A submission to the 2007 Fanworks Contest of the IchiRuki Community of Livejournal.
Contest themes were: tempest and fury.
Timeline: this story is set ten years after current Arrancar arc. The outcome of the Winter War is discussed in long, dark detail. Warning for character deaths.
Some spoilers for the manga abound. This work diverges with a plot point mentioned in Chapter 289 and expounded in 290 and 291.
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite and all the corporations he deals with. I hope said corporations pay him well in royalties, because he's a great mangaka. John Donne's poetry and prose are highlighted throughout.
Summary for this Chapter:One lazy Sunday morning, Ichigo recalls the traumatic events of the Winter War that led to his decision to cut ties with Soul Society.
Rukia joined him willingly in exile. Yet after ten years in the living world, she now wonders if it was the right decision.
Fair Warning:I mentally dubbed this "the angsty chapter." :) Please bear with it; some readers found it very dark. Do not worry, a second chapter (dubbed the "happy chapter") and an epilogue (the lemon ending) will follow.
The Island By Laurie Bunter
I. Aftermath of the Storm
Kurosaki Ichigo was concerned that he had finally outgrown Shakespeare. He tried to re-read the Sonnets last night and found himself bored with the Bard. A pity, really, now that Rukia was plodding dutifully through A Midsummer Night's Dream.
At least she hadn't started on King Lear yet. She was curious about it ever since they saw the Kurosawa Akira version on cable. Ichigo was going to have to find a polite way to tell her to drop it and go back to reading Delilah: Lily of the Slums instead.
A deafening clang came through his opened bedroom window. What the hell was that?
"Rukia… there are bells ringing," he said, turning to her. Her ebony head was leaning against the bed as she sat on the floor.
"Silly," she replied, not looking up from her book. "Of course they are ringing. Someone's getting married at the church."
Ichigo concentrated until he found them, at least five blocks away. She was right. There were two ecstatic spirits, bursting with joy, and several other duly happy humans. Wedding guests, no doubt, on their way to the reception hall.
"I've never noticed the bells before," he said. "They're quite… loud."
She snorted. "I told you that you would go deaf listening to rock music," she said. "They ring those bells every Sunday at seven o'clock. It wakes me up. More, if there's a wedding or a funeral."
Ichigo shrugged. Sunday morning was his single time to loll in bed. Had he been so tired that he never heard them before? Perhaps his mind was just preoccupied.
Lately he's been reading John Donne when he had a rare moment to spare for himself. Now that he was living in a small apartment on his own, he was swamped with his own cooking, laundry, and cleaning up. He now bowed down to Yuzu's superior management of their own household years ago, and wished he had been more grateful that the Kurosaki Clinic didn't go out of business for having a pig sty attached to it.
John Donne wasn't a requirement in college, but then hardly any work of a literary nature was assigned in medical school, unless you counted The Lancet or Pediatrics in Review. One day, exhausted with exams, Ichigo found an abandoned paperback on a park bench and took it home with him.
…All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again….
There was once a time when he felt the burden of every soul in the universe rested solely on his shoulders. Ichigo was much younger then. He thought it was his responsibility to be in the eye of every tempest and it was his duty to call up the furies of his soul to beat down his adversaries, one at a time.
He was up to the task, of course. He just didn't realize how much of himself he would have to sacrifice in order to defeat them all. Every triumph chiseled away at his human self until there was almost nothing left behind.
In the end Ichigo became his father's child: he forced himself to let go in order to be with the one person who mattered most, especially since she had almost perished in battle along with him.
Ichigo could have lived with himself if he had died in the Winter War. Reincarnation wasn't such a bad deal. But he knew his soul would carry the scars of letting Rukia die since she followed him willingly into Hueco Mundo, ready to share his fate. It would have been akin to killing her with his bare hands. He could not live with that thought, in this lifetime or the next.
If he hadn't been so impetuous and pig-headed, if Ichigo had stopped to think that their enemies wanted him to engage in a full-frontal attack on Hueco Mundo, the lives of so many would not have been sacrificed. It was a miracle that they managed to get out alive to fight in all the sorties that followed.
It would have all been useless if he had helped save the world only to find himself alone, an eternity stretching out without her.
O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall
Ichigo never wanted to be selfish. But after the Winter War dragged to its conclusion - the war took so long its very name was a misnomer - he made a fateful decision.
On a chilly autumn evening, he returned the Shinigami Representative badge to Captain Ukitake. Ichigo didn't need to explain himself.
