A/N – Posted on AO3 for Bleach Big Bang, forgot to cross post! Merry Christmas . . .
I love both Christmas and New Year's, to no one's surprise and astonishment. What's not to love? Spending lots of time with family and friends, usually time that involved delicious food and expressions of love and appreciation, really, how could anyone not love it? I bought into the whole package, Christmas cake to New Year's gifts to everything in between, even the crude commercial part of it. And that's not even mentioning the magical transformation of average, everyday streets into fairylands of snow and lights, white and crisp and reminiscent of a certain Shinigami who had made me happily forget that summer used to be my favorite season.
I died trying to be a hero, to no one's shock and amazement. Tokyo is not heavily crime-ridden compared to other world capitals, and I hadn't had any problems, not with the living, anyway. But put enough people together and sooner or later someone is going to take advantage of someone else. It's sad that this is particularly true near the holidays. Lots of people out shopping, carrying potentially valuable gifts and plenty of money to buy them, stores crowded beyond what security could keep an eye on, cash registers fat with the spoils.
As expected, December 23 found me out late after class, haunting the early Christmas markets and strips of shops on a quest for New Year's gifts for the people who are really difficult to buy for and excited at the possibility of discovering a priceless treasure that would be the perfect offering. I had found a couple nice things, but the big one, a gift that Toshiro wouldn't frown at as I forced him to take it only to throw it away once I had left, that mythical prize was eluding me as I made another pass down the street lined with piles of shoveled snow and twinkling white lights. Toshiro would love this, if I could only persuade him to join me strolling through the winter wonderland of the city, hand-in hand with no other purpose than enjoying the sights together. Someday.
Not so pretty and twinkly, the alley I turned in to looked far cleaner than it was thanks to fresh snow brightening the dingy brick and asphalt. The woman was a perfect target, well-dressed, bags from pricey boutiques, and a girl around age 7 to threaten. She probably hadn't screamed when he pulled her into the alley, too afraid for her daughter and herself. If she did call for help, no one listened. As I walked past the mouth of the alley, I recognized the fear and panic in the high voice that carried out to the street, and, over-protective dunce that I am, I rushed to help without pausing to call the police or tell someone else to.
Usually, I could handle any street thug without breaking a sweat. Usually, the thug didn't have a gun.
One person occupied most of my thoughts before and after the sudden impact, again not a big shock to anyone who knew me well. Those who loved me knew that my family and friends were always in my heart. But everyone who would mourn my passing knew far more about life and death than the average human. They wouldn't be offended that my last thoughts were not of the past, but of the future. The pain wasn't even that bad compared to a lot of hits I'd taken, lying on my back, breath shallow and heart starting to stutter as blood and air grew scarce.
Random mugger in an alley with a gun. How anti-climactic. Didn't the jerk know guns are illegal? Guess you don't care much for legal if you're into stealing or worse. And now he was running free through the snow under the white lights while I was starting to get really cold on the ground of my alley.
Yet it was lovely, the black tunnel above me framed with snowflakes. Snowflakes. I loved snowflakes. A shame they lasted so short a time, just the briefest kiss of cold on my lips.
Not a good idea, I tried to tell the hysterical woman who was on her knees beside me. Moving me would just make it worse, trust me, I'm a medical school student. I don't think I managed to say it aloud, though, but I think I groaned at her shaking me. I resented her face blocking the snow, resented her yelling for help, hurting my ears on top of everything else. Inside my mind, it was quieter, hushed. That was a good sign. If Zangetsu thought I was dying and wouldn't stay me, then he'd think he was going to be snuffed out like a candle. He'd be wailing worse than that woman. Honestly, I saved your life. Couldn't you just shut up and let me die in peace? Peace with the sight of snowflakes changing from delicate tiny crystals, merging into little fluffy clumps.
My snowflake. Toshiro was the ultimate challenge. The first time I'd bought him a Christmas gift still rankled, and I'd been trying to crack his bah-humbug attitude ever since. It had been a snowglobe. A nice one, dainty figures on skates over a sparkling pond surrounded by meticulously detailed pines. It looked exactly like the place where we had our first 'not-date,' a day ice-skating with about a dozen other Shinigami and some of my friends. Not-dates were the only way I could spend time with him outside of Soul Society, though that first one was just for fun; I was still in denial.
