I apologize for the wait - the outdoors beckoned.
Anyway...a shout out is needed for all you wonderful, wonderful people! Thank you for reviewing: lalala, Sheepsama13, Zack Zeon, bloodandpepper, UryuxOrihime11693, Itachi'sNailPolish, kurou-chan, Bre, and Blackrose2005. You're all amazing.
lalala, Zack Zeon, Bre: your review replies are at the end of the chapter.
Not much Kurosaki in this chapter, but...I wanted to focus on Ishida and Orihime.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters. But sharing is caring, yes? No? Oh well.
Half-Truths
- Soul -
Ishida-kun's first words are "You were listening."
Try as she might, Orihime cannot bring herself to feel surprise. Some part of her acknowledges that even now, buried beneath guilt and sorrow and inner torment, Ishida-kun is impossibly perceptive. He probably knew she was eavesdropping the minute she pressed her ear to the door's miniature window.
Why didn't he say something? Why did he let me hear everything?
There is no answer for her unspoken questions. He is watching her with a quiet intensity that pierces her through the cell bars, as though the barrier is not there at all, and they are equal, facing each other alone in this realm of death and life. Warm shivers skitter nervously down her back. There is something different in his gaze, something that makes her quail and shudder and rejoice all at the same time. Orihime is suddenly glad for the bars between them.
"Yes," she says, and slowly lowers herself to sit in front of him. The confrontation with Kurosaki-kun has brought him to his feet, and he stands there, his thin lips twitching as if uncertain of what to tell her. Orihime forces herself to breathe normally.
Finally, noiselessly, he joins her on the floor. Orihime's breath comes out in a long rush and she ducks her head, embarrassed. Never mind that his movements are stiff and tense, as if he does not trust her at all. Never mind that a moment ago it seemed as if he might lash out at her for spying on him, for leaving him when he most needed her, for failing him and abandoning him to his fate, the fate he chose to save her. In that single movement, Orihime sees Ishida-kun giving her a chance to heal him. Her face lights up in a hopeful smile.
"I, ah…wanted to say sorry for running earlier," she murmurs to him. "I made a…a promise to myself that I would help you. But I don't think that I started off very well." She gives a nervous little laugh at his silence. "I…I'm sorry I left you. I called you my friend, but I guess I didn't really act like one, huh?"
His hard, hostile stare softens at her apologetic words, and he places his hands on his knees in a relaxed gesture. Orihime feels something loosen in her chest.
"No, you did," says Ishida-kun quietly. "You were trying, Inoue-san. It…I was the one who ruined everything."
Orihime shakes her head hastily. "No, no, you're mourning and I couldn't understand. I should have been more supportive. Instead, I went and ran away from you when I should have stayed. I'm sorry, Ishida-kun. I'm sorry."
There is a smile on his lips, but it holds nothing of mirth or happiness. "Looks like neither of us can stop apologizing."
She does not know if she should laugh at that, but she does. It sounds weak, even to her, and she winces. "Um…yeah. I guess we can't."
Awkward. That is the only word she can attach to the silence that falls over them like an itchy, suffocating blanket. She shifts uncomfortably and stares down at her hands in her lap. Five fingers. Peach-colored. Unremarkable.
But she's going to use them to heal, and this, all of this, is getting them nowhere.
"Can we…" Orihime sucks in a steadying breath and forces herself to look Ishida-kun in the eye. "Can we start over, Ishida-kun?"
It sounds so odd, hanging in the stale air with all the fragile hope of an unaccepted handshake.
Say something, she thinks at Ishida-kun's passive face. Please?
Slowly, like a toddler taking its first tentative steps, he nods and looks at her with eyes marred by shame and the tiniest spark of hope. Orihime sits back as an inexplicable exhaustion fills her. She cannot help but sigh in relief.
Kurosaki-kun, despite having once been enemies with him, seems to have gotten through to Ishida-kun.
"Now," she says, her gaze going to the long-dried blood staining the sleeve of Ishida-kun's uniform, "will you…let me heal that?"
Ishida-kun blinks, surprised by the turn of conversation, but he gets up and moves closer to her without any complaint. Orihime does not ask him to reach his arm through the bars; she can see that he is in pain, even if his stoic expression belies nothing. The comforting glow of her healing aura appears and swallows the wound whole. She can see the sickly signs of infection growing around the split skin and worry stains her tongue. She dares not raise her eyes; she can feel Ishida-kun's gaze on the top of her lowered head.
"Did the guards give this to you?"
