***Well, I originally started out to write a proper ByakuyaxRenji romance, but I just kept coming up with reasons why my ideas didn't make logical sense for the characters. That lead to this, which is the type of piece I've never really written before: pure introspection and reflection, rather than plot (or sex). I'll try the original idea some other time.
There are two sides to every story, so there will probably be a second chapter from Renji's point of view coming...sometime...***
He's fidgeting again.
No matter how often I try to condition him out of it, my lieutenant simply cannot sit still and complete his work. He sighs, shifts in his seat, mumbles to himself and- worst of all- makes positively horrific cracking noises with his knuckles.
I can tell that he's not going to get anything done for the rest of the afternoon, and his presence is simply going to distract me from my own pressing responsibilities. There are more productive things I could have him doing right now rather than slouching about, alternating between staring through the open window and pretending to read paperwork.
"Abarai."
It takes him a moment to realise that I have addressed him, but when it registers his head jerks up so quickly it must have hurt his neck. "Yes, Captain?"
Carefully choosing my words, it takes several seconds for my response to come. This isn't something I allow him to do on a regular basis; but it's a rather pleasant day outside, I need silence, and there isn't enough time for me to reprimand him for his unwitting distractions.
"Choose five mid-level officers and take them to train for the remainder of the afternoon. The practice will do you all good."
"But Captain, my work…" He trails off as I gently set my brush down and fix him with an impassive stare.
I'm not going to repeat myself, and he seems to realise that. "Y-yeah…Thanks, Captain."
Abarai is on his feet and out the door within seconds, possibly worried that I might retract the offer if he doesn't disappear from my sight immediately. But despite what others might say about me, I am certainly not that callous.
Not anymore, at the very least.
Watching as the door slides shut and the general atmosphere of his reiatsu fades somewhat, I take up my brush and go back to the sheet before me. I still feel touches of his energy in the very back of my mind, as I perpetually can: a captain should always know the general location and status of his lieutenant.
It doesn't take long until I have become fully immersed in my work, now that my distracting second seat is occupied elsewhere. Minute after minute passes by in near-perfect silence, and I cannot judge how long I have been alone when distant laughter finally shatters the quiet.
At first I attempt to ignore it, keeping my gaze lowered to the desk and my focus on yet another of the seemingly-endless reports that filter through my division. The sound persists though, and I eventually register it as the rough voice of my lieutenant.
With a quiet sigh, I stand and move to the window. I can sense that Abarai is somewhere nearby, but unfortunately reiatsu rarely gives away whether its user is doing what he is supposed to do or not. The laughter possibly implies that my second has chosen to disobey my training order.
If I find such a thing to be true, the consequences will be dire. I will not tolerate insubordination from anyone in the Sixth Division.
…Without very good reason.
The laughter has stopped, and I cannot see Abarai with my limited view of the training grounds. It seems I will need to leave the office if I wish to confirm my suspicions about his activities.
Just as I begin to ensure that my appearance is acceptable as both a captain and a noble, though, the laughter begins again and I see a flash of red in the distance.
Pausing in my motions, I try to make out the people on the training area, as well as their activities. My lieutenant strikes an obvious figure, his bright hair a clear indicator of his identity. Surrounding him are three others, though I cannot observe any obvious physical traits for them.
At first, it seems that each officer is fighting against each of the other three simultaneously, but it quickly becomes clear that the three lower officers are focusing all their attacks on Abarai.
My lieutenant does not look to be responding with his own attacks, though I can easily see many openings for him to take and strike back; rather, he simply dodges or deflects the triple-headed attacks of the others.
Even from this distance, it is apparent that Abarai is having no trouble with defending himself. His unreleased Zanpakuto flashes in the bright sun as strike after strike fails to come close to hitting him, and as he spins away from a particularly clumsy slash, my second's carefree laugh again catches the wind to flow through the open window of our office.
The sound is one of pure glee; of delight; of the ability to be free.
Many questioned my original decision to instate Abarai as my second- though none dared speak their concerns to my face. Promoting an officer who not only hailed from the Inuzuri district, but also from the Eleventh Division, into the noble-headed Sixth was unheard of. Certain members of my division also worried that my impeccable control would fray if my lieutenant was a man almost completely opposite to myself; never mind the fact that Abarai made no secret of his hatred for me, born after I took Rukia from him at Hisana's final request.
It was bound to lead to conflict, they whispered when they thought I wasn't listening.
I doubt any of them suspected that our differences were part of the reason why I chose Abarai, a sixth seat, as my lieutenant. Very few people will look at him and realise that he is nearly everything I was in my youth, and can no longer be.
Watching him, whether he is struggling to sit still and work silently or laughing as he actually enjoys his training, rarely fails to bring me into a state of deep nostalgia. From the first day that he sat across from me in the Sixth Division office, long-buried memories began to resurface from an easier time: remembrances of days when I wasn't required to maintain both a division and a noble clan.
Surprisingly enough, it was never painful to relive older times. Initially, it was the nostalgic pleasure that Abarai provided me with that caused me to keep the unrefined, often unruly man on as my second.