Years earlier, when he was my babysitter before the Winter War, I had spied him picking up and shaking a series of globes in some store or another, a look as close to childish delight as I'd ever seen on his face. Which is to say, he was merely frowning a little and the deep lines above his pert nose were smoothed away. Yep, childish delight.
"Merry Christmas, Toshiro!"
I barged in as usual. Over the past few months, I'd been making a habit of pestering him. At first, it was because everyone in Seireitei was too busy to even let me help, everyone except Rangiku. True, she hardly ever did what her captain wanted her to do, but even she worked hard as everyone pulled together to repair Seireitei and Rukongai, run extra patrols to keep the peace, and train recruits to replace the fallen.
Lately, though, my motives for frequent visits to the Tenth had changed. Yeah, I still wanted to be useful on the days I could make it to Soul Society, but that was becoming secondary to seeing him, talking to him, staring shamelessly at him while he worked. I couldn't help it, couldn't really understand it, and I had given in to it after a pathetically short and weak resistance.
"Hitsugaya-taicho."
He didn't even bother looking up or making a complete sentence out of the demand, just rattled off his title in a slightly irritated and bored tone. It was progress. He was getting more mellow in general, now that it seemed a period of peace might be at hand. He encouraged the division to celebrate, knowing they needed some positive time to counter the reminders, the scars still etched into the fabric of Seireitei. But he wouldn't grant himself the same consideration, alone and still working as Christmas Eve revelry invaded through the window cracked to allow the wintry breeze to swirl frigid air laced with diamond dust into the already chilly office.
"I got you a present."
While I rummaged around in my back-pack, he glared pointedly at the big, dirty melting puddles of slush I'd tracked from the office door to the front of his desk. Oops.
"So I see."
I grinned and held out the snowglobe with the green ribbon tied in a large bow around it, complete with sprig of holly, unabashedly proud of myself. He stared at it for about ten seconds while my grin started to fall.
"Keep your holidays and your gifts to yourself, Kurosaki."
"Harsh. Come on, Toshiro. I know you like these. Besides, you have to accept graciously even if you hate it. It's in the rules."
Even when rolling in exasperation, his eyes were captivating. He leaned back, brush relaxing in his hand, and he didn't remind me not to call him by his given name. I'd take it as a win.
"Your shallow tradition and its made-up rules are irrelevant. Why would I want that?"
"It's pretty! It suits you. And more importantly you'll think of me when you see it. Just put it . . ." my eyes searched. So many shelves, not a single thing out of place, desk bare of all but stacks of paper and folders. No souvenirs, no photos, no nick-knacks, just books, papers, scrolls. ". . . uh, in your room?"
A heavy sigh and the sign of my impending dismissal, the white head bending over the tight script. Maybe I should have tried making it a birthday present instead. Rangiku had warned me not to even mention it, but could it be as bad as his reaction to a Christmas gift?
"Or, hey, look! Paperweight. Pretty and practical."
I smacked it down right in front of his adorable nose and got a growl in return. I held my breath as he stared at the bits of plastic and glitter swirling in agitation. Long fingers wrapped around the glass and I braced myself, ready for him to throw it across the room. Instead, slowly, almost tenderly, he moved it to the top of the stack of papers to his left and set it down.
"Kurosaki . . ."
I was already half out the door, determined to end on a good note.
"Aren't Christmas gifts just for couples?"
"Gotta run. Merry Christmas, Toshiro!"
Toshiro had never commented again on the timing, though he was right; he was the only one who got a gift on Christmas Eve. How long ago was that? The world was getting colder and steadily darker, too much noise, people shouting, but the fluffy white flakes drifting, falling heavier by the second, so beautiful. Or maybe it wasn't falling, and I was rising. Maybe they weren't puffy clumps of snow, but cold shining stars. Let's see, Winter War, year after that I was powerless for what felt like forever, then I'd gone to Heaven, then I'd gone to college. I was doing everything in the wrong order.