The good captain had been kind enough not to argue with him. Instead, the head of the 13th division offered him a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. They then walked together, with the older man entertaining him with stories of his extended family. When they reached the Kuchiki grounds, Captain Ukitake snapped to attention and gave him a gallant salute, and then turned to go.
Ichigo knew he was leaving Soul Society for good. At least, he swore to himself it was his last visit for the duration of this lifetime. He would be back, at the end of it, but not before his natural end.
He chose self-imposed exile over being the center of the spiritual universe, celebrated by many, hated and feared by a handful, and owned by everyone. He was sick of his own importance. Ichigo decided he wanted to be an island onto himself.
He did not stop and ask Rukia what she wanted. That was selfish of him, too. But he did not want to influence her decision with any words: if she loved him, as he suspected she did, then things would come out all right.
Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
At the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned deaths to die.
It was the most risky gambit he had ever played. Ichigo was his mother's child, after all: Masaki did not demand the same sacrifice from Isshin. Who was he to make Rukia sacrifice her comfortable life and her familiar duties in Soul Society? Who was he to divide her from her brother, now that they learned to share each other's thoughts?
Rukia didn't even need to stop and think about it. There was an odd glint of exasperated fondness in her eye while he paced in front of the Kuchiki estate for a quarter of an hour, asking himself these very questions, unable to gather the courage to come inside.
"Give me a couple of hours to talk to Nii-sama, and pack some things," was all she said, after she finally opened the door for Ichigo and let him in herself.
Ichigo was elated by her decision. He was glad he didn't have to beg; all words were superfluous. She knew his heart so well.
He waited in the courtyard as he heard the muffled sound of discussion coming somewhere from the bowels of the house. There was no yelling, only a well-bred and steady murmur of voices. Watching the old family retainer rake the pebbles of the rock garden in swirl patterns calmed his thoughts. It was past sunset when Rukia emerged with her brother in tow.
For a split moment Ichigo thought his brains was going to be splattered on the neat rocks of the courtyard, as the captain of the 6th division came out to say farewell.
Byakuya raised a regal eyebrow at him. "Is there anything you wished to ask me?"
Ichigo frowned. "No," he stammered, confused by the question. "Not really. I only came to say good-bye to Rukia."
"But she's coming with you," Byakuya answered. This time it was his brow that furrowed and deepened. "So farewells are unnecessary."
Rukia grasped her brother's arm, as if in warning. "I will be fine, Nii-sama," she breathed.
Kuchiki Byakuya nodded to his sister, but his piercing gaze never moved from Ichigo's face. "Good-bye, Kurosaki Ichigo. I entrust my sister to your care. If you should hurt her, I shall hear of it."
Ichigo was shocked into utter politeness. "Thank you, Kuchiki-sama."
Byakuya stalked away, his white scarf trailing in the light breeze. He felt uneasy. The young man's demeanor irked him. He hoped Rukia knew what she was doing; he couldn't talk her out of it. Perhaps the formalities of their absurdly interdependent relationship could come later. Byakuya loathed complicated affairs but Rukia made him vow to be patient.
Rukia watched her brother return to the house. She then faced Ichigo with a serene smile and handed him a heavy rucksack. "You get to carry it into the living world," she announced.
Ichigo thought the whole scene was strange. Byakuya was not one to give parting words of mere caution. Yet he didn't even reproach Ichigo for the abandonment of his honorary post. Perhaps in the aftermath of the Winter War, Byakuya was becoming more tolerant? Maybe he was willing to accept Ichigo as an uncomfortable certainty he could not avoid?
In the intervening years, Byakuya probably took solace in being able to visit Rukia often in the living world. As a captain, he could do as he pleased, assigning any odious tasks to his new vice-captain since Renji was promoted to captain. Ichigo suspected that both brother and best friend dropped by often. Rukia was quite the schemer to avoid mentioning it, but then, whenever she did Ichigo changed the topic.
Most likely they all met up in Karakura while he was away. Renji got along famously with his dad, but Ichigo hoped that Isshin didn't drive Byakuya to distraction. If there was one last duel he would like to witness, it would be his father versus his future brother-in-law. He wanted to be on the spot if it happened. It was wishful thinking but it was his last bloodthirsty one.
The Winter War dulled his old subconscious desire for glory and conflict. Even his inner Hollow was satiated with the rainfall of blood they unleashed together and bothered him no longer.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
There was a certain irony that Ichigo chose to rest in the living world rather than toil in Soul Society. Death no longer held the promise of eternal peace for him like it still did for many humans who resolved their problems with suicide. These simple folk had no concept of the monotonous life that awaited them at the end of the road. They had no idea that they were slogging it out in this lifetime, only to have to battle it out for survival once more in the next.
