DISCLAIMER: Actually, there aren't many characters to claim here. But anyway, dead or not, they still aren't mine.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This is/will be a two-shot sequel to my other fic, "The Revenge". Please read that fic first, otherwise any feeling of cluelessness shall be your fault.
Author's Note: I'm actually quite happy to have finally gotten around to writing this. The idea for it has been stuck in my head forever, but I couldn't find a suitable context to write it in before now... wait, I'm not making sense. Never mind. Just proceed on to the story then.
Ukitake Jūshirō stood before the memorial.
The black stone sparkled dully, even in the bright sunlight. He wondered, briefly, whether it was shining like this when the morning patrol had made their discovery, three years ago…
Memory overwhelmed him.
It was a quiet morning in the offices of the Thirteenth Division. Kiyone and Sentarō weren't even in yet.
Taking full advantage of the circumstances, Jūshirō managed an early start on his paperwork, feeling a certain sort of peace that had been lacking for a long time.
Today was the first time, in five years and one day, that the war-worn taichō had managed to convince himself that everything was all right again, that the victory so hard-fought for was finally and truly won, that the sacrifices made had been not for moot.
Later, he would tell himself that he should have known that it was not destined to last.
But he hadn't known it then. So it was only with mild annoyance that he looked up at his two third seats when they rushed into the room with barely any warning.
Jūshirō had the first inkling that something was amiss when he noticed that his acting lieutenants weren't trying to outdo each other for once. However, it took a good look at both of their worried – no, outright distressed – expressions to snap him out of his relaxed mood.
"Report, Kiyone, Sentarō!" he ordered. "What is it?"
"It – it's… it's Kuchiki, sir…" Kiyone was stammering, her voice choked. "She – her name…"
Jūshirō was shocked to see her close to tears. He knew that Kiyone had grown close to the younger Kuchiki, especially after her near-execution. But for her to break down like this…
The troubled taichō turned to Sentarō, demanding details. He complied hurriedly, though still having to pause a few times to compose himself.
Before Jūshirō's horrified eyes, the story was beginning to unfold, a tale of revenge done in cold blood. He stood in silence for a few moments, immobilised by disbelief, as Sentarō finished his narrative.
Then he had left the division headquarters, with only one destination in mind.
Jūshirō had no doubt that his acting lieutenants were telling the truth – far from that, he just needed to see with his own eyes that this was actually happening, that so much had changed, just in one day and one night.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jūshirō saw Kiyone trying – and failing – to stand, her small frame still wracked with sobs. Sentarō was supporting her with an arm around her shoulder, looking up at his taichō with pain in his eyes.
The white-haired man only said two words, motioning towards the third seat, before he disappeared.
"Stay here."
He knew that Sentarō wasn't as slow-witted as he appeared to be. He would understand immediately.
With this new death to add to the losses in the Thirteenth Division, they needed to rely on each other to survive. To stay afloat in this sea of death and destruction.
As his Flash Step carried him away, Jūshirō could only hope that that would be enough.
He didn't know every person on the long list.
In fact, Jūshirō wondered if anyone did. He didn't think anyone would survive it, knowing so many people whose lives were snatched away because of one man's greed for power.
Out of the original ninety-nine whose names had been engraved on the stone as a sign of remembrance, of tribute, only eight had been from his division. Two more were Jūshirō's classmates at the Spritual Arts Academy. He hadn't known them very well at all. But he still had known them – he had trained with them, had talked to them, had laughed with them. Ten little lead weights still tugged on Jūshirō's very being, manifesting themselves in anger, sadness, or the feeling that if he had done something differently, they would still be alive and well.
But that was nothing compared to the next addition, the hundredth.
The suicide of the Fifth Division's fukutaichō hadn't severely affected Jūshirō – not directly. Yes, he had been saddened to watch her spiral down the dark hole left by Aizen's betrayal; devastated to see her end her own life, trapped in the web of lies, kind and cheerful girl no more. But what had affected him deeply was Tōshirō's reaction.
His fellow taichō had been desolate ever since Hinamori began her deep descent into denial, and later, depression. It had only worsened after her death – Tōshirō had buried himself in work, initially refusing almost everyone entry to his quarters save Matsumoto and Jūshirō himself. It had been abundantly clear, from his desperate fight to include Hinamori's name on the memorial, that he placed the blame for her death wholly on Aizen's shoulders. Eventually, Jūshirō, not being able to bear it any more, had pulled quite a few strings in various places, even asking a favour from his sensei, to ensure that Hinamori would have a place on the memorial.