The question is out before she can curb her morbid curiosity into submission. Orihime winces, but does not take it back; she refuses to harbor regrets so early into the earning of forgiveness.
Ishida-kun does not speak for a moment, and when he does, his voice is cool, emotionless, indifferent. "…Yes."
"Oh." Orihime's teeth gnaw thoughtfully at her lower lip. The injury's infection draws out the healing process, and she can see the jagged edges coming back together as if pulled by an invisible sewing needle. "Umm. You're not hurt anywhere else, are you?" Besides in your mind and soul?
"No," Ishida-kun replies. "The wounds from the fight have been bandaged and are already healing."
"You don't want me to heal those too?"
She looks up, finished healing, to see his jaw tighten. This close to him, she can see the glint of fever in his dark eyes.
"No."
He is punishing himself, Orihime realizes. This is just another way for him to atone for his sins. And no matter how much she aches to see him hurt, she knows that if she takes this from him, the trust that is growing between them will be stunted and die.
Her hands draw back into her lap. She wonders if she should ask about the fever, but Ishida-kun does not look like he is very sick. He is not shivering or pale with illness (merely with remorse) and his chest is quiet, without the beginnings of a cough. Orihime dips her head and smiles at the new, unblemished skin she has created and soaks up his grateful nod.
Thank you, Ishida-kun. Thank you for trusting me again.
"Any more news on the ryoka?"
"Hmm? Which one?"
"The one in prison, you idiot."
"Shut up! There are four, you know."
"Is there news or not?"
"…Yeah. Heard the execution's been moved up."
"Really? How many more days?"
"I'm not sure, but it can't be much more than a week. Wonder how the girl's taking it…"
"They're still letting her see him?"
"Yes. They say it's imperative that they have his cooperation."
"Cooperation…it's already been more than a month since he went in. There's probably nothing left of him to cooperate with, and if that little girl thinks she can help him…hah. I pity her."
She moves with purpose.
Everything, from the smallest shinigami child to the very air around her, seems to glow with a certain light that she's sure has nothing to do with the sun's rays. Kurosaki-kun's ever-present scowl is endearing, Unohana's calm, careful persistence is caring, and Hanatarou's shy stuttering does not weary her anymore. She eats with zeal, feeling free to experiment with new foods and spices, and it doesn't hurt to see the thinly veiled disgust on her physicians' faces when she introduces them to one of her dishes.
It has only been a day since Ishida-kun began to forgive her. And yet, it feels so much, much longer.
"I thought I'd bring you lunch."
Ishida-kun eyes the harmless-looking food suspiciously. Orihime watches him with a mischievous glint in her gaze and a trembling smile on her lips. It is all she can do to keep the bright laughter in — she can see that he still remembers her cooking endeavors with less-than-fond feelings.
"It's noodles," she announces simply. "With an apple and a sweet bun. Hanatarou packed it for you."
"Hanatarou?" Ishida-kun repeats absently. He is staring at the food as if waiting for it to vanish, and Orihime is suddenly reminded of the animalistic hunger in his eyes when she brought him the sugared plum.
"Yes," she says quietly. "One of my friends from the Fourth."
The food, wrapped loosely in clean white cotton, is slid through the cell bars. Ishida-kun's hand shakes almost imperceptibly when he moves to pick the apple up. He bites slowly, lovingly, as if it is the sweetest thing on Earth and he is a starving man. Orihime watches him chew carefully for a minute, nothing the way his arm trembles, as if he wishes to shove the entire fruit into his mouth. She turns around to fetch the cup of water she brought with her.
"I thought you might like some water," she murmurs, swiveling back to face him, "but if you want, I can bring…something else…"
Only a portion of the apple's flesh remains. Ishida-kun pauses, juice running down his chin and his mouth moving awkwardly to chew through the fruit. He looks at the core in his hand, swallows thickly twice, and looks off to the side. Embarrassment and mortification rise hot in his cheeks. The end of one filthy sleeve rises to wipe away the sweet juice making its way towards his jaw line.
"Ishida-kun," Orihime calls, and his name is a hoarse whisper. He looks at her then, his thin mouth twisted in shamed misery.
"You don't have to be polite with me," she says. "Go ahead. It's only me. I won't tell anyone."
Stillness. And then he is lunging forward, like a starving beast, and his hands are darting to the food, and the noodles are disappearing messily into his wide-open mouth, and he is nearly choking on it all but he won't stop, won't stop even when the sweet bun is gone and the apple stripped to its very core, and the water is downed, splashing onto his dirty face and neck, and finally, suddenly, he stops, and it is finished.