Five years. Could that be right? Yeah. The snowglobe that I tried not to pout over never seeing on his desk again, that was just months after I killed that Quincy bastard. Then the snowflake the following year.
"Toshiro! Merry Christmas!"
"What is so difficult about addressing me properly?"
"Eh? What kinda gratitude is that?"
A particularly dark scowl was directed at the perfect crystal snowflake ornament I had just hung in the window by a thin strip of green velvet. The sun would catch it for hours, throwing little rainbows to brighten up the Spartan office.
"Useless. No decorations in any official space, including this office, for any holiday. Take that with you when you go."
He stood as he spoke, putting on his haori and gathering several folders. So soon? Could it be over so soon?
"Hey, Toshiro . . ."
"Hitsugaya-taicho!"
"I was thinking, any chance I could do some training with you?"
Ten steps from the door he stopped, and I held my breath.
"You just want someone to swing a sword at, go find Zaraki."
He hadn't left.
"Yeah, not suicidal. Fighting Kenpachi teaches me a lot about dodging, I guess. And Renji, well, to be honest it's been boring for a while. Been a long time since I faced anyone who could actually teach me a thing or two."
There was a flash of turquoise as he looked over his shoulder and I had to bite my cheek to keep another grin hidden.
"If you want a fight, I'm not interested. If you want to train, you will do exactly as I say, like the unskilled boy you are."
Why you arrogant, insufferable little . . .
"Done."
"You will commit to three hours minimum every other Sunday at seven in the morning starting this week. I don't care what is going on in your life, miss a session and don't bother coming back."
Three hours! Aside from the obvious benefit of training with a captain famous for tactics and skill that gained him a division despite his age and size, three hours of Toshiro's time every other week! The one visible jewel narrowed and I ducked my head to hide my glee.
"Thank you, Hitsugaya-taicho! I won't let you down!"
I glanced up from the clumsy bow just in time to catch the widening, beautiful eye and the raised brow. More importantly, the slight pink overcoming the honeyed cheek. Wow, I'd really lost it.
"Fine."
He turned and glided out the door, ignoring my cheerful, "Merry Christmas, Toshiro!"
It was only a few days later when I reported unnecessarily early for training and noticed the ornament was gone from the window. Then the fancy bookmark that I was sure would be sticking out of some book somewhere in the office only to be disappointed. The loaded MP3 player and speaker. He probably picked it apart; I sure never heard any music in his office.
I had been so proud of that one, complete with an Urahara custom designed kido charging station. Toshiro loved music. The only social events you could ever count on seeing the reclusive Ice Prince at were concerts. Not just symphonies either. Renji had made a disastrous attempt to start a punk band with Iba and Shuhei, never mind that they had as much singing talent as a tone-deaf toddler and were even worse with instruments. They had one and only one gig at a bar in Rukongai. No one believed me until I pointed out the white-haired beauty propped on a barstool. He left early, but then, so did everyone else.
It really didn't matter, I thought as I started to feel dizzy, whether or not he liked the gifts so far. It just gave me more reason to pay attention, to get to know him better and better so I could figure out how to make him smile not just on Christmas but every damned day for the rest of my life. So what if I failed every time? Each attempt was a little closer to success.
And this would have been the fifth Christmas attempt. I had a small pile of inadequate gifts I had picked up throughout the year, thinking they were perfect, only to decide that no, they weren't good enough to offer. It needed to be something he couldn't possible bear to reject, something rare and wonderful that would make him long to have it for his very own. Something he didn't know he needed desperately until he saw it and then couldn't live without.
Now, I didn't even have the discarded presents to fall back on or any time left to shop. Funny thing to regret on one's deathbed.
Well, maybe I could still find something in Soul Society if Rukia would lend me some money. And if I remembered who I was. They all seemed to think I would, being the unique and magnificent creature that I am. I'd find something worthy of my perfect snowflake and his nasty temper. He would love it, and then I'd ask him out again, for the hundredth time.