After Yamamoto-soutaichō had announced his decision regarding the matter, Tōshirō had begun a slow and painful recovery, but the older taichō knew well that he would never return to his old self, not with this dark shadow looming over him.
And then it had happened.
The sun had barely begun to beat down on the earth when Jūshirō arrived in front of the memorial. Only two more people were there – the pair who had done the morning patrol, and had subsequently witnessed the incident.
He took in the expressions of the two shinigami. One was fresh out of the Academy, he could tell, judging by the naïve innocence in his expression, clearly hoping that someone would tell him that this was all a joke, and nobody had died.
The other had been around during the war, and Jūshirō recognised him to be one of the many people who had fought, though not on the front lines. He would have seen deaths, the taichō thought, of those he knew, and those he didn't.
It was the second man he spoke to now. "What did you see?"
Jūshirō would never forget the look in the second shinigami's eyes as he described how the four new names had appeared on the memorial.
It was those four names Jūshirō looked at now, starting with the last inscription. He made himself read them yet again, even though he knew the names by heart.
Kuchiki Rukia.
Kurosaki Ichigo.
Matsumoto Rangiku.
And, right below Hinamori Momo, Hitsugaya Tōshirō.
It was cruelly ironic, Jūshirō thought, that the two could only be together in death. And made worse by the fact that their names had been arranged to be together, no doubt the result of accurate prediction and execution on the part of Ichimaru and Aizen. They had doubtlessly known that Hinamori would do what she did – and they had been correct.
Jūshirō imagined the glow that had surrounded the stone that day, fading to reveal the four names. He hadn't known that Aizen was that good with kidō. Even with all the security measures that had been in place at that time, the Gotei 13 were still unable to pinpoint the time when the two traitor taichōs had sneaked in to apply the charms on the memorial, timing them to reveal the names at their command.
And it wasn't for a lack of trying.
The white-haired taichō, suddenly feeling every single one of his years, thanked both shinigamis and left. He was barely conscious of where his feet had brought him. But he was not the least bit surprised to find himself in the offices of the Tenth Division, letting himself into the room he had grown to know well.
As he sat on the couch that Matsumoto-fukutaichō had always occupied, Jūshirō wondered how the group sent to check on the four had felt.
The sudden appearance of the four names had only been relayed to the heads of the First, Second, and Thirteenth Division, since it was considered as classified information. Yamamoto-soutaichō needed to know, Soifon-taichō was tasked with the investigation, and Kiyone, who happened to be present at the headquarters, was immediately informed of the possible danger to a division member. According to Sentarō, Kiyone had only been able to tell them that Rukia had taken two days' leave, as she had done every year since Aizen's defeat, to visit the Human World. But that information had been enough.
The taichō and fukutaichō of the Tenth Division had been discovered in this very office, ice and dust surrounding them. Their bodies had been intact, further preserved by Hyourinmaru's ice.
They had been lucky.
The group sent to check the Kurosaki residence only found charred remains where the house once stood. And the blast had not only taken out its intended victims, but also everyone else in the house, which meant that even more people had died – eight, as they later discovered by the lingering traces of reiatsu, Ichigo's friends also having been over at his place.
It was not until a day later that they realised that the name of one more shinigami was missing from the memorial.
After all, Kurosaki Isshin had been a shinigami once.
Jūshirō chuckled slightly as he realised that the simple ceremony held in remembrance of the five was the first – and only – time he'd seen the hyperactive Kusajishi-fukutaichō silent.
Her mood had been approaching seriousness as she told him that she was sad, because "now Ken-chan can't play with Icchy anymore".
Well, I guess miracles do happen after all, he mused.
The fluttering of a pair of wings alerted Jūshirō to the presence of a Hell Butterfly. He listened to the message. It was from Kiyone, informing him of a visitor at the Tenth Division offices.
Time to go back, then.
A sad smile lingered on Jūshirō's face as he turned to leave.
to be continued...
2nd Author's Note: This chapter is pretty much centered around Ukitake's flashbacks. Hope nobody found it boring. Fret not, the next chapter will be much more... lively. That is a promise. Also, I have pretty much ignored Tōsen here, since I don't really know him well. Besides, Aizen and Ichimaru have bigger grudges.
3rd (and last) Author's Note: *copies Matsumoto's puppy-eyes expression* Please, please, please review/alert/favourite/do all of the above if you like this story, and thanks to all who have done so! Compliments, complaints, suggestions and questions all welcome. Will be waiting for ya!