lacks talent, "You are talented, Kuchiki-san. We just need to work at it. This is not something you cannot do."
He puts his brush down with a soft clack, lets the excess ink drip back into the inkwell. The progression Rukia has shown over the past weeks in kido has been astonishing. Her control over reiatsu was unexpected in the beginning, but her improvement has startled him. The very thought that she no longer needs his instruction in kido is, quite frankly, alarming. He cannot put his finger on why this alarms him and that in itself alarms him.
He has always known that she is strong. Perhaps he has never really thought about how strong she could be.
The thought further discomfits him and it is timely that a light breeze starts up outside the window, the leaves rustling gently as if they laugh at him.
Kido was the easy part. She should have known, she really should have known. Or well, her muscles know now. Even reaching for the soap hurts and they have not even sparred yet. Rukia bites back the tears that well up though the shower would just take them away. They have crossed blades not even once at this point, merely gone through the stances and held them and already the distance between them seems insurmountable.
Not even the distance between them - she is not arrogant enough to think that she could easily reach a level of mastery over her body for weaponry that matches his - just the distance between where she is now and where he expects her to be is so much that it all seems impossible.
Rukia hates it when things seem like they are impossible, hates it even more when it seems like it is impossible for her to do something that many others seem to take to as easily as fish to water. All the people around her, Renji, Ichigo, Brother, hell, even Kotsubaki - this is not fair.
Maybe you can't, a small voice whispers in her head, the nagging seed of doubt says, maybe this isn't something that you can do. Maybe they're wrong and you just aren't good enough, it says in the small puffs of water droplets that condense as she steps out of the shower.
Maybe all you can do is disappoint.
She muffles her scream in a towel.
He rubs the soreness out of his shoulders with a hand, presses fingers into the muscle and holds the ache in. If asked he would never admit it - though no one asks so he is never at risk of anyone else finding out - but he can barely recall the last time he worked this hard. He has had enough time to rest after the Winter War. It has been at least two months of inactivity, of patrols led by Third Seats and low-intensity training. Perhaps he is growing complacent, quickly appeased and easily satisfied with his progress. He shakes the thought out of his head, flicks the water droplets to the floor from his hair.
Rays of Sunday evening sun, low and red, creep in by his feet. There is a dinner engagement in an hour with the Takamatsu that he had not quite been able to reschedule to the distant future. He will have to find another time to speak with Rukia regarding her progress in training.
"Damn," Renji breathes, " stances for three whole hours?"
Rukia tries to lift her head off the table but her shoulders are burning with an ungodly fire so she settles for a miserable sideways nod.
"Of all the evil in the world," he grins, "you had to be saddled with this one huh."
Rukia reaches aching fingers for the cold glass of her beer, "He probably thinks I'm weak."
Renji takes a sip out of his own glass, shrugs, "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. He doesn't say these things, but even if he does, you're in very good company."
"I don't care about you," Rukia mumbles.
"Hey, that's not so nice. And it's not just me. He probably thinks all the lieutenants are weak. And maybe Kurotsuchi and Soifon too."
"Brother was once a lieutenant," she says.
Renji shrugs, "And he's not now. Made it to captain. I'd put him in the top half, probably the top five at least, though what do I know eh?"
He chews at a skewer, "Besides, isn't that the point of training? To get stronger?"
"But stances," Rukia mumbles, "we did stances in the Academy."
"And I supposedly did kido in the Academy. Your point being?"
Rukia sighs, musters the strength to lift her head off the smooth wooden tabletop, picks a skewer of chicken hearts.
Five Sundays and a world of pain later find them meeting at the usual time at the entrance to the compound, he returning from a business lunch and she preparing for their training session.
"I think we should speak," he says as they walk down the corridor together.
Her heart sinks, "Yes, Brother."
His eyes meet hers but he otherwise makes no outward acknowledgment of her statement. She follows him as they make a right where they usually take a left and she begins to recognize this as the path to the office he keeps at home.
The doors slide smoothly open and are shut behind them by the staff. He does not take his usual place at the table but heads over to the teapot in the corner. Rukia can feel her stomach preparing to mutiny.
"Have a seat," he waves a hand before turning away to pour them both a cup.
Rukia tucks the loose folds of cloth under her thighs, feels the creases that gather. Her heart pounds, sinks with each beat.
He takes his place at the table, opposite her, places a cup of tea before her. It would be reassuring in any other circumstance but there can be nothing reassuring about this situation. There can be no way this will end well, not after all the training sessions ending with her knees in the dust from exhaustion. Worse still was last week. Last week they had sparred for all of five minutes and it had ended up with her face dangerously close to the floor at least ten times, each followed by a terse, "Stand."
He waves her to pick up her teacup, takes a sip from his own, "I think it best we speak about your goals before you continue training with me."
