Not-so-long-author-note: Hey! This is the 4th chapter for When It's Rukia, but as an oneshot. I'll say more in the author note below, SO PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR NOTE BELOW.
HEY, THIS IS CLEARLY NOT A NEW CHAPTER TO IT TAKES TWO TO MAKE A HEART. ALSO, I AM NOT SUISHO x HIRAKO SHINJI 2. I AM HER FRIEND. THE REASON SHE HASN'T BEEN ABLE TO UPDATE FOR A MONTH IS BECAUSE a) SHE HAD FINALS; b) SHE WAS STILL WRITING IT BEFORE c) SHE CAUGHT SOME WEIRD FLU (EITHER SWINE OR THAT WEIRD NEW MUTATION GOING AROUND LATELY) RIGHT WHEN HER IMMUNE SYSTEM WAS PRETTY BATTERED. SHE HAS WEAK LUNGS TO BEGIN WITH SO SHE'S HAVING A HORRIBLE TIME RECOVERING. SHE TRUSTS ME WITH HER ACCOUNT AND ASKED ME TO UPLOAD THIS CHAPTER OVER THE PHONE (IT'S CONTAGIOUS). SHE HATES THAT SHE HASN'T BEEN ABLE TO UPDATE FOR YOU GUYS OR WRITE BACK TO HER "dear reviewers" WHO SHE REGULARLY CHATS WITH. SHE ALSO HATES POSTING UNRELATED THINGS LIKE OMAKES ON A FIC, BUT SHE'S REALLY SORRY THAT YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A MONTH. SO THIS, SHE SAID, WAS ON HER OLD ACCOUNT BEFORE SHE LOST ACCESS TO IT AND WAS FAVORABLY REVIEWED. SHE HOPES YOU GUYS LIKE IT AND DOESN'T KNOW WHEN SHE'LL BE BACK, BUT SHE SAYS SHE LOVES HER REVIEWERS AND READERS AND SAYS THANK YOU.
SHE ALSO SAID TO DEDICATE THIS CHAPTER TO Animevy116; Quill Princess; sparkleflower; and Ashezo, WHO "are wonderful reviewers and even more fabulous friends".
This is rated T for mild language.
Warning: Possible spoilers
When It's Rukia – Kurosaki Ichigo
Despite his Shinigami partner's woeful knowledge of Humans and their customs, she was understanding, agreeable and curious about them, making it easy to educate her. Not to say that she didn't have her own questions and opinions, but she rarely looked down on them, having been human herself at one distant point in time, though she held no memory of her time as one. It was an errant thought that had Ichigo curious now and then.
Surely, like other Shinigami, Rukia hadn't just… "poofed" into being. There had to have been a more mortal starting point along the line for them. Shinigami didn't just pop into existence like Rukia had popped into his life the night she had saved him and his family.
He looked up from his history textbook, which was already taking its toll on his hands, wrists, and arms that supported it above his head. His head, wreathed in short and fiery orange hair, was nestled in his pillow, with his powerful and toned body that followed it sinking into the mattress of his bed. A quick glance over to his open closet presented to him the image of one short Kuchiki Rukia, tucked in the small space between the wall and sliding door. She was perched on spare mattresses and blankets, poring over the latest issue of her favorite manga, occasionally flipping the pages with a thoughtful look, and swinging her legs absentmindedly. It was a typical scene, but he could not help but feel something – he refused to call it relief – trickle into his chest area.
It had been over a year since he had last seen her after all.
And upon closer examination, the once all-too-familiar scene was not too typical anymore. One of the most noticeable differences was her hair, which was shorter and swung more freely than her previous hairstyle. Privately, he thought this hairstyle suited her more. It was short like her, though he would never say this out loud for the risk of a bruised shin. In addition to her hair, she had also decided to stick with donning the standard Shinigami attire, a black hakama with a simple white sash which fluttered this way and that with each swing of her legs. Then his eyes slid to her face.
He didn't know much about the aging process of Shinigami, but he knew they did grow to some extent, though at a much slower pace than humans. However, he could see signs of maturity on her, ones that did not have to rely on a changed facial structure.
