Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach
"Hello there,"
"Hmm?"
The little boy turns his head away from the swelling river to the voice greeting him. The wind pushes at his rain coat, and the clouds are dark above his head in warning but he pays neither any mind. He focuses on the woman sitting on the bench beside him now.
"It seems the rain will come soon," the woman smiles sweetly at him. "It would be best if you took shelter in one of the stores before it comes."
He is scowling at her now; something that he's taken to doing without much provocation as of recently. Had this been months ago - before the girl by the river, before the rain and blood, before screams and tears and pleas -He would have been another little boy entirely. He would have smiled bright and big at the woman, and would have nodded his head at such good advice and perhaps even taken it. However the most important change - the one hurt most of all - was that he wouldn't have been alone here in the rain. Now his scowl only deepens as notices the woman seems completely unaffected by his anger, and still smiles at him like the world hasn't ended.
(But it has ended. The moment she was gone.)
"Che! I know that. I'm going home, so leave me alone!" He says quite rudely.
The woman frowns curiously at that, but to his displeasure, she quickly regains her smile. She finds him more endearing than anything else. The little scowl, when coupled with his baby face and starburst orange hair that resembles the sun, is nothing short of adorable. And despite his impoliteness, she is all too happy for his reaction. She has seen him many times before after all; walking this same path looking for something that the river has long since taken with those eyes too sad and hopeless for a child's young face. Yes, the small fire in his eyes at the moment is far better than that.
And besides, nowadays she is always looking for something to occupy her time.
"I did not realize. I apologize for interrupting you on your way home." She says with a small bow as if to let him go, but then cannot seem to resist continuing with, "though I am very surprised, that I could interrupt you, young sir."
"Huh?" The boy blinks.
The woman gives him an almost sly smile.
"You see I am not the . . . type most stop to listen to. If they can even listen at all,"
Now thoroughly confused, he takes a moment to look over the sitting woman again. The woman appears ordinary enough to him. Long black hair tied in a pony tail with bangs that frame a mature and gentle face. A worn but decidedly fitting dark-brown trench coat that stops just at her bent knees coupled with old-fashioned matching heels gives the woman a modest look. Certainly not someone whom people would go out of their way to ignore and yet. . .
He feels the beginnings of rain drops splashing on his head before he actually sees them falling on the woman he is currently scrutinizing or rather falling through her. Tiny beads of water dropping as if to make impact, only to descend straight through a body that should be solid, and splashes on to the bench that is definitely so. They leave no evidence of ever being there - never wetting delicate skin, black silk hair, or slightly coarse clothing - not even dampening her sleeves as the water falls through. It simply falls past her, refusing to acknowledge her being, and that is enough for this child to understand the meaning of her words. There is slight surprise, but not outright shock, because this boy is no ordinary boy and this is (unfortunately) not his first time dealing with such things. In fact, now that he sees it, the boy appears almost angrier that he hadn't realized it earlier - angry perhaps, because he's made this mistake before.
"You're a ghost," he declares flatly.
"Ah, yes." She says, almost laughingly on that little detail. "For some time now actually."
The boy's glare intensifies, and this time it does surprise her a bit. She isn't expecting hostility towards that bit of information; from what she is sensing, this should be nothing new to the little one. Someone as spiritually aware as himself would usually be more cordial and understanding in her experience. Nevertheless, the orange haired boy seems ready to kill her all over again if possible.
"Are you frightened?" She asks with an apologetic smile, because her assumptions of this being familiar to him might very well be wrong, and the last thing she wants is to scare him. "I'm not going to hurt you. See?"
The ghost woman holds out a gentle hand in much the same way one would to a cautious animal. It is a sign of peace, and although she isn't expecting it to fix anything it is obvious she is hoping for it to at least ease his weariness some.
She is not, however, expecting the little one to slap her hand away with such viciousness.
"Stay away!" he yells out angrily.
She cradles her hand more out of surprise then pain. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"
"Leave me alone!" He is yelling now like the thunder over their heads. "You stupid ghosts are always around! Always making trouble for me! I'm not going to help you 'crossover' or whatever so just go away! I wish you all would just disappear! I WISH YOU ALL NEVER EXISTED! I-I'm just kid! I can't do anything, so why?! Why can't you just LEAVE ME ALONE?! I just…"
He stops to catch his breath then - long past caring about those who might be out and about to see him screeching his little lungs out at an old wooden bench in the rain. As he tries to calm down a bit, she begins to see the reason she felt so compelled to call out to him in the first place. Behind his angry rigid features lay something frail and heartbreaking - something that once, after that last heartbeat and the beginnings of her afterlife, was all she could understand as death. Fierce eyes that hold back stubborn tears and clenching teeth that stop quivering lips all speak of a wound that she is all too familiar with; grief.
"I'm just a kid. . ." the boy speaks quietly now - head bowed and little fists trembling with emotion. "I can't . . . I can't do anything. . ."
There is bitterness in this last statement; as though reminding himself of that fact brings more pain then he wishes to show. It shames him that he is so helpless regardless of his age, and now she knows she can't let his pain continue like this. The spirit waits a moment, and then she cautiously reaches her hands out to him and grips the hood of his little raincoat. His orange head comes up to face her in surprise and the ghost woman smiles softly at him while she fixes the hood of his coat on his head.
"The rain is coming down very hard now." She says. "You should hurry and take shelter."
The boy seems too stunned by her actions to speak, so she decides to take a chance.
"Once again, I'm sorry. I did not mean to bring you any harm." She feels him stiffen a bit, but pushes forward anyway. "But please, believe me when I say I want nothing from you. I have my reasons for staying among the living, and I've no intention of leaving until they are settled. I especially do not wish to lay my burdens on such a brave, boy."
The boy is still in awe of her, but his senses are coming back bit by bit. Vaguely, he recognizes that this is not only the first apparition he's spoken to since his mother's passing, but that this is also the first ghost that truthfully wants nothing from him. He is use to lonely spirits asking for favors—massages for loved ones, retrieving lost possessions, and the occasional grudge of course. But the idea of a ghost wanting nothing is so alien to him that he almost wants to ask her to say it again—just once more to feel that unexpected lift from shoulders that came with her words.
It is something else that brings him back to the present, though.
"My name is Hayashi Saki," her hands lay on her lap now, as she sits and gives him a small bow. "What is your name, dear boy?"
The way she talks, the look of kindness on her face; he suddenly feels a lot of shame for the way he's acted. If it weren't for the obvious youthfulness of her face, he'd think she was a really nice granny.
"My name. . . My name is Kurosaki Ichigo!" He bows to her low and embarrassed - apparently just remembering his manners. "It's nice to meet you."
The woman— Saki laughs soft and melodious. The boy— Ichigo can't help the turn of his lips at the sound. It is the first smile (small or otherwise) Ichigo has given in months. It is the first bit of laughter (genuine, honest-to-goodness laughter) that Saki has had in far, far longer. It is the start of a simple, hopeful bond, and it shines bright under stormy clouds and heartache.
They meet in the rain that carries with it reminders of sorrow and loss. The pain still rests deep in both of them, but as the orange-haired boy named Kurosaki Ichigo hurries home after his encounter with the ghost woman Hayashi Saki, there is a lightness to them both. It is a beginning after a time of painful ends; a gift of guidance to two that have lost more than their fair share. It is a moment on a bench next to an expanding river, and it is wondrous.
