Characters: Ishida, Rukia
Summary: She may not have visited Ichigo, but that didn't mean she never came.
Pairings: IchiRuki and IshiHime both vaguely alluded to
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for 423-424
Timeline: During time skip
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
As much as he would have liked to, Ishida can't quite get the door shut before Rukia's inside, marching in confidently as though she's been here a thousand times, as though she called ahead and has been welcomed in. Ishida decides at this moment, with a wry sort of self-deprecating humor, that uninvited guests must be the bane of his existence.
And to think, he's having these thoughts when she hasn't even broken up housekeeping yet.
"Make yourself at home, Kuchiki-san," Ishida remarks sardonically, and isn't quite as dismayed as he thought he would be when Rukia shows every sign of doing just that, casting a cursory glance around the tiny apartment before flopping down on the futon as if exhausted, staring moodily into space.
"I'm hungry," she declares as Ishida starts moving to retrieve something from his bedroom. "Do you have anything sweet to eat in this place?"
From inside his windowless bedroom, Ishida rolls his eyes—Rukia seems strangely (or not so strangely; she has caught on to the fact that he's a bit of a pushover, after all) unconcerned with being thrown out—and calls, "There's ice cream in the freezer."
"Really?" Rukia's sharp, flat voice jumps with eagerness; Ishida can hear the slight thump of her propelling herself off the couch and making a beeline for his refrigerator. That certainly got her attention; he'll have to remember in future. Note to self: Kuchiki-san seems to like ice cream. He restrains himself from rolling his eyes again.
Of course, after a silent moment…
"Hey!" The angry belligerence is back in her voice. "This isn't ice cream; it's lime sherbet! And the carton's nearly empty!"
Ishida sighs. Some people are never satisfied.
"Then just eat what's left, and throw the container away when you're done." Ishida earnestly hopes this will be the end of that. "Don't bother with trying to find a bowl; they're all on the dish rack."
When Ishida finds what he was looking for (a needle was missing out of his sewing kit) and comes back into the kitchen, Rukia's eaten her way through the sherbet and is holding the outermost layer of a stack of clothing he left over the back of a kitchen chair—a pink t-shirt—up to the light, smirking.
Canny purple eyes turn on him. "While I'm all for enterprising and experimenting, Ishida…" Rukia pauses for dramatic effect "…pink is most definitely not your color." There's something horribly insufferable about the face she's wearing.
Hot color floods into his cheeks. "Give me that!" Ishida snaps, swiping the shirt out of the grip of the still-smirking Rukia and placing it back over the layer of mismatched clothing, before smoothing the cotton down meticulously.
"It looks familiar," Rukia note with a voice suffused with knowing, slightly triumphant meaning.
Ishida can feel the flush spreading to the back of his neck. Rukia notices. "You really need to learn how to control that, you know?"
He keeps his back turned to her, poring over the clothes on the chair. "I work at a consignment store that mends and alters clothing for its customers. So as you've probably gathered, Kuchiki-san, I mend clothes for a living and so long as I have them mended, or altered or whatever by the due date, the manager doesn't care when I come to work; her hours are as bad as mine."
Rukia's still smirking when he turns back around. "Are you sure it's not a little more familiar than that?" she inquires in a sing-song voice.
He glares at her. "I assume you'll be telling me to what I owe the pleasure of your visit soon."
Even when being insufferable Rukia knows how to take a hint, even if she's still compelled to push the envelope a little bit. "No reason," she remarks airily, waving her hand through the air dismissively. "I just thought I'd drop by and visit."
The logical question has to be asked. "How do you even know where I live?"
"So blunt. That's my little secret."
"Of course."
After a moment, Ishida shoots a curious look at Rukia, who's gone back to staring into space. "Have you been "dropping in" on Kurosaki, too?"
The effect that inquiry has on Rukia is immediately noticeable; she stiffens. "No." If Rukia's trying to sound casual, she's not doing a very good job of it. "Why?"
Ishida frowns, remembering the dull-eyed boy in his class. "I think he'd appreciate it." That's as polite a jab he can make.
Not half so concerned with being polite, the Shinigami raises an eyebrow. "You know, I think I've finally figured you out, Ishida. All that politeness is just a mask you hide behind, so you won't have to—"
"Answer the question, Kuchiki-san. Please."
"I wasn't under the impression you cared all that much about Ichigo."
"Forgive me if I can't help but notice when he stops paying attention in class and his grades start to drop." Ishida shoots a penetrating stare at Rukia. "I tried to ask him what it was about, but he just blew me off as always." He rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically—all just an act by now—, then becomes more serious. "I guess I have my answer, at least to what's wrong with Kurosaki. Now, Kuchiki-san, if you wouldn't mind…" he pauses significantly.
Rukia shrugs. "I don't know," she mutters uncomfortably. "It's hard."
"Of course it's hard. Did anyone ever try to tell you life would be easy? Because if so, I would like to disabuse them of that notion. Now."
"Whatever." Rukia stands up, stretching her legs a little bit. "Well, I'll be going now," and Ishida can't help but be a little embarrassed when he gets the distinct impression that he's just scared her off.
As she gets to the doorway though, staring out into the darkened streets beyond, Rukia scraps Ishida's guess. "I'll be back soon. I'll bring Renji, too."
"Oh, delightful."
More Shinigami on his doorstep to deal with.
Rukia's reason for not visiting Ichigo may seem a bit weak, but I can't help but think that she probably doesn't feel obliged to explain herself to Ishida.
