The Significance of Juice Boxes

Date Written: 8-11-06
Date Uploaded: 8-11-06
Last Editing: 8-11-06
Rating: PG
Spoiler Warnings: none really
Author: Lyssa
Additional Notes: This was written in one hour between chapters of my new fic, but I like it. Of course, I may be slightly drowsy considering it's 1:30 am. It's written as a parallel, which I've done some experimenting with before.
Editing will be done later. For now, it's staying short and sweet.

.x.x.x.x.

She was different. Not bad different, just… not like she was before. His world had lost some of its mystery. Now, he could take her out of the house without being interrogated about CD players, sports bras and the newest candy at the checkout. She had mastered some of it. She hadn't broken or otherwise annihilated anything (unintentionally) in two weeks. A new world record.

It was strange, but… it made him a little bit sad. It seemed like the one thing she needed him for- to explain the unknowns of every day life to her. That was where he fit into her life. Now, once again, he'd become… unnecessary. He hated feeling helpless. He hated watching her become independent. He hated that he didn't worry when she went to Inoue's house alone.

He didn't have to anymore. He sighed.

It prompted a glance from the girl sitting beside him quietly. Dark blue eyes examined him quickly. "What?" She half-demanded. That was Rukia. It wasn't so much an expression of concern as a command to know exactly what he was thinking.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

The picnic basket was long forgotten, laying on the hill, a casualty of Rukia's insatiable appetite for all things edible. The blanket was still covered in crumbs from the massacre. Only one thing had escaped unscathed.

Rukia opened the basket and withdrew the pair of juice boxes, passing one to Ichigo. He looked at it for a long moment, confirming her suspicions. These were a reminder of the good old days, when he didn't have to worry about anything more than the occasional hollow and her nagging him.

She knew that he was different too. Not bad different… just not like he was before. Her job had lost some of its mystery. Now, He'd figured out how to work the business of being a shinigami. And, hesitant as she would be to admit it, he was damn good at it. He hadn't severely screwed up or otherwise required her help in two weeks. A new world record.

It was so odd, but… it made her sad. Not much- she was Kuchiki Rukia, doer of all things best. But it seemed like the one thing he needed her for- to explain the details of being a shinigami, from politics to practice. That was her responsibility. One she liked. She didn't have much left to teach, so she hoarded those last insignificant pieces of advice. Once they were gone, he wouldn't need her anymore.

She hated feeling useless. She hated watching her student surpass his teacher. She hated that she could sleep through a hollow attack and he'd easily take care of things. She didn't have the luxury of worrying about him.

He took care of himself. She sighed.

Rukia watched as he poked the straw through the top effortlessly. She looked at the one in her hands, feeling something churn in her stomach. "Rukia?" He looked at her hard in the face she had named 'Ichigo concern' because it was unlike anyone else's. More guarded, but somehow more genuine. She decided quickly on her course of action.

The juice box was thrust at him hard. He blinked at it, hovering in front of his face. "Open it." She demanded quietly. He blinked again.

"Open it." This time, she was more insistent.

"Don't you know by now how to…" He tapered off into nothingness, but reached out for the drink. He fumbled with the straw for a split second, lost in the nostalgia.

"Here, let me help with…" She took it back and stabbed the straw through.

He smiled with her, almost self-satisfied. She grinned back and the silent pact was made.

And one and a half minutes later, the juice boxes were entirely forgotten.