Of course, I was careful to never allow him to realise such a thing. My noble upbringing dictated that I should never allow another to see that they held any degree of control over me. Such a weakness could be easily exploited.
In turn, that situation was how I found myself facing my lieutenant down during the debacle of Aizen's machinations and Rukia's execution. His hot-headed determination to rescue his childhood friend when I myself could do nothing was certainly admirable.
It was a difficult decision to release my Bankai upon him; almost as if I would be damaging my own childhood as I fought the personification of my former life.
But I did it, regardless.
Because I could never allow my own weaknesses to come to light; not when they related to a man so below me in status. As long as Abarai remained my lieutenant, I would be required to maintain my complete control over him.
During the months that have passed since that incident, though, something has changed between us. He no longer looks at me with barely-disguised hatred, although his motivations for such a thing would be expected to have grown after I tore him apart with Senbonzakura.
The saddening thought has repeatedly occurred to me that I destroyed- or at least damaged- his wilful nature with my cold actions, as surely as my own was taken away; but it is days like these when I realise that the only alteration to him since his promotion has been his opinion of me. Watching him laugh as he easily fends off the others, the remaining two of the five I told him to gather having now joined the scrimmage, is clear proof that my second is still the open, free man I have always known.
And always accompanying that realisation is another, one that relates to myself: as the days pass and I spend more time with my increasingly respectful and respectable lieutenant, the less I see him as a vessel for pleasant memories.
Abarai Renji is not a version of my younger self; he is an individual unto himself, with his own unique set of flaws and positives.
He is a strong man who cannot be broken, even by a noble captain whose name alone commands almost total fear and respect.
Still staring through the window, I find my interest well and truly caught when Abarai flash-steps back from the five officers he has been easily holding off, raising one palm up as he rests the point of his still-unreleased Zanpakuto against the ground.
It seems too early for him to be finishing with the training; my suspicions of mild insubordination rise once again. But the others don't seem to be lowering their own weapons, and so I simply keep watching to discover what my lieutenant is planning.
He sheathes Zabimaru and I frown, knowing that he is not fast enough to dodge five blades while unarmed. My blank mask returns, though, hiding my confusion as he unties the white cloth around his forehead and places it over his eyes. Fastening it behind his head, Abarai takes a moment to ensure it is in place before drawing his weapon again.
Gesturing for the other to approach him, they seem to hesitate before Abarai takes the initiative and finally attacks, startling one of the officers who can barely dodge my second's strike.
Even after blinding himself, Abarai seems to have very little difficulty defending himself from his five opponents, though the blades come closer than they did when he could see them.
It is with an almost spellbound fascination that I find myself carefully analysing my lieutenant's every move. I have never truly noticed how gracefully he moves, spinning and dodging with a sort of roughened elegance that should be impossible for a man of his build.
Despite the fact that he is a Rukongai peasant who spent far too long with the insufferable Captain Zaraki, it is obvious now to see that Abarai is truly a credit to both himself and this division. The Sixth's mid-level officers are in no way weak or unskilled; yet Renji can outshine five of them with ease, while relying only on instinct and senses other than sight.
Another relaxed laugh floats down from the training grounds, and it is only then that I realise how much time I must have wasted while watching my officers. With a flash of regret, I close the window and return to my desk with its waiting paperwork.
Reclaiming my brush, I realise that I was distracted for so long that the ink still clinging to the fibres has dried, rendering the item useless until it is properly cleaned. I allow myself a quiet sigh of disgust as I set it aside, reaching for a clean one.
Starting to read the sheet in front of me, my focus wavers and only becomes worse as I try to force myself to concentrate. Images of my second seat weaving around the lower officers fill my mind, some dissolving into memories of his broken body as I placed a priceless family heirloom across him.
He returned the silk scarf, perfectly cleaned of his blood, only days after his release from the Fourth Division. I cannot divine my reasons for leaving such an important item upon his body, but I am certainly grateful that it was returned in impeccable condition.
In fact, the morning that Abarai formally presented it back to me was the first time that I noticed a clear lack of hatred and dangerous intent in his eyes.
And I suppose it is possible that I first began to see Renji solely for himself at that time, as well.
His determination to please everyone that he chooses to respect; the manner in which he will do anything for those he befriends; the way that his natural vibrancy seems to fade the longer I keep him in the office completing paperwork.
Abarai is not the best-suited lieutenant of the Thirteen Divisions. His ability to reach Bankai possibly makes him almost overqualified as a second seat; but his inability to handle the administrative demands of the position means that he would struggle as a captain.
Unless he became captain of the Eleventh, of course, who to the best of my knowledge have not completed a single report in over a century. To be utterly honest, I am not certain that Captain Zaraki is at all literate.
How Abarai tolerated being a subordinate to that primitive creature, I cannot possibly fathom.
Yet still, at times it feels like cruelty to keep my lieutenant in the office, toiling over work that seems to gradually kill him inside. He grew up on the streets of a Rukongai slum, and upon graduating moved into divisions where he was allowed most of his freedom.
