Written for Gal in the May round of Bleach flahsfic.
Title: Tonic
Characters/Pairings: Uryuu, Renji, off-screen Orihime, Rukia and Ichigo. Light Uryuu+Orihime, Uryuu+Renji, implied Renji+Rukia.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Light swearing, angst, offscreen character death. AU-ish—set post-Hueco Mundo arc (but not war-is-over-everyone-is-happy!).
Tonic
Sometimes, Uryuu goes out and he trains in his hidden place until his arms feel numb and he's too tired to even contemplate crying. When he's there, he often runs over the many conversations that have made up his life—conversations with his father. Conversations with Kurosaki (well, if you suspend your disbelief and consider Kurosaki to be intelligent enough that any exchange of words with him can be called a conversation). Conversations with Inoue. Conversations with Renji.
Most often, in these past few days, conversations with Renji.
"What were you before you died? Why did you become a shinigami?"
Always questions. Always wanting to know. What was your life like?
"Eh. Can't remember anything before I died. Grew up in Rukongai with Rukia and a few other kids. They died off eventually, though, and we decided t' become shinigami. It was the only thing we could do, ya know? And... well, I thought that maybe I could... I was too weak to help them, the other kids, so I thought that maybe as a shinigami I could save people."
It is a cold evening, dry and bordering on wintery with a pale gray sky and the world cast in cool blue light. The wind whistles through the trees and chills his fingers as he draws back the bow and lets the reiatsu arrow fly. Uryuu could not honestly say that the temperature doesn't bother him—although perhaps it's not the best way to look at it, as he would speak at all, alone. To speak to the air is an odd thing, not a dignified thing—it is the sort of thing Inoue would have done.
What exactly is wrong with being like Inoue?
They are running now, through the bone-white halls of Las Noches. They don't speak, and the Octava Espada's blood is drying dark brown on Uryuu's cape and coat. Renji's hair is a flash of red in Uryuu's peripheral vision.
With every step their sprinting feet take, they fall more and more into step. It is as though the jagged puzzle edges of their two minds and consciousnesses are inching together, and for the first time in his life Uryuu isn't afraid of the collision, and for a moment in his fearlessness he feels, on that general but deeply hidden foundation level, less pathetic.
They stop suddenly at a crossroads; they look over at each other and knowledge forms between them, knowledge of what they have to do. But not understanding. Uryuu realizes with one of those quiet social panics (which is strange and silly, because this isn't a social situation) that he still doesn't understand. He was wrong. What was he thinking, that he could understand Renji just because—what? Because they fought once, only a few minutes ago, side by side? They'll have to go separate ways; he knows that, but he doesn't know what's going through Renji's head—and, deny it though he would, he wants to.
"You're here to save that Inoue girl, right?" says Renji, watching Uryuu with those narrow eyes of his.
"I—well—yes, I suppose—"
"I'm out to save Rukia right now." Renji's voice plows right over his. His tone is voice, his very expression is blunt. "Rukia's that way." He jerks his head to the right. "Your Inoue girl..." He frowns.
"She's not my Inoue girl," says Uryuu, somewhat indignantly. "Her name is Inoue Orihime! And she's, she's not mine." For some odd reason, he finds himself blushing at that, and Renji smirks, which confuses him and makes him even more irritated.
"Right. Inoue Orihime. Whatever. R—"
"Not whatever!" Uryuu retorts, suddenly angry. Maybe it's the stress. It's probably the stress. Maybe it's the encounter with Szayel-Aporro. In any case, something is driving him to contest this point. "Her name is Inoue Orihime, and it's not whatever! Names matter!"
Renji opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and mouths something soundlessly, but Uryuu prides himself on being sharp and observant, so he recognizes, vaguely, the syllables made, and he realizes that they could be Kuchiki
"Inoue Orihime," says the shinigami firmly.
"Inoue Orihime."
"Kuchiki Rukia," he continues. "That's who I care about." His gaze is heavy and serious, and Uryuu finds himself fidgeting again, but for a different reason now. "I've gotta go save her."
"Why?"
"What?" Renji sounds like he can't believe Uryuu just asked that.
"No—I mean—I understand that—you—I don't mean... I mean... why... why is it that we care about people?"
More staring.
"Quincy, what the fuck makes you think that this is an appropriate time for philosophy?"
"I don't know," mutters Uryuu, looking away at the all-the-same-white floor. Then, more sharply, "And stop calling me Quincy!"
"What, you'd rather be Uryuu-chan?"
"I—you—that's—!" Uryuu glares for all he's worth. Then he straightens up and coughs a little. "Well. I suppose that Quincy is better than..."
"You bet your ass it is," mutters Renji. "Now I'm out of here. Good luck finding... your Inoue girl."
"You—!"
But Renji has already turned and started to run off. Then he pauses and looks back; startled, Uryuu raises his head to meet Renji's thoughtful look. "The reason I'm going is 'cause I've gotta protect Rukia. No way in hell am I gonna let some fucker fuck her up and just stand by and let it happen! Except I guess that doesn't really answer your question, does it? Now you're gonna ask why do I wanna protect her?"