She cannot tell anything from his tone, has not been able to do that except in the rare moments when he shows fierce emotion and this is not one of those moments so she dares not meet his eyes, does not want to see the look of disappointment that she knows must play on his face.
"Yes, Brother," she says to the table.
The cicadas outside buzz, protesting the summer heat. She wishes for the lightest of breezes to flow through the window and tear the stillness apart but nothing comes.
A light clack, she raises her eyes slightly to see his teacup on the tabletop.
"Rukia," he says quietly as he is wont to do, "what is it that you seek to gain by training with me?"
She stiffens. It is coming, she can feel it coming in the air, makes one more plea for wind but the gods do not answer so she must.
"I-"
I want to stand up for myself. I want to find out how much I can do. I want to get stronger. I want to make you proud. The words stick in her throat and nothing comes out.
He waits and the cicadas fill the space.
When she says nothing he lifts his cup, takes another sip, lets the tea slowly slip down his throat.
"We will resume training when you have an answer."
She has known that it would come to this but her heart sinks and she fights tears back.
"Yes, Brother."
As she rises, she clenches her fists about her pants so tightly the cloth would rip if she were stronger.
But she is not.
"Captain Kuchiki," a most familiar voice interrupts his thoughts as he prepares to head back to the Sixth after the Captains' meeting, "if I may have a moment."
He stops. Captain Ukitake is waving Captain Kyouraku away and hurrying toward him.
"Oh good," Ukitake smiles, "you're not otherwise occupied, are you?"
He says nothing, lets Ukitake continue and the elder Captain recognizes his silence for the answer that it is.
"Good, good. Shall we head over to my place?"
He lets Ukitake's voice guide him towards the Thirteenth, notes a distinct lack of Rukia's reiatsu and remembers that she is out on patrol for the next few days.
"I understand you have been training Rukia?"
He takes a sip of the proffered tea, acknowledges Ukitake's choice of words, "I was."
Ukitake nods, smiles, "Did anything happen?"
He frowns. Ukitake is Rukia's superior officer and also has a vested interest in her development so there is no reason to not discuss Rukia.
"I asked that she consider her goals before continuing."
Ukitake's eyes widen, "Her goals, Byakuya?"
It has always been difficult to get anything past Ukitake, especially if one has known the kind older captain since boyhood. Byakuya's eyes lower to the table top. Any more and he will have to say what he actually thinks and that will be admitting that he was wrong. He is loath to be wrong and even less so does he enjoy admitting a mistake.
"Why?"
He can see the smile playing on Ukitake's lips. Kind benevolent Ukitake is giving him space to avoid having to verbalize the admission of his mistake. If he did not like the man, Byakuya would most certainly have left in a huff.
As it is, Ukitake means well most of the time and this is one of those times. He takes the easy way out, "She has improved greatly over the past few months."
Ukitake's smile widens, he nods. Byakuya can feel fatherly pride emanating from Ukitake's pores. Squashing the strange sense of annoyance down, he picks his teacup up.
"And you can no longer train her?"
He frowns, "I can and I will should she want me to."
Ukitake frowns, reaches for his own cup.
"She was quite upset that your training sessions had ended."
His frown deepens.
She lets her pack fall to the floor, slides it under her chair with a foot. The door to the office swings slowly shut behind her. She lights a lamp, lets it cast its flickering firelight across the desk. For all their improvement, Kotetsu and Kotsubaki still struggle with paperwork - there is basically still an entire week's worth of work left for her.
It is a dim, brisk, drippy Saturday morning and Rukia knows that she should get started on the backlog before the new batch comes in on Monday. Being able to spend a whole week out in the field is a luxury that is now over. There is work to be done and she has to do it now before it overwhelms her.
She sits at her desk, pulls the inkwell toward her. The faint radiating marks the ink left as it evaporated and dried jump out at her. She should have washed it before she left - he would-
Her heart sinks, again, as it has all week no matter how hard she has tried to bury herself into busyness and bustle. She knows that this has all been an excuse, that this is all an excuse, that she would not be here, should not be here.
She knows he is waiting at the door for her to return as he has begun to do of late. She knows she confuses him - they know so little about each other - he will wait for her. She knows.
She squashes the feeling down, pulls a form towards herself, reads the headers, skims Kotsubaki's notes, pours a dash of water into the inkwell and grinds the inkstick down until it is sharp enough to cut.
He is pacing. He knows he is pacing but he cannot stop himself. If he stops he will want to leave. If he sits he will want to leap up. If he starts thinking he will be at the Thirteenth Division before he can finish the thought and he should not be. He should not hover about her space - they are different people, he is not her owner nor her caretaker, he has no right to burst in and demand answers. And yet...
There is no reason why she has not yet returned. He knows she has returned - he felt her reiatsu reenter Seireitei hours ago - could only feel it dimly from where he had been in the Council meeting. He should have been informed if she were hurt. If she were in trouble the Fourth would have sent a messenger. It is common procedure for them to send a messenger to family, is it not?
