Disclaimer: Bleach world and characters belong to Tite Kubo
REPATRIATION
Nothing felt the same. In his rational mind, Muguruma Kensei knew that things would have changed in the one hundred years of his exile. Even the tradition-bound Soul Society would have experienced changes under the best of circumstances; now, after the War and with all the ryoka influences and Living World trends and artifacts brazenly displayed by some of the younger shinigami, the changes were numerous.
His keen yellow eyes surveyed his new home for any variations, large or small, comparing his glorified memories of the time before his exile to this new Soul Society. Not always new and improved, no. Sometimes just different. Even the minutest shift caused him to miss a step, his rational mind cataloguing the discrepancies while his feelings were assaulted by each new thing .
His posture exuding confidence despite his internal turmoil, he stood boldly in the meeting hall with the other captains and their vice captains. Yamamoto-soutaichou welcomed him with measured and well-considered words. His former colleagues had voted to welcome him back as a temporary captain serving in an advisory capacity. Even though the vote was not quite unanimous, he was presented with a sleeveless, pristine white haori with the kanji number "9" emblazoned on its back. He allowed Kyoraku-taichou and Ukitake-taichou to slip the haori over his black, sleeveless shihakusho. It felt right, sitting his broad shoulders comfortably once again.
"Welcome, Muguruma-taichou. May you guide Hisagi-fukutaichou wisely," the soutaichou's gravelly voice resounded through the stately hall.
He turned to make eye contact with Shuuhei, but Hisagi-fukutaichou stood at attention, his slightly unfocused eyes partially obscured by a veil of thick lashes. Taking in the younger man's formal air, he turned to face the others. Kuchiki-taichou had a similar expression and behind him, Abarai-fukutaichou stood like a pillar of stone.
The strike of staff against the floor brought the ceremony to the end. The 9th division never ceased being his in his mind, not even in the deepest, darkest solitude of Kensei's exile. He'd never thought the changes in the Living World would have affected him back then – not the motorcars in the streets, not the changes in attire or the attitudes of women, not the increasingly tangled skein of electrical wires weaving its web over the streets of Karakura. Yet when the war washed over the land like numerous and incessant scalds of bitter, hot tea and Hollows became more numerous, he could no longer obey Hirako Shinji's orders to stay put and he ventured forth on his own, fighting the Hollows as befitted a 9th Division shinigami and performing countless soul burials.
Decades of an aching sense of loss and purpose promised to be negated by being welcomed back in a special advisory position. Hopeful yet stubborn, his eyes met the taichous' and fukutaichous' in the straightforward manner of a man who lived masterless for a century and adhered to his own internal code. He was Kenseiwho learned to run without his pack-mates, and as such, his surroundings took on a sameness devoid of sentimental attachments. . If he didn't like his new situation, he knew how to leave again.
"I hear the kid stuck up for you," said the gravelly voice of Zaraki Kenpachi, his huge hand landing on Kensei's shoulder. "You were recommended in his report."
Kensei's eyes mouth shut, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"It was to be expected, Muguruma-taichou," Kyoraku Shunsui smiled, pushing his sekkat back as he offered his warm congratulations. "Although Kuchiki-taichou was supportive as well – and not much happens without his approval."
Kensei bowed his head in appreciation, his face conveniently obscured. He never expected his rival to lobby on his behalf.
Braced with steely resolve, he was bent on being gracious to Kuchiki-taichou in light of recent developments, as well as the events of two months prior. Byakuya and Renji were both instrumental in saving Shuuhei's life and without Shuuhei, he'd have no reason to be here at all. He took a step toward the 6th division captain, who merely looked at him coolly and acknowledged him with a nod.
"Muguruma-taichou."
His kenseikan gleaming in elegant, raven hair and the precious windflower scarf fluttering in the wind of his passing, Kuchiki-taichou flared his reiatsu in that ever-so-arrogant manner of the noble-born Kensei used to know so well and sailed out the door.
At least Abarai-fukutaichou met his eyes with a measure of warmth and inclined his head in passing, following in his captain's wake.
Kensei stood, stunned. Gone were the compassionate friends, the soothing hosts who so carefully tended to his Shuuhei and who concerned themselves with his comfort. Gone were the grin and the slightly upturned smile, the loose hair and the casual touches of the tekkou-clad hand against the tattooed arm. A familiar voice to his right brought him out of his reverie.