Ichigo wasn't about to be the one to tell the poor fools the truth. That's why he decided to become a doctor, after all. He could help people, one soul at a time, live out this particular lifespan as well as they could. There were more pleasures here… or at least, more interesting distractions.
In the living world, Ichigo could exist in obscurity. He wasn't special here. Here in Osaka, no one knew his past or his dealings with heaven or with hell. He was not the harbinger of destruction or the savior of mankind. He was just another struggling young doctor trying to save up for his future with his girlfriend.
Urahara had the last laugh. He tried to make Rukia human with that wretched gigai and in the end he finally succeeded because she left Soul Society of her own accord. Ichigo hoped wherever Urahara was in the cosmos - he sure wasn't in Soul Society or Hueco Mundo - old Sandals-and-Hat was chuckling behind his fan.
Yoruichi was the only one who hadn't given up the search for him.
Ichigo wasn't sure if Urahara was truly dead, along with Inoue. They had sacrificed themselves to ensure the lives of others.
Too bad the unmaking of the Hôgyoku almost annihilated Rukia in the process. It had resided so long in the recesses of her soul that it tried to take her along with it, too.
Ichigo was never Aizen's main opponent. It took one master manipulator to deal the deathblow to another. Urahara knew from the start he had destroy the Hôgyoku himself along with the madman trying to use it, or perish in the attempt. Ichigo and the others were sent to Hueco Mundo ahead of everyone else, mere pawns in a round of chess played by champions of the game. It was all Urahara's last hurrah. The man always knew how to do things with style.
Maybe the next time Ichigo was assigned to the preemie ward at the hospital he will find the world-weary eyes of Urahara in the face of a wrinkled newborn. Maybe his next patient in the children's ward will have the piteous long lashes of Inoue. These were possibilities but he didn't count on it.
For years he sought their spirit threads and merely came up empty-handed.
Ichigo knew the only way he could honor their sacrifices was to survive.
He tried to tell himself it was better this way. This time in the living world was a respite - from all that will come after.
In the twinkling of an eye, I saw all the rooms in Hell open to my sight.
Yet the tempest was always lurking in the corner of his soul no matter how hard he tried to suppress the memories.
Even now, his nostrils remembered the ooze and stench of fresh blood and viscera, mingled with the scent of salt water and heavy rain. The Winter War was one long downpour of red.
In Ichigo's nightmares, the bells are ringing. They seemed to be calling him, warning him that no matter where he hid, they would find him in the end. The bells were death knells, mocking his decision to stay in the living world when Soul Society needed him more.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, (then) Europe is the less…. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
Ichigo tried to convince himself that he did not turn their relationship into an island; that Rukia and himself did not deliberately maroon themselves from the constant drizzle of social intrigue. It was not his fault the only full scholarship he received was in Osaka. The effects of the Winter War carried ripples even into his human life - his grades plummeted after such a prolonged absence from high school, he just managed to scrape enough decent grades for graduation. He didn't blame Kon who did all the studying while he was away – the grades slid after he returned to his body.
It didn't help matters that he suffered from constant insomnia and anxiety attacks during this time. Isshin remedied the problem by lacing Ichigo's food with crushed sleeping pills and anti-depressants. Isshin only stopped when Yuzu found out why all the leftovers she ate made her unwell.
No. Ichigo's academic career went off the deep end. He was not like Ishida, after all, who still managed to be in the top ten without a mod soul taking notes for him. With a little help from his hospital-administrator father, Ishida got into the most sought-after program for transplant surgery. He was already in his first year of residency at a top-notch hospital in Tokyo and known for his fabulous new method of stitching up patients.
No - Ichigo wasn't like Ishida in the slightest. He had Rukia, for starters. Still, he secretly wondered why Ishida seemed so better adjusted to the present than him.
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity (of) our love.
Ichigo's relationship with Rukia changed during these years: its carnal nature developed and deepened, yet its emotional side narrowed in scope. He grew distant with good friends. Even with her, he seemed to have some invisible shutters clouding his brown eyes. Many things seemed to remind him of failure and for Ichigo, failure was always forbidden.
Rukia took all the changes in stride. She adjusted in ways formerly thought impossible by all who knew her. It was as if she was concentrating every fiber of her soul with understanding him. She was patient with his newly developed foibles: his dislike of company, his strange desire to sit on park benches watching old men rake rock gardens, even with his insistence of keeping the lights on during fornication.
For instance, the burden of commuting between Osaka and Karakura fell upon Rukia. She visited him every weekend despite the distance. When she got to his apartment, there occasionally would be home-cooked food on the table waiting for her, or nothing at all.
