Notes: Requested by Q. That's Who. From the August 19, 2005 prompt for the lj community 31_days.
Her face was pretty but distant; he knew he wasn't the first guy to notice either, so he paid closer attention. Her face was calm and didn't give very much away; she spoke evenly and moved smoothly, still like the surface of water. Her voice was neither loud nor soft; he wanted to elicit emotion from this woman who seemed only to reflect it.
The sheet covered her shoulders; he knew she had been devoured from the torso down. He could feel the hollow's stinking breath in the room. Her head lay gently on the pillow and her eyes were closed. But she didn't, couldn't look like she was sleeping, like she had died a peaceful death. Because she hadn't, she had watched good men die and been eaten by a monster she couldn't hope to defeat.
She looked sweet, which meant that either she really was sweet or she was completely awful and no one would pay any attention to it because she looked sweet. Kaien should know, he had a "sweet" little sister at home and she liked to blow things up in her spare time.
He didn't send word to Kuukaku, not when the death was so fresh. As fresh as her face in his mind and her voice in his dreams. He wouldn't send word, not until he found out who did this, and he kept his promise. Kuukaku's notice was his body on her doorstep in the rain.
He walked by her casually, but his eyes searched for hers. She lifted her face to meet his for a moment, and looked away. He really wanted to know her name, so he asked her.
He looked out at the gardens, he saw her sitting under a tree by the pond eating lunch, except that he didn't and he never would again. She motioned slightly for him to join her. He wanted to, but he couldn't, not yet.
He had felt like a little bird hopping towards her, curious and deathly stupid. He thought she might laugh at him, but that was all right. There were worse things than a pretty girl laughing at you, talking with you. She liked to read, he learned, so he would talk to her about things he had read and gave her books that she mentioned she had wanted.
He felt Nejibana in its sheath, muttering words only he could understand in the sound of crashing waves. He does not need to close his eyes to hear the water roaring; it laps at the edges of his consciousness. His hands twist, his wrists twirl in preparation. He knows he is too eager for this fight. He does not need to close his eyes to know that the sea is blood-red.
He courted her openly and proudly, she chided him a little for this when they were alone. It was winter, he folded paper into roses and left them on her desk. Either that or he had paid someone else to make them, little Rukia perhaps, but the gesture was sweet.
Her hair fell over her eyes. It had always been swept up on her head, part of it framing her face. He clenched his fists; he was shaking. He was reckless, but he had power and the will to use it. For the one who did this, death would be kinder than what Kaien had in mind.
She did not jump or twist away from him when he touched her on her hand, her arm, the small of her back. She knew her body, her limits and his.
She was hiding; he heard her laughter again in empty rooms and open windows; he looked for her and everything he wanted to say.
They were preparing for her military funeral; he thought he wouldn't go. He would go to his family's memorial but he couldn't wear his grief so publicly. In the end, he would attend both services at her side.
He waded deeper into the water. She had not always been smiling, but he saw her smiling now, his wife, the woman he had loved. His shihakushou floated around him, it would hang wet and heavy once he got out, if he ever got out. He submerged completely, overflowing. Water entered his open mouth and his nose, but he could always breathe here, even while pretending to drown. He heard her calling to him, her voice rising from the depths. He wanted to answer, but he couldn't, not yet. Another wave bore down on him now, engulfing him in his ocean, his pride, his heart.