Spark
Renji stands stoically behind Rukia, not acknowledging his presence, not yet wanting her to know he's there. He doesn't know what's going on, not exactly, but he's supposed to carry out orders from Captain Byakuya, and he'll do it, of course. The Captain and the rest of Soul Society must know what they're doing. He's got no place to question, no place to be standing here thinking with eyes narrowed, face void of emotion, but only that way in an effort to hide it.
Sullen, he thinks. She's lost her spark.
The Rukia he knows (has known, that is) is determined, is unwilling to back down, is strong. That must be it, then. She's atoning for her crimes, and she's standing strong against the imminent danger before her by letting it happen, letting the absolute hardest thing happen, by waiting for death.
Yet, the Rukia he knows (has known, that is) doesn't like to wait. He stares fixedly at her and moves slowly towards her form, downcast and sullen. Her eyes bear sorrow, but they narrow stronger when he walks into the room, when she notices his presence, when he walks toward her.
"Rukia."
Rukia doesn't speak. She responds in a manner of form, in the way her eyes glare out the window. Despite her efforts, he can still see her sorrow.
Renji has got no place to question, no place to be standing here thinking with eyes narrowed, face void of emotion, but only that way in an effort to hide it.
He doesn't know what it is that compels him to tell her of a certain orange-haired boy's entrance into Soul Society, but her expression's the happiest it's been since she arrived home.
That's it, then, he thinks.
There's her spark.