This one. This one for sure. Not something I saw him look at once. Not something that reminded me of him . . . well, it did, but that wasn't the point. When Toshiro wasn't fighting, he was reading. Non-stop. He even brought a book to our training sessions since half the time he set me some impossible goal and just lounged on the side of the hill while I tried to master a kido I sucked at or stand on one hand for an hour in mid-air while he absently fired a variety of attacks at me while sitting and freaking reading like I was barely worth the time to look at while he killed me . . .
Anyway, this one was about something he liked. I'd taken a night job just to get it from the antique shop, a long silver bookmark, a traditional Japanese dragon with fine silver-lined jade scales curling through mother of pearl clouds. He stood and brushed bits of grass and snow off his uniform, then settled his sword between his shoulder blades while I wiped off the sweat before it froze on my skin and dug into my backpack.
He looked up at me with a sigh when I held out the small rectangular box held closed with a green and gold ribbon.
"Thought I'd forget just because it happens to be a training day? Merry Christmas, Toshiro!"
Irritation was obvious, but he took the box anyway, sliding the bow off without untying it. I watched avidly, hoping for more than just the bare twitch of his eyebrow, the clenching of his jaw as if I'd given him a box full of worms or something perverted. And yet his fingertips ran over the surface almost reverently.
The box snapped shut and angry turquoise snapped up at me.
"Why do you insist on continuing this pointless activity?"
Okay. I'd been banking on a better response, an opening. But I wasn't about to back down just because he looked far more willing to kill me than kiss me. I'd spent a lot of time with him this year, thanks to the training program which was worth a lot more than just satisfying my still growing desire to know him. He was a beast in a fight, and a better teacher than any I'd had so far.
"The Tokyo Symphony is performing Beethoven's Ninth, another Christmas tradition but I know you like music. I just have student tickets Tuesday night, not the best seats. Would you want to go with me? I was thinking dinner after the concert, but we could do early if you need to get back before . . ."
"So, that is it."
Stuttering to an awkward silence, I waited, heart sinking while he looked down and folded his arms into opposite sleeves, the box with the bookmark vanishing, as well.
"I didn't believe it even though Matsumoto insisted that my assumption was correct." He spoke more to himself than to me, but then drew a breath and looked up, right into my eyes, the flat tone speaking words that sounded well-rehearsed. "Kurosaki, I am flattered by your interest, but I do not return it. I must insist on a professional relationship."
"Huh," I grabbed my stuff, acting casual instead of disappointed. "See you in two weeks then."
He blinked slowly at me. I had no intention of giving up; he'd find that out soon enough.
"Thanks for the lesson. Merry Christmas!"
So sure that time. But I never again saw the bookmark, though I checked the entire office and he continued to bring books to our training sessions.
I felt like laughing, but I was sure nothing like that happened. Nope, if I focused, I could tell I was gasping a bit. Stupid body, still struggling though there was no coming back from this one. I'd seen it in my studies, the damage done by a close-range bullet. No one around who knew what to do, and me just turning the snow red instead of coaching a bystander to at least slow the bleeding in hopes of help arriving. Even if a paramedic arrived now . . .
Oh well. Not how I thought it would end. After surviving two wars, I had just started to think I'd beat the odds entirely, die old and gray in a nursing home. Silver lining, if the theories were right and I just continued being me in the afterlife, I'd be young and pretty. I was in my prime, strong and less hot-headed. I'd seen the respect in fierce, bright eyes during our training sessions that had continued uninterrupted for three years now. I'd seen the admiration he couldn't hide.
No more of that 'We live in different worlds, Kurosaki.'
No more of that 'Go live your mortal life, Kurosaki.'
No more of that 'I'm not getting romantically involved with a human, Kurosaki.'
Ha! He was about to be officially out of excuses.
Coughing. Maybe. Something awful that punched me in the chest and stole most of my remaining energy. Sirens? Ringing in my ears? Would that woman ever stop crying and shouting at me? I was loath to close my eyes, didn't want to give up the heavenly light show as frozen flakes caught the white light from the decorated street. Was I imagining that the snowfall was getting heavier and heavier? Would he come for me?