"Ah. No," says Uryuu. Renji blinks. "It's quite clear. It's a pride thing."
"No it's—!"
"There's nothing wrong with pride," says Uryuu, the calmness of his voice surprising himself.
For a few minutes, they just appraise each other across the gap, and as Renji nods, Uryuu thinks that now he understands. "Go save your Inoue girl," says Renji. "Don't let these arrancar bastards win, right?"
All Uryuu can do is jerk his head down, then up, and then Renji turns again and starts to run and this time he doesn't look back, and soon he is gone.
Uryuu himself continues straight on, and as he runs, alone now, he thinks that the edges fit together very well, and they are both cowards. It is easier to focus on the enemy you are protecting against than it is to focus on the person who you are protecting, and why you want to protect them; it is easier to act, to hate and fight, than it is to turn in upon oneself and think about love, to see oneself, to truly get attached, to truly open up and expose all the vulnerabilities, because in affection, all armour is negated.
As he runs, he thinks: I will save my Inoue.
Orihime is dead.
As he fires shot after shot into the sky, Uryuu feels his own thoughts spiral out into the blanket of cloud along with them. It is a strange feeling. Orihime is dead, and he wants to help Renji, because they are one and the same.
They are both one.
One to stand his ground. One to be proud. One to keep running along his one true path.
Always running.
They are one, and they are also them. I have to protect them. They need me (such arrogance!). They are set against me.
And even when they are with me...
... and it's the same for Renji. Even when they are with me, I am still a one.
One arrow fired into the sky. One knee hitting the ground. One hand resting next to it. One spine slumped forward.
One who could not protect. One who failed.
Uryuu finds himself running over them all in his mind. One by one. Inoue-san... is dead. Kurosaki is still alive. Kuchiki-san is still alive. Sado-kun is dead. Renji is alive.
When did he start thinking of him as Renji?
Perhaps when he saw the look on the man's face after they all returned; that brief, anguished look, with the lips moving, forming shapes that Uryuu just knew made out "Rukia", and the words floating behind his eyes—I couldn't rescue her. I needed Kurosaki to rescue her for me.
For a single instant in time, Uryuu was inside Renji's head, and as the shinigami's eyes met his, he rather fancied it worked the other way around, too.
They have failed, and their pride is tarnished. Uryuu knows that he should be able to forgive himself for this, but he can't; there are too many years of growing upon himself for him to have anything else to lean on when one of his roots is severed. He cannot forgive himself. Can Renji forgive himself? No. They are the same, and Uryuu knows that (and even now, that knowledge is a comfort). There is no way he would be able to forgive himself.
And how many mistakes have there been in the past?
No. Renji cannot forgive himself. So Uryuu will make a gamble. He will forgive Renji instead, and hope that Renji, in turn, can forgive him. Perhaps, he thinks for a brief moment, he can forgive Renji when Renji cannot forgive himself, because he, Uryuu, does not care as much about Rukia—and vice-versa.
But then he realizes that it has nothing to do with Rukia, nothing to do with Orihime—the only people it has to do with is him and Renji. Them. Us.
Kneeling by Orihime's side as the last breaths slid out of her, Uryuu thought of all the things he had never said. He thought that he should have let her know that he cared, that he maybe even loved her. But he didn't. He had never told her, because he was afraid of being anything but a one. Because he liked being lonely, liked standing on his pinnacle and looking out over the others with an edge of cool contempt.
And what happens when the pillar is knocked down? Who is there to build it up together?
One person. Only one.
Unless he swallows his pride and enlists some help.
Orihime was the sort of person who made everybody else in the world into her us. What is wrong, Uryuu thinks, looking at the outline of his hand in the rough dirt, with being like Orihime? She was so obviously stronger than he... and he will now just have to accept that, and grow stronger. He will have to stop caring sideways. Stop avoiding.
Stop thinking of it in terms of stop.
Start facing the harder things head-on. Start forging a we. Start with Renji. Start with a shinigami who he should hate, due to his pride and his honour, but who he could only... what? Trust. Respect. Not love.
Not yet.
Reaching up with the hand he hadn't planted in the dirt to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Uryuu stands and dusts himself off. He casts a dismayed look at the left knee of his jeans; no amount of vigorous brushing will clean off the stain of dirt, and at some point he must have torn a hole in it. With a sigh, he resolves to stitch it when he gets back home.
And it was one of his favourite pairs of jeans.
Dematerializing the bow, stripping off the glove and putting in its box, Uryuu thinks that usually, at this point, he would stop feeling like a Quincy and start feeling like Ishida Uryuu. But now he knows that the two are one and the same, and maybe he can start bringing some more equilibrium into his life.
As he strides off, he stumbles, and thinks, with a peeved expression on his face, that maybe first he should work on getting some more equilibrium into his body. Attainable goals, and so forth.
One small figure walking (somewhat stiffly, but with a game attempt at grace and dignity even with cold-numbed legs) towards the dusk. One, walking into the us.