Revulsion floods Orihime's stomach and she is almost sick. To see Ishida-kun reduced to this…how can anyone be so cruel? Don't they feed him? She has never been more repulsed by humanity in her life, and it scares her to feel this way, to look upon the fury and self-hatred on Ishida-kun's face and curse the people who did this to him.
Ishida-kun's flushed body suddenly shudders. Orihime presses against the bars in worry, her heart jumping in her chest. "Ishida-kun? What's —?"
His head twitches to the side — no — and his hand jerks up to his mouth. Whatever color humiliation has brought to his face drains away. In one pained movement, he turns, and is sick on the floor.
Orihime kneels, frozen in shock and concern and vague disgust, but cannot turn her head. It is only when Ishida-kun finishes (and it is over quick; there was barely anything in his stomach to begin with) and wipes the sick from his lips that she manages to avert her gaze. He lets out an angry hiss.
"Stupid," he snarls. Orihime jumps, thinking he means her, but he is glaring at his own shivering hands.
He shudders again and draws in on himself. She can see him retreating further into the detached façade the Maggot's Nest has made of him, and her eyes crease in sorrow.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Inoue-san. That was…incredibly stupid of me."
Orihime shakes her head as he grimaces and moves to wipe the sick up with the cloth she brought.
"It's not your fault," she says quietly. "You were hungry."
"I should have known better," he insists relentlessly. There are hard lines around his mouth, lines of self-loathing, of disgrace and insecurity. Her hands twinge with the desire to reach out and smooth them away.
Ishida-kun pushes the cloth from him and pulls his legs in. Orihime's heart contracts at the dark look on his face and then she is leaning forward, all too aware of where they are, of who he is, of who he is in danger of becoming. Her hand touches his white-clad shoulder. Ishida-kun jerks at the gesture, a familiar, wary hostility entering his blue glare. Orihime smiles softly into his distrusting eyes and retreats. Perhaps not now. Maybe it is too soon to touch him.
"Next time," she says gently, "I'll bring something better for your stomach."
Quiet surprise in his deep azure eyes. The distrust fades into complacent neutrality, and he gives another of the silent nods he has become so fond of using.
For Orihime, that is thanks enough.
The blankets shift, clean and smooth like fabric glass, through her hands and she heaves a frustrated huff when they spill onto the floor. She does not drop the socks and sandals in her hands.
Unohana appears as if out of the air, and Orihime is mortified when she stoops to pick them up. They are back in her arms within moments, folded neatly.
"May I ask," the braided captain says curiously, "who those are for?"
Orihime beams brightly at her. "Ishida-kun. They didn't give him any where he is, and it can't be comfortable to walk around barefoot on stone, so…I figured it wouldn't hurt to bring some blankets and a pair of sandals."
Unohana merely hums, "hmm," and continues on her way, but there is something terribly sad in her movements. Later that day, Orihime would wonder if the kind-hearted captain knew the guards would refuse to let her give them to Ishida-kun.
The physician's mouth is pursed, her eyes narrowed, a severe expression plastered on her smooth face. "Open," she commands. Orihime's jaw falls obediently at the tone and the physician's cool fingers delve in, swab at her aching tongue with a strip of cloth, and retreat. It feels like having a dentist check up on her. Orihime bites her lip to keep the giggling in its place.
Brilliant blood stains the cloth in the physician's steady hand, and the shinigami woman sighs. "Honestly," she snaps, "you'd think you didn't want to get out of here!"
She shakes her head and gives Orihime a worried look. "Inoue-san," she says wearily, "why do you push yourself?"
Her voice is quiet, apologetic, a child's tool. "He likes to hear my voice," she says simply, and the physician's hands are suddenly gentle.
She is learning more about him every day.
Progress is slow and painful. Ishida-kun was never very talkative before, and getting him to speak now is like coaxing a fox from its den with a flower; the bait is meaningless to him. Most of her attempts to draw words from his stubbornly sealed mouth make him retreat into himself like a hermit crab into its shell.
Sometimes, though, he opens up. Orihime begins to see that there are even more layers to this solitary Quincy than she once thought. Before their excursion into Soul Society, the things she knew about Ishida-kun could have fit on one hand. He was quiet, smart, liked to sew and hated shinigami, and was a bow-wielding Quincy. It wasn't as if she hadn't made an effort to get to know him; she had tried to talk to him, to make a friend out of this isolated boy, but when she hadn't received much success she had shrugged and ambled off to join her friends. Of course she had made an effort — that did not mean she had put her heart and soul into it.