"Muguruma-taichou. Do you need any further assistance tonight?"
Hisagi-fukutaichou. Not his Shuuhei. A man as cold and as formal as the two leaders of the 6th division. He briefly wondered what happened to that thoughtful kid with his amazing eucalyptus eyes.
XDXDXD
Three weeks passed – days filled with endless divisional responsibilities, evenings full of social obligations, nights passing in exhausted, dreamless sleep. Kensei had reacquainted himself with the Seireitei whose buildings had either been destroyed or were in the process of being rebuilt. He met with every single 9th division shinigami on his own time, relearning some old names but mostly connecting brand new ones with fresh, young faces. His heart ached at the thought of how many they had lost.
At least the rain had stopped. The ground was still wet but the trees were leafing and Kensei couldn't bear the confines of his office anymore. The thought of eating in the mess hall repulsed him.
Maybe a walk.
Somewhere far away.
His sandal-clad feet led him off the paved Seireitei streets and behind the 9th division's headquarters. There used to be a copse of trees there, wild and untamed. Not far away, perhaps, but a passing facsimile for solitude.
Ground squished wet and muddy under his feet, the moisture penetrating his knit tabi socks. He grinned at the thought of getting dirty as he passed under the crowns of trees stately with age. He remembered them as saplings and as the thought crossed his mind, his face fell. They had changed on him too. There had been an ancient pear tree in the middle of this growth way back when – there – ahhhh. Kensei was satisfied, relieved even, that it was still there, its prominent roots thrust into the craggy soil surrounding it. His face lit with a smile and he carded his hand through his short, white hair. He used to climb that tree and sleep in the "y" of the strong branches, long ago.
A few moments later found Kensei running his hands over the rough bark of the ancient tree, reacquainting himself to one of the few things that had not changed in the intervening years. The blossoms were almost gone and bright green leaves graced its branches. It smelled the same as he remembered it, the bark digging into the digits exposed by his fingerless gloves. He reached up, grabbing a branch by feel alone and swung into the tree as he had done so many times in the past; one, two, shift over and then a blind reach up – he swung his long body, using momentum to reach for the upper branch but grasped only empty air. His left foot slipped off the younger, smoother wet bark and he fell to the moist ground with an empty thud.
Incredible. He shook off his embarrassment and climbed up again, this time looking ahead as though the tree were new to him. And fuck, but some asshole had pruned his old pear tree. How dare they! He looked around and indeed, the familiar branchings felt more open somehow, the thick waterspouts which made his path so many years ago were now but healed scars in the bark.
Kensei climbed a bit higher, more careful of his suddenly unfamiliar surroundings, and settled against a thick branch which had used to be inaccessible back then.
Fuck.
Damn.
His tree, seemingly isolated in these little woods, and somebody had the gall to touch it, to change it. Everything looked familiar but nothing was the same. Kensei leaned back and closed his eyes. Sudden moisture threatened to make its way between his shut lids and he breathed in and out with quiet determination, willing it away. This was not the time to mourn – not for the old tree he used to know and not for the old home he lost and was never going to find again. Both this tree and this home were different now, changed by the flux of time. The old tree was gone, just like the old 9th division was gone and the old friends were gone, all subtly and indescribably different from the originals of one hundred years ago which were so clearly emblazoned and embellished in his mind.
For the first time in decades, Muguruma Kensei felt truly alone.
XDXDXD
"…by now we should have settled back to our rhythm. It's so upsetting."
The bubbly, bell-pitched voice drifted up through the branches, waking him.
"Give taichou a chance," another female voice said. "It's been only three weeks."
Sounds of eating and sipping followed.
Kensei leaned out with great care to investigate. Three 9th division officers – all new faces in his mind - sat right below his tree, their bento boxed in their laps.
"Hisagi-fukutaichou had everything under such good control, though," the first one said, her bell-like voice carrying even while muted. "He should have been promoted straight up, Yuki."
The pale woman next to her smiled. "Yeah. He's so – so responsible. He does everything, knows everything about everybody – he really cares. He was handling everything so perfectly. Until he got sick – but he's fine now and we don't need another captain."
The black-haired woman with the bell-like voice was silent for awhile.