He now realizes that he does not know. Perhaps the Fourth no longer sends messengers. Perhaps they are too understaffed to send messengers. No. That is irrational thought and he is above irrational thought but the doubt niggles at the back of his mind until he hears his own footsteps on the polished wood. A servant ducks behind the curtains but he sees their curious gaze.
Enough.
She feels a sense of unease build but cannot identify it. The forms are not getting simpler but neither are they growing more complicated. There is no reason to-
He is here.
Over the months she has grown overly familiar with his reiatsu such that his entrances and exits no longer startle her. Over the week she spent away she has forgotten this.
A knock on the door.
They both know this is out of courtesy. They both know she is inside.
"...come in," she says when she wants to say go away, stay away, stop tormenting me.
The door slides open. He steps through it, turns back to slide it shut. She is dressed in ordinary shinigami garb, he in casual clothing. It does not escape her that his shoulders are damp, that rain lightly peppers his hair.
"Please have a seat," she puts the brush down, turns away before she meets his eyes, "would you like a drink?"
"Tea will do," his gaze rakes across her but she does not see it, only the teapot and the tea set and the rain outside the window.
She returns, pot and teacups on a tray. He has folded himself onto the Division couch, eyes flicking away from her desk back to her.
He nods his thanks as she pours him a cup.
They drink in silence broken only by the soft pitter patter of the rain on the windowsill. A light breeze brings fragments of water into the room but she does not want to get up to close it entirely - the room is suffocating enough as it is.
"Is there something I can do to help," she says finally, knuckles of her ring and little fingers white, curled around themselves beneath the base of her teacup.
"I'm sorry," he says.
She drops her cup, splashes herself with hot liquid, swears. He leaps to his feet, passes her a cloth from some-she-doesn't-know-where. She dabs at herself, what did he say?
"I'm sorry," he says again.
She opens her mouth to speak, to apologize but he cuts her off, "Captain Ukitake spoke to me."
Her heart sinks but he continues before she can begin to fully wallow in dread, "I have caused you stress. I apologize. It was not my intention to have you believe that I no longer wish to train you."
She hopes he continues before she jumps up and screams then what could you possibly have meant then she realizes that this is not the first time he has managed to terrify her.
He continues, "I have been surprised by your growth. Your hakuda is still lacking but there is time and space for you to improve should you want to."
She is never going to understand the full depth of what he means. Even if she does, she will be wrong. As she always is. Even so, even so, her treacherous heart lifts.
"I did not know if you would want to continue being pushed - as you are, your skills are more than adequate to serve as a Third Seat in any division."
She should stop trying to understand him. She should, she really should. Does he really mean what he is saying? Does he know what he is saying?
"I," he looks away, stills, stiffens slightly, "was wrong."
He sips at his tea.
"It was wrong of me to hold you back and I realize that I did not adequately express this."
"I apologize."
She stares into her mostly-empty cup, hand trembling. The ripples stare back at her. Does this mean what she thinks it means? This is cruel. He cannot mean what she thinks he means. He does not mean what she thinks he means. Does he know? Is it-
"I understand if you need time," he says, "I apologize for visiting unbidden." His eyes flick away from her, flick around the room as he avoids her gaze and makes to stand.
Something breaks inside her. Maybe it's the lack of sleep from the patrol. Maybe it's the stress from the past month going to her head. Maybe it's just finally too much. Fuck time. Fuck thinking. She's done with tiptoeing around.
"Do you mean it," she says, hand clenched around her cup, "do you mean what you are saying?"
He turns, eyes widening in a question that he quickly finds the answer to. It is not a smile by any means, if anything he turns almost skittish, looks away, finds resolve and turns back to her.
"Yes," he says.
As he falls toward Soul Society, he can feel the thin threads of reiatsu floating up to meet him. Each he checks, sifts through quickly, then discards, not finding what he is looking for. He knows she had been in the Royal Realm. That was what they had said and there would be no need to lie to him, nothing gained from lying to him.
Still he is unable to rid that niggling seed of doubt from his mind. Still he is poisoned by that ridiculous fear. Still, as he falls, the rushing wind in his face and howling in his ears, still his heart pounds and he grasps with increasing desperation for familiarity.
He finds Kyouraku. He finds Zaraki. He finds Renji. He finds Hitsugaya and Matsumoto. He even teases Kotetsu apart from Kusajishi. The strands come rushing toward him and now he is tearing through them with frantic fingers, pulling the air apart.
She is not dead. She cannot be dead. The rotting face floats to mind but he squashes it down with a burning anger, turns back to the strong bursts of power that come at him from below.
Then he finds her, he finds her sharp and cold as the bite of the sunrise on the first snow.
His heart rises.
She is strong, so strong he would have missed her if he could have mistaken her for anyone else, if he could ever mistake that power he would know from anywhere. She has gotten so strong.
He lands.