Nothing at all meant that she was on the menu, no questions asked. He wanted to have sex right away, preferably with her sprawled wide open on the table, and during these times he would not take no for answer. A no would result in a long, drawn-out battle of moods, vicious words and high-level binding spells.
And then night would still end with violent and furious sex on an empty stomach.
So Rukia gradually learned to give in to his sexual demands, no matter how tired or hungry she was. The sooner she allowed herself to be seduced, the better. It was a good thing that the sex was satisfying: if there was one thing about Ichigo, he knew how to use every part of his body to tease multiple orgasms from hers.
Besides, Ichigo's cooking was always superior after sex. It was his weird way of being apologetic.
When she had time to think about it - usually when he was asleep - sex was the only time the "old" impetuous Ichigo came out. The fierce, sardonic smirk, the unruly throat sounds, the foul mouth, and the urgent need to subdue his desires with a primal release of pressure from within him - it was all there, neatly contained in the act of their flesh joining.
Yes, Ichigo was good in bed, or any other surface they cared to use in lieu of a bed. He was even good during their first time, on his eighteenth birthday, when they were both intoxicated on fruit juice boxes cleverly spiked with injections of vodka. It was so awkward, waking up in the little forest clearing beyond his mother's grave, half-naked and blushing, their heads pounding with hangovers and still drunk on lust.
Rukia never trusted Isshin to pack a picnic basket again.
The old fiery Ichigo was there, lurking behind the misty weather in his eyes. Why he only unleashed his true self during and immediately after erotic moments Rukia did not comprehend, even if she enjoyed herself thoroughly during these weekends of passionate fucking.
Still, she was worried that sex was the only joy Ichigo got out of life. She wanted more for him: she wanted peace of mind.
Rukia tried not to complain about the current situation. She wanted to attribute all the strangeness to stress. His internship, however, which was about to finish in a few months. After that, though, she was worried. There would no longer be any excuse for his hermitic oddities.
Rukia loved him; she simply did not know what to do with him.
(Death,) Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
While Ichigo was away at medical school, Rukia turned into the apple of Isshin's eyes. Who would have thought that his last acquired daughter would be the one helping out in the clinic now? Yuzu was fed up with the dying that she channeled her domestic skills towards visual art, usually working on postmodern sculptures of food. And Karin? Well, she perished in the siege of Karakura. Karin had died protecting her sister.
Karin was her mother's child, too. She did not merely play with Jinta and Ururu at being superheroes without learning a thing or two.
After a few months, Matsumoto found Karin in the first district of Rukongai, entirely by accident. Taking a fancy to her, and perhaps rattled by the casual deathblow Karin received at the hands of Ichimaru Gin, Matsumoto did the unthinkable and took the Kurosaki girl under her wing. Karin was doing well now; she just graduated from the Academy.
Karin visited her sister at the arts college after Yuzu got over her guilt and grief. Their first meetings were difficult for them both, but Matsumoto and Rukia helped soothe over the awkwardness. The four of them got together, whenever they could. But whatever they discussed, Ichigo hadn't a clue. He never asked and Rukia didn't volunteer except the most vital of information.
The Kurosaki family was shrinking, the chains keeping them together loosening. Without Rukia, the family would have totally fallen apart years ago.
It was convenient for Isshin that Rukia decided to take up physical therapy at the community college nearby. The old man's spirit wasn't twisted beyond repair - he was just a little bent out of kilter. No man should live to see one of his daughters die, in the same manner as his wife. Isshin had hunted Gin down but Hitsugaya got the devil first. Still, the damage was already done.
With Rukia around, Isshin gamely followed through with the life he chose. With her undiminished skill in healing, her kidou spells often went unnoticed and she was the darling of senior citizens who found their ailments magically cured. The Kurosaki Clinic never had more clients since Masaki left complimentary cookies on the admission counter.
Of course, the young men were attracted to the clinic due to the pretty and frail-looking physical therapist that had the strength of a lioness. Ichigo's non-residence boosted the drawing factor. Yet guys who injured themselves on purpose were mistaken; the capable Ms. Kuchiki didn't treat them with doting care. Rukia wasn't one to suffer fools.
Who would have thought Rukia made such a devoted woman? The Winter War had changed her internal make-up in ways that Ichigo instinctively took advantage of but did not understand. Aizen had wrought so much destruction that no one Ichigo loved deeply was left unscathed.
Chapter Two, "Banishing the Clouds,"(already written) and an Epilogue (almost finished) will soon follow.