Causation
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach in any sense
A/N: This is my first Bleach fic, so reviews are appreciated I had written about 80% of this story last year, and figured I should post this before my desire to continue with fanfiction disappears completely. My creative energies are sporadic and divided on original works now, but I hope you enjoy this.
Format/Inspiration: This is a series of one-shots written from different perspectives, which collectively form a story. I was curious about exploring the complicated emotions we all go through within and outside of relationships. We've all had at least some of these feelings before, and intention changes everything.
Summary: Every action has a consequence, and even the hardest of hearts break. Kisuke knows this, but even known theories must be tested…[Love square yoru-ura-ruki-ichi plus kaien; AU]
Chapter 1. Witness
It had taken her some time to adjust to the living world, to its rhythms, to all of the false truths she has had to disavow as archaic and baseless; how ironic, that it was Soul Society that taught her not to trust.
It amazes her still, how so many things have changed, and yet the living world seems to remain so normal, so stubbornly consistent in its little inconsistencies of the everyday. The moon still comes up at night, the traffic lights flash tri-coloured, the evening news comes on at 6. And this night, as she sits, counting soundless seconds to match Ichigo's steadying breaths, Rukia marvels at how the Kurosaki house seems to sleep along with its tenants.
The silence of Ichigo's alarm clock flashing lime-green digits, the steady hum of the refrigerator, the snatches of muffled bed sheets shifting every so often –they all amount to that simple promise so specific to the living world: that peace has been won temporarily, and everything that lay unfinished yesterday will arise anew tomorrow. Chances are so important to the living, because they have so few. Until that fateful day when she sacrificed her powers for this red-headed teen, (a boy really, pretending at manhood with eager bravado), Rukia never thought she would be able to feel that again. Her chances had been taken, collected and revisited in her mind. But now… well.
Ichigo shifts slightly in his sleep, and slats of moonlight pool onto his chest and the side of his face.
Even after regaining her powers, she feels so human, so changeable, and all she can do is watch the consequences of her past actions unfold onto another. It is their bond, hers and Ichigo's. It is why they love and hate in the same breath and deny, deny, deny that it is simply their nature to do so.
As she feels more human, feels the turbulence of every risk they take, Ichigo gets stronger and more impervious to death. She quietly fears that he has gotten so close to it –to death –that he will become it; that a familiar rival becomes a friend, or worse, a dependence. One day, he may trade something essential to conquer more of it. And it is because of her.
Rukia slips out of the closet in one smooth motion and ignores the tingling hum of her zanpakuto, Do you remember what it was like with Kaien?
Kneeling by his bedside, she trembles slightly at the quiet vibration of his rietsu and at her sword's calm suspicion, Does it feel the same?
Rukia will not answer, for everything is laid bare in her heart and those wounds are not worth lifting up as a reminder. She takes a small compact mirror from her pocket and gently holds it to his face, careful not to let any reflected moonlight catch on its surface. And Rukia, always submitting her soul, her heart, to incomplete and fateful loves, sighs in relief at the fog of his breath, the simple proof that he is still alive (whereas Kaien is not).
She has not ruined him, but perhaps she has not helped him either.
He needs more than you, child.
The pain of this truth hurts twice, but Rukia has been ready for hundreds of years to finally succeed where she had failed.
'It will come at a cost, as all things do', Kisuke had said, months ago, when she had fearfully glimpsed that hellish look in Ichigo's eyes from a power he was not yet ready to have. And she had galled at the audacity of such words spoken aloud. She knew what she was asking for, and she did not want the shameful opportunity to opt out at such a forewarning. Now Rukia has less of a choice than she did before.
As she quietly tiptoes across the carpeted floor of his room, Rukia has the insight (or intuition) to glance at the bedroom window, and can make out the soft silhouette of a cat disappearing into the night.
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'She is proud', the words escape like silk, yet still rude, almost imperial. 'But not selfish.'
Kisuke notes how that last part sounds very much like a concession, albeit a disdainful one, and wonders if Yoruichi's premonitions are this often tainted with opinion.
'They will come back to me, then.'
'They are coming now', she says, and Ichigo's and Rukia's outlines start to slowly fill in across a distant horizon.
Her whiskers twitch and there is a light in her golden cat's eyes that betrays cunning fascination. 'It is funny how she clings to him in that watchful way. And Ichigo, that foolish child, he so easily mistakes it for…' she will not say the word, but continues to muse, 'Let's hope that these feelings do not interfere.'
Kisuke allows himself a secretive smile that his partner does not see, 'You must have known love at least once.' They both politely ignore the irony of him asking this, and the detachment that accompanies his asking.
Somehow it feels worse now that he has named the feeling, the furtive glances; he makes them solid, tangible –susceptible to measurement and science. She stretches languidly, and distracts herself with the lazy alertedness particular to felines, her pupils reflexively following the movements of a dragonfly flitting nearby. It buys her time, but not an escape from the question.
'Yes', she says finally, 'once.' But never as simple and shy as theirs.
Her tail twitches. If he can sense her envy, Kisuke does not betray this knowledge, but places it quietly into memory and in the assuredness of an ambiguous, shadowed grin.
His fingertips graze against the curve of her spine, feeling the soundless thrum of pleasure in the gradual arch of her back. He does it with the indifference of habit, and it is her instinct that responds. Still, Yoruichi does not quite purr, she makes sure not to –Kisuke must not collect too many small victories.
'It's the thrill of it', he says, gaze fixed on the pair, whose hands will sometimes brush in spite of their quarrels, acting as lovers do without even knowing it. There is a small smile cloying at Rukia's lips. Kisuke does not quite frown.
Their silences, his and Yuroichi's, knit together and then come undone.
'It won't last long', he says. He leaves and Yoruichi is left to watch the beginning of something meaningful unfold alone.