"I wouldn't mind Muguruma-taichou if he hadn't changed everything. Everything looks the same but it's different underneath. Like our training schedules – we train, sure, but all joint exercises with the 6th division have been cancelled." Her voice dipped in a sign of discontent.
Kensei remained painfully motionless, his mind focused on not-moving. Not-moving was a lot harder than just being still; suddenly he felt every bump of tree-bark under his shihakusho, the itch on the sole of his foot became intolerable and his tabi adhered to his ankles with clammy wetness from the previous mud-bath. Yet he could not afford to be discovered. He recognized this unique opportunity to hear what his officers were really thinking and feeling.
"What do you think, Arashi-kun?" Yuki asked.
"I think you miss not seeing Rikichi-san three times a week," the young man said, teasing.
"Not fair! Oh…I won't be having lunch with you tomorrow."
"Oh?" A voice chimed.
"I've been invited out for lunch by Rikichi-kun."
Kensei heard a slap on a shoulder.
"Oooh, you go girl!"
"It is only lunch," Yuko said, her voice suddenly shy. Kensei grinned, but the young man's next comment sobered him: "You know, I only wonder how many more of us had made good friends within the 6th division. I know I'll miss seeing someone special, too. Really, "69th Division" was the best of both worlds. Abarai-fukutaichou even agreed to help me control my shikai. That won't happen now."
Lunch hour over, the three left to attend to their duties. Not so Kensei. He sat up there in the pear tree, parsing over their words, juxtaposing their feelings over his own. They felt the same. It all seemed the same, but it felt so jarringly different. His troops missed the old schedule and their friends and their Hisagi-fukutaichou just as he missed his old climbing branches. The jarring fall he suffered was still fresh in his mind, and he now wondered whether he was subjecting the 9th division – his division – to those same feelings of impermanence and loss by his very presence.
One thought was a constant in his mind, however: Shuuhei was not the stoic rock of support and the endless well of sympathy as his subordinates viewed him. Shuuhei was still empty inside, still in need of healing. He was doing too much for too many, and with sudden clarity Kensei saw why he was so popular. Hisagi-fukutaichou gave of so much of himself to others that there was very little left for himself.
XDXDXD
He walked in to see Hisagi Shuuhei behind his desk, working steadily with brush in hand. His unruly black hair begged to be ruffled and Kensei stuck his thumbs into his obi to prevent himself from doing just that.
"How goes it, kid?"
Shuuhei lifted his head, rolling his stiff shoulders and stretching his neck. "Almost done, taichou. Here, these forms require your signature." He stood to walk them over to Kensei's desk.
"And I didn't see you in the mess hall." Gray-green eyes looked up to him in question.
Kensei cleared his throat and looked away.
"Yeah." He sat in his wooden chair, touching the forms Shuuhei just gave him absently.
"Getting some fresh air. Too many people." His stomach growled and he smiled ruefully. "I'll go get something."
"The mess hall is closed but I brought you this, just in case." Shuuhei produced a bento with several standard selections, placing it on an empty corner of Kensei's desk.
Kensei looked up, surprised. His inner turmoil was carefully suppressed.
"Thanks, kid."
"Name's Hisagi Shuuhei, Muguruma-taichou."
Kensei noted a bit of life in those haunted eyes. Ahhh, so Shuuhei has a soft spot.
"Nice name, kid. I'll make sure to use it someday." He grinned, his good humor reaching all the way up to those gleaming, primrose-yellow eyes, his reiatsu extending to brush against Shuuhei's in an accidental, playful caress.
Shuuhei sat back down, ready to pick up his brush again.
"Put that down."
The fukutaichou obeyed his captain's gruff voice. Kensei stalked behind Shuuhei's chair.
"Lean back."
He put his gloved hands on Shuuhei's shoulders. "You're all stiff. How long have you been sitting here?"
"Ah…ow…ah…" Shuuhei couldn't quite formulate words under Kensei's powerful fingers. Kensei lightened up his touch, kneading the tight shoulder muscles, his rough fingers moving up Shuuhei's sore, stiff neck. He was gratified to see Shuuhei close his eyes in pleasure.
"You're gonna relax more, and that's an order."
"Hai, taichou."
The younger man was utterly stunned by Kensei's next question.
"Shuuhei. Do you think I made too many changes? You think the troops are feeling alright about all this?"