The new addition of the 13th Division armband that sat snugly and proudly on her upper left arm announced her progress in skills and rank, and declared its owner as the rightful holder of the title of the 13th Division Vice-captain of the Gotei 13. Her eyes bespoke of gained wisdom and experience, and the delicate and slender white gloves laid carefully off to the side, though unforgotten, showcased her increased dignity and pride.
How she had grown.
His eyes latched onto the gloves, thinking of the hands that they had snugly fit, the same hands that had righted things again in a way things of this mortal world couldn't…
Rain. Never-ceasing, unending, relentless rain. It poured over his numb body, but then how could it be numb, when his heart was splintering and the slash wound flared and tinged with pain sporadically? A wound, given by none other than the one person he thought he could trust to help him, to help regain his ability to protect, and to give him a chance, no matter how slim, to see her again. The deeper pain didn't hurt like a lover scorned, or the recognition of failure, but like that of the deepest betrayal. He had put his life in this man's hands, had slaved under the instructions and advice of this stranger, and damn believed in Ginjo, (and he even went as far as to place trust in him) to help him achieve Fullbring and restore his former powers.
Now that same man that had given him the power to protect had robbed him of it, walking away with his decoy, Tsukishima. Bastard Tsukishima may be for messing with his friends and family, but Ginjo took the cake for the biggest bastard of them all in this situation.
"Noooooooooooooo!"
He didn't roar, didn't yell, didn't scream as was his wont, as was his usual when in battle and when agitated. He cried, long and drawn-out, as he had done the night she had left to protect him from Soul Society. The act strained his torn muscles, exacerbating his wound, but he couldn't care less. Just as he couldn't care less about the look of pity that the injured and downed Uryu gave him, though he was remorseful at his friend's plight, who had tried to help him. It was a miracle that he could even make him out through the film of tears obscuring his vision. All the despair, the secret doubts and fears about the troubles his family and friends went through and unleashed itself in that one cry, leaving him feeling empty.
Feeling empty was better than being full to bursting of despair.
"…Is he crying? I feel so horrible," mocked Tsukishima, watching Ichigo with fake pity. Ginjo, by this time, had already turned around and started walking away from the grief-ridden scene. Indifferent. Cold.
"Let him cry. We've no use for him anymore," he stated callously. "It's unlikely… we will ever meet him again."
Somehow, Ichigo managed to find his forgotten voice (how strange that it had not disappeared under the onslaught of grief and horror) and called, "…Give it back…!" Ginjo stopped, his coat darkening under the rain and little droplets that ran down his hair before collecting on his shoes and jacket.
"Give it back, Ginjo… Give my power back!"
"…What…? You're joking. It's power that I gave back to you. It belongs to me!" Ichigo breath caught at this. His eyes widened even further, though such a feat would have been impossible in any other case. But more importantly, what was this man saying?
He thought of his friends and his boss, Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, Ikumi-san, Chad, Inoue. His family… Karin, Yuzu…
He couldn't protect anyone…
"I'm sparing your life even though you're useless now. The least you could do is thank me."
Sparing his life…
"Ginjo…"
Useless.
"GINJO!" he roared, leaping to his feet in a sudden rush of energy and lunging for the retreating, leather-clad back. Only to be pierced by a sword of light. His pupils wavered in his eyeballs, before swiveling around to focus on the source behind him. Wrong, he off—handedly noted, sources.
As he focused on his long-missing father, Urahara Kisuke finished pulling off the cape of what appeared to be invisibility off of him and Kurosaki Isshin. One solemn Isshin and Urahara, that is.
"…Dad…? Ura…hara…san…?" He couldn't recognize his voice. It was pitiful, quavering. It was the voice of a child, who had lost everything before his eyes, who couldn't believe that there was even greater despair to come on top of this.
It was weak.
Had his dad and mentor come to steal from him too? They were too late though, there was nothing worth stealing from him. Perhaps they had come simply for his life? He mused on this morbidly, before a trembling hand lifted itself to clutch at the blade that protruded from his chest. His fingers curled around the blade, which now shook in time with his own quaking hands.
Another bond, lost.
"…So that's it… That is it, then…?" he mumbled, wearily, resignedly, and with no hope at all flecking his tone. His head that he had lowered lifted enough for his eyes to catch his father's unusually somber gaze. Again, something tickled his eyes, and the feeling was so unfamiliar, he almost slackened his grip in shock.