Now, her heart is plagued by worry and her soul is battered, a plaything for chance and cruelty, and she pours both of them into exploring the uncharted maze that is Ishida-kun's psyche.
Finally, she begins to see — Ishida-kun is as self-sacrificing a person she ever knew. He blames himself for matters out of his control. It is her health he thinks about, not his own. Asking for assistance or food or even clean clothes places too much of a burden on Orihime's shoulders; the bumps and bruises from his frequent…"punishments" at the hands of the jail-keepers are nothing — allowing Orihime to heal them and waste her precious energy would be incredibly selfish of him. And to shift his burdens on her would be unforgivable.
"But I want you to give your burdens to me," Orihime insists persistently. "Let me help you."
Magic words. Wonderful, brilliant words. They always work. Orihime will never feel too guilty for turning them on Ishida-kun. Not when his wavering soul is at stake.
Ishida-kun stares at her in his usual silence and then, when it seems he will look away from her pleading eyes, he gives in.
Kurosaki-kun is antsy. He paces, moves edgily like a coiled spring, waiting to burst out of containment.
"What's wrong?" Orihime asks him. Maybe he's been spending too much time indoors lately.
He gives her an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye and mutters, "Just wondering when their hospitality will run out."
The next day, Orihime talks herself bloody again.
"My father is a doctor."
Doctor — a good, strong, steady job. Any other child with the knowledge of how excellent a position it is might say the words with a jolt of familial pride.
Ishida-kun does not.
"He's always said it was our duty to save human life. Life isn't something easily granted, and he considers it an insult that it can be taken away so easily. That's why he became a doctor, I think; that, and he makes a lot of money." His lips curl with disdain. "But of course, if he can't save someone, it's not a big loss. Things like that happen. No point in mourning the dead — we're all going to die eventually."
Orihime feels like she should say something. Ishida-kun is up and pacing, but now he has come to a slow stop. He glares at the floor as if wishing it a brutal and painful death.
"Hypocrite." Ishida-kun winces at the tremor in his half-whispered word and squares his thin shoulders. "He still mourns my mother."
Orihime holds her tongue between her teeth, worrying it till it is raw. A few more moments of silence and, certain that it is safe for her to speak, she sets free her tongue.
"My parents died when I was really little." She is sure that Ishida-kun might not be as much of a stranger to this news as she thought. There is no surprise in his guarded navy eyes, only sympathy as pale and faint as mist. "My brother took care of me. And then…he died too. And not too longer ago, he came back, and tried to kill me."
The shield around Ishida-kun's ever-wary soul flickers out of place, and the sympathy sharpens, sharp enough to slide effortlessly under her skin and make her fidget.
"Inoue-san…" Ishida-kun shivers and swivels his malnourished body until he faces her. Orihime is abruptly aware of how close he is and shifts nervously on her feet.
"He…was a Hollow?"
A short, fragile nod. She peers up at him to see his cautious gaze soften with comprehension.
"I'm sorry."
One of his hands slides between the bars, and she feels his fingers cup her cheek. He is still looking at her with that odd expression in his gaze. She can feel light calluses brush her skin when one of his limber fingers slips.
There is no fear in her. She is not afraid of his touch, no matter how cruel it was previously. She does not fear this broken, caring person standing before her.
"I'm sorry," Ishida-kun murmurs again in a tortured whisper, and his hand is gone, and he is backing away from her with his shield firmly in place. Orihime can still feel his skin against hers, somehow, and is seized by the wild thought that she will never be able to forget it.
"Don't be."
And she has seen his soul.
"Oy."
A long-suffering sigh. "What is it, Gin?"
"We have ourselves a meddler."
A/N: There is a half-truth in every chapter. Care to guess what this one's is?
lalala: well, thank you for giving Ishihime a try! I'm glad I was able to show you how great this pairing is x). And as for the summary, it just came naturally - I wanted something that would grab readers' attention and give a hint of the tone of the story. As for the story itself...well, I do have the ending planned out, but I'm finding that I write best when I don't have a strict structure. I wanted an Ishihime that was dark and explored the characters' depths, but wouldn't drive readers off in despair or boredom. I guess I succeeded in my efforts. Thanks for reviewing, you have no idea how happy your comments made me! :D
Zack Zeon: really, really good? Thanks! Hope this chapter didn't disappoint in any way.
Bre: I most certainly will keep writing - definitely.
Again, thank you everyone for reviewing!
Leave a review - tell me what you think! It's what keeps this story going.
-Kimsa