The man outside, laughing and training in the sun, is the true Abarai Renji; the one that sits here and has to force himself to stay quiet is a pitiful shadow that I've created.
If there was one thing I could do for Abarai to assist him, it would be transferring him to a less-disciplined division or demoting him to a position with fewer administrative demands. His pride would certainly take some damage, but he would benefit from the freedom in the long term.
But I can't do that.
As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, I cannot let Renji go.
I cannot imagine taking another lieutenant, or allowing another captain to spend each day with Abarai. Even if it would be for the best if we were to part.
Because the more I learn about the true Abarai Renji, the more I find myself beginning to fall in love with the wild, carefree and passionate man to whom my thoughts seem to increasingly gravitate.
After Hisana, I did not expect to ever find another who would come close to how I felt for her. She may not have been able to return my love, but that failed to sour my feelings for her. I still love my wife, and I suspect that I always will.
And yet my lieutenant is gradually moving to join Hisana. This is even despite the fact that I have no evidence or even a sense that he feels a similar way towards me; that he could love me in the same sense that I am growing to love him.
This is a situation which I cannot, and will not, allow to happen. For the sake of us both.
Renji is my direct subordinate, and it would be altogether inappropriate for the two of us to pursue a romantic relationship. Though not expressly prohibited, the practice is nonetheless looked down upon, and I will not allow Renji to be subjected to such derision on my behalf.
Then there is the issue of my second's birth: although the Kuchiki elders have proven that they will grudgingly allow their family's head to marry a peasant, I cannot see them looking favourably upon me engaging in a relationship that cannot produce legitimate heirs. Hisana was tentatively accepted because she seemed healthy and fertile to all appearances; Renji would not be seen in the same light.
But neither of those reasons is what keeps me from allowing Abarai to see my awakening emotions: I long ago learned to ignore the idle talk of those around me, and the blessing of the elders is of little importance to me.
No, the reason why I cannot bring myself to court my lieutenant is due to the main personality difference between him and the woman who grew up in the same area, yet still became a noble's wife.
Hisana's acceptance as a Kuchiki came about due to her ability to transcend her peasant roots and act as if she had been born as a noble. She quickly adapted to the demands of being the wife of a family head, and she conformed almost perfectly to the rigidity of noble life.
In order to be accepted even partially as my partner, Renji would need to submit to the chains of proper social behaviour and noble restraint; such a thing would surely diminish him until he became but a shell of the man he is now.
Therefore, my choice lies between attempting to draw Renji into a life that will surely kill him from the inside out, or restrain myself to admiring him through the office window as he displays his beautiful traits to a close audience that will never truly appreciate him.
As such, my choice was simple: I could never condemn such a vibrant man to the colourless life of nobility.
I will never allow him to see that my emotions for him run deeper than a professional relationship should, no matter how painful it is to lose a second love- this time before I could ever truly experience it.
Because I realise that, if he somehow did feel the same as I do, he would attempt to wear the burden of noble life regardless of the negative effects to himself, so that he could make my life as simple as possible. That is the kind of man my second is.
As captain and lieutenant, it is our duty to protect each other in battle; it is here that I will protect him from an altogether different type of battle, even if he never realises it.
With a start, I realise that I'm again standing before the window, watching Renji as he continues to toy with the other men. His blindfolded state is clearly wearing on him, though, as the other Zanpakuto are coming closer with each strike.
My eyes widen as he dodges one blade, only to move directly into the path of another. Thankfully, the officer wielding the sword realises and tries to avert his blow; but the movement is too slow, and my second is hit on his left bicep.
The six on the field immediately halt, Abarai pulling his blindfold down to hang loosely from his neck. From this distance, I cannot see how bad the wound is; but after a few seconds of inspecting the wound, Renji shrugs his shoulders and motions for the others to begin the fight again.
I'm slightly reassured by the fact that he doesn't seem badly injured, and also that he doesn't replace his blindfold; but the other officers seem reluctant to fight any further, and I can practically feel the disappointment rolling from Renji in waves.
I truly have kept him tethered indoors for too long, if he is willing to maintain this rigorous training pace despite an injury.
Glancing across at my paper-covered desk and sloppily discarded brush, I make a spontaneous decision: even though our private lives must be kept separate, I can still interact closely with my lieutenant in a professional setting.
Walking across to retrieve Senbonzakura, I look up to see Renji apparently still trying to convince the other officers to train, despite his wound.
Clearly, five mid-level Shinigami are no problem for the Sixth Division's second seat; I suppose that if he wishes to advance, I should allow him a greater challenge.
Straightening my Haori, I flash-step out of the office and towards the training grounds.
Abarai Renji will never be able to restrain himself into the lifeless, duty-bound existence of a noble family's head; but I think I can take this single opportunity to immerse myself in this small element of his world, while still maintaining purely professional actions.
After all, I am not going to get anything else done for the remainder of the afternoon; not with images of my beautiful Renji in his natural element pervading through my mind.