Tears. Since when had he last cried? He couldn't remember, it could have been when he had awoken to his mother's mangled body that rainy day, it could have been when she had left to protect him, he couldn't remember. And it wouldn't matter soon anyways, not when he was going to be robbed of everything.
"Dad…" he near whimpered, "you too…?" His voice choked up, hiccups and sobs threatening to tear themselves from his throat. "That's… how it is…?"
His father continued to remain serious, but then again, it would have been weird if he weren't in this situation. What was Ichigo hoping for? For the return of his bright, silly, easy-to-abuse father? His happy-go-lucky fool of a father? But this character did not appear, overshadowed by something heavy and sad in Isshin's eyes. "…You idiot. It wasn't me who stabbed you," his father chastised, unusually gentle compared to his usual blunt comments. "Look closely."
Look? Look at where, at what, at who? Look where, when he had lost sight of all things precious and dear to him?
"You should be able to see their form by now."
Their? A person? People? But who…?
"Just who…is holding that sword!"
His eyes continued to dart around the space surrounding Isshin and Urahara, not comprehending. Then his eyes caught something. And all breath whooshed out of him.
He continued to stare at her, thought whether it was the girl in his closet or the girl in that slow, seemingly-fantasy world, he wasn't sure.
Things had sort of just become a blur after that. The restoration of his powers, the fight between the Fullbringers, the arrival of Byakuya, Toshiro, Ikkaku, Renji and Zaraki, the return of Rukia. It almost seemed too good to be true. He couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed at Byakuya and Toshiro's entrance, the cold pricks they were in his memories of them, nor could he find exasperation before Zaraki and Ikkaku's bloodlust. He was glad to see Renji who looked stronger yet again, the monster.
But Rukia's return had done many things that any Shinigami's return could have not. Just as her spontaneous, uncalled for, and unwelcomed intrusion into his life that night, that had simply started with a girl walking through his bedroom wall, had done something for him that could not, and would not be able to be replicated by anyone else. She was no cheerful sun; she was in fact one annoying short Shinigami girl who really annoyed him at times. But she was also the one who had kicked him back into shape emotionally and mentally when he couldn't relate to anyone else, had give him the power to protect and had taught him how to forgive himself, for that rainy day that had ended with his dead mother, and started his rain and nightmares.
She was no sun, but what else could he call her when she was the only one who had been able to stop his rainy downpour? No, he mused, still staring blankly ahead at Rukia, she was more like the moon, which seemed to fit with her personality and Zanpaktou fittingly. He didn't think her sword's ice and snow could survive against the sun after all, even if it was created unnaturally by her sword and soul power.
She also resembled the moon, with her cold and unfriendly-looking exterior, but with a pure white aura and personality about her, that lit up everything for others to see at night. It was no sun, but her "light" was enough to end his rain, and that was all that mattered, as far as Ichigo and Zangetsu were concerned.
His lips smirked and grimaced in turns as he dredged up the memories of that night. Well, he couldn't really "dredge" them up, because they were and would be one of his clearest and most pre- ahem, just clearest memories. Memories with their good and bad points, hence his lips' complicated dance.
He smirked again as he looked up to her. Rukia, feeling his gaze, looked up into his eyes curiously from across the room.
"Spit it out Ichigo, what is it?" And that was also something about her that hadn't changed. She always liked to be blunt and head on about things. It was a good quality, one facet of her personality that wasn't irritating or exasperating, and easy to relate to. He had the same trait after all.
His eyes drifted to Sode no Shirayuki, gazed contemplatively and didn't answer. She caught his gaze, and her own eyes drifted down to his line of sight. "What about my sword, Ichigo?"
Gimme…
"…the sword, Shinigami."
She started in surprise, and stared at him, her own memories, her own experiences on that night welling up. Her lips parted, and a corner of her mouth curled into a wry smirk, as if she was in on a secret just between them.
I'm not "Shinigami"…
That night, when the only conscious souls in front of one little house, one little street… Fought in their own ways, desperately and head-on…
"I'm Kuchiki Rukia."
Who contributed her power, with the death bell already tolling in the back of her head, knowing that for one annoying, fifteen-year old Karakura high school student…
I'm…
Despite the imminent death sentence for her felony, the transfer of Shinigami powers to a human, though said human was clearly beyond normal…
"…Kurosaki Ichigo."