Not quite as useless as I used to be thanks to a certain ice-hearted trainer, I felt him coming and briefly considered running off. I was glad I didn't, feeling more at peace with every step he took closer. I let my head fall back against the hard stone of the frozen fountain, face so cold that the weightless touch of snowflakes was almost painful, and stared into the gray skies, the darkness softened by the white lights strung around the three scraggly pine trees in the empty courtyard.
"You're still here, Kurosaki."
The steaming cup of tea extended down near my cheek belied the accusatory tone of voice. True, I never stayed through the holidays. This time I went home on Christmas Eve and promptly returned the next morning. I might go back for New Year's. Probably not. This was the first time I could remember not wanting to be home.
"Ah, thanks, Toshiro."
"That's . . ." I smiled tiredly and waited for the usual reprimand. ". . . not a problem."
I glanced sideways as he cleared the snow off the stone and sat quite close. My heart sped up, distracted from it's stupid aching for something I'd long since turned my back on.
"Did you come find me to teach you how to use the iPod?"
He snorted. It had taken years, but he finally relaxed around me. Except when I asked him out. Again and again. But even then, he was starting to answer with a sarcastic smirk instead of going all Hitsugaya-taicho on me. It might take another four years to wear him down, but I'd manage.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"The iPod?"
"Whatever it is that's eating you alive, idiot."
"Dramatic. Would you believe it's just nostalgia?"
"What are you, twenty?"
"Twenty-one. Orihime's getting married. Called me Christmas morning just to tell me."
"I see."
I gulped hot tea in the expectant silence, feeling a bit of relief from the pervasive cold. It seemed an odd thing to discuss with someone I was in love with.
"And that has made you nostalgic. You love her."
"No. And yes. Is it strange? I don't think I'm capable of ever falling out of love, even if I don't want the same kind of love anymore."
It was a horrible thing to confess to him. Not that he returned my feelings, but still, to hear someone who has been doing everything but say 'I love you' confess to loving someone else . . .
"I don't think that is strange at all. There are many bonds that can be formed and broken in the span of a life. Love should not be something that can pass in so short a time."
It took only a moment for the shock to pass. Of course, he would feel that way. He as the man I loved. Of course, he would understand.
Nah, even if Toshiro knew about this and cared enough to show up, I didn't need a konso. The old man was droning soothing words that melted together into a tuneless lullaby, almost familiar. And the damned Hollow was quiet, ignoring the situation like he always would when he couldn't bring himself to be pissed off. It was worth dying just to shut him up for once.
I dreamed of home, my family and friends, no doubt they would gather in shock and mourning even though they knew for a fact that death was not the end. They wouldn't be sad for long. I planned to haunt them so thoroughly that they'd wish me dead.
Harder to think, drifting. Rukia and the strange hybrid life that took me through war and horror, excitement and pride. My comrades, both living and dead, a cast of outrageous and beloved characters. My enemies, by fate or by choice, and the odd combination of satisfaction and loss that came when they fell.
Orihime, the woman I loved and pushed away, afraid of what my life had done to hers, afraid of bringing her even more grief. She was so sweet, and she was far, far stronger than she seemed. I knew that, and still couldn't bring myself to test that strength again. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake, denying both of us the love that could have made the challenges so easy to overcome. Easy to say now that I was nearly dead.
Toshiro, the man I loved who pushed me away, afraid of getting attached to a fickle human only to lose them in the blink of an eye. He let me closer than he let anyone else, had almost given in a couple of times. But then he'd come to his senses, remember that the Shinigami next to him was, in fact, a frail mortal with so short a time to live and die, and the walls would go back up. At least, that's what I was ninety-nine . . . eighty-five . . . okay, a solid seventy percent sure he was doing.
Time to find out.
It wasn't cold anymore. The crying woman went blessedly silent, probably wondering what I was smiling about as everything faded from soft white to brittle black, glittering snowflakes slowly covering my eyes.