A flash, a surge of transferring powers and one purified Hollow later, had been their beginning, and would always be. No amount of power could change that. In the present, they both smiled at each other in their own unique ways, Rukia with an admonishment of "baka" and a small grin, and Ichigo with a scowl that held no actual ire and some snappy retorts that held no conviction.
Yes, he thought, truth be told, their story had started out simply with two stupid and reckless souls, in front of his house, trying to save everyone with a kind of innocent recklessness; it had survived and toughed out to reach its current chapter right now in his room. And there would surely be many more chapters to come. He would go through everything that had happened for his life to now have gained a new addition in the form of one cheeky Shinigami. He refused to say that he wanted her in his life, wanted her to stay, because it was too superficial.
He needed her.
He needed her, just as much as she had needed him to help her with Hollow missions when she did not have powers, to meet just one more time to properly apologize and atone for dragging him into the world of Shinigami, to help her race (for no matter how outwardly human she seemed to be, she was always and distinctly a Shinigami) in a war against one of the most deadliest of villain masterminds, and to keep her own personal rain at bay, though he was no childhood friend, no brother, no mentor, no acquaintance, but simply an utter stranger that she had complete confidence in, a stranger she had learned to count on in the mere span of two months.
He had come to terms with this fact when she had left for Soul Society, and left him in tatters for those hellish seventeen months. He dreamed of their past memories, dreamed of what could've been, and had shut his closet door, unable to stare at it without becoming remorseful, wistful and what he called "pathetically sad". He had left so much unsaid that he found himself rethinking his thoughts over, like a rehearsal, but when she had come back, he was so dumbstruck, so surprised, so grateful that all his organized thoughts had fled his brain like lesser Hollows did before his Zanpaktou, Zangetsu.
It had hurt, that one of his… he didn't know what to call her frankly. She wasn't his girlfriend or lover, nor was she simply a friend. She was certainly a comrade, a nakama, but an indescribable type of comrade, and she simply remained in his life a special category of her own. No matter what she was exactly, it had hurt that he couldn't trade verbal blows with someone that wasn't annoyingly feisty in a manner like Keigo, who could be mature and wise, whose fascination with the Human World made it entertaining to watch her, and could always, without fail, kick him back into shape and support and believe in him, even if the whole damn world pointed fingers at him and proclaimed his opinions, hell, his existence, wrong.
He sometimes couldn't believe that she was still in front of him. He hadn't brought up the silent questions that still hung in the air between them, like a poisonous fog. When are you going back? Will you ever return back, if that time came?
No, he shook his head. He shouldn't dwell on that. What mattered was that he could protect once again, and that he had one of his most important comrades back in his life again, which warranted some hefty verbal lashings, ahem, to make up for her absence.
Before he had even gotten out his first snide remark, Rukia lifted her head again to warmly say, "I'm glad to be back in this small closet." I'm glad to see this room and you again.
"Che, it shouldn't be that small. It's not like you've grown at all in seventeen months." I missed you.
"Say that again!"
He let himself relax into one of their verbal wars again, warm, secure, and comfortable in his room, his history textbook long forgotten in a corner of his bed. The day was sunny out, with not a chance of rain, physically or mentally, and a promise of a day together with his friends, family, and Rukia.
And he wouldn't have had it any other way.
Super-long-author-note: Hey guys, as usual, thanks so much for all the visitors and hits to my stories! While I'd love to hear from you guys by review or messaging, your interest in my fics has made me quite happy! I have lung cancer, so my updates will be slow, but I'll try my best!
If any readers that read this also read When It's Rukia, you'll notice this was supposed to be the 5th chapter. Yes, but I received 3, yes 3, private messages stating that it was good enough to be an oneshot, so I thought I'd just repost it as an oneshot to see how people like this particular chapter. No changes were made. New readers, welcome! I hope you didn't find this too heavy and in character. Currently, it's my favorite chapter in When It's Rukia, one of my other fics. Please check out my other fics if you want. Reviews appreciated. ^^
So, this has some Fullbringer Arc mentions, and I hope nobody is angry with me for spoiling because I did put a spoiler warning up top. Canon hasn't gotten far enough past the Fullbringer Arc to allow me to create a plausible situation, so I just focused on what already happened to Ichigo, and his thoughts.
