Summary: "Home is where the heart is."

Where The Heart Is

He hates it whenever she asks him what those tiled roofs are, as if those shelters for the rich and arrogant are the most interesting objects in the world.

"What're those shiny things, Ken-chan?" she'll ask him when they're on a particularly high hill overlooking a district, high enough that they can actually see the Seireitei in the distance. Tall buildings and their orange roofs, especially that of the white tower in its heart, never fail to catch her attention. He remembers being like her, but that was ages ago when her namesake was still alive.

"You'll make it there someday, Zaraki," the late Yachiru used to say as she ran her fingers through his hair to reaffirm her prediction, "you'll be a strong shinigami, a captain. Nobody can take you down – I know you won't let them. You won't have to live in this hellhole any longer. You'll make it. I know you will."

He hasn't made it yet, still trying to fulfill her last wish. He's stuck to her words, each and every one of them, taken them to heart. They guide him, offering him quiet companionship whenever he feels like tearing open his own heart, throw it onto the dirty ground so that he'll be able to join her in another life. Those words will stop him, remind him that he still has some work to be done here.

He's still needed – wanted, even. It's strange, how he's actually useful for something other than killing. He has always hated children, despised them, often wondering just why Yachiru ever wanted to have some of her own, but ironically, a mere child is making him stay.

In truth, he really does concern himself with the brat's welfare. Many a time he finds himself wondering just what it will be like if he decided to just abandon her – how will she fare? Who's going to take care of her? He had even gone so far as to send her to an orphanage at one point. The experience wasn't pleasant; she had tried to tear her way through the caretakers, tiny hands reaching out for him, catching nothing but thin air, tears streaming ceaselessly down her cheeks.

The painful ache deep inside his chest was what made him turn around. He scooped her back up into his arms and, with a curt nod at the stunned old woman, headed back down the road.

Sometimes he thinks that what he had done then is wrong. The orphanage, though not exactly the best place for a child to grow up in, is equipped with all sorts of necessities. Food is always served no matter how scarce, clothes are washed, the children are even taught how to read and write. Being raised in such a place is better than hanging onto a killer's shoulders, traveling from district to district, eating whatever scraps they manage to find off the streets and sleeping wherever they can. Often they have to settle with caves or under the cover of a leafy tree, or even in a dark, narrow alley.

But then again, the brat never complains. She whines whenever she's hungry, cries when she doesn't get what she wants, pouts when he scolds her, snuggles up to him when she's cold, but never does she complain. It's as though she's accepting anything the universe throws at her – at them, looking through positive eyes.

Eventually, he comes to feel some of that optimism himself. She's grown on him, got him wrapped around his finger, and whenever she smiles, he smiles back despite himself. It's a genuine gesture, very much in contrast to those nasty smirks he flashes after a battle won.

Those short, thin arms around his neck don't annoy him anymore…but when he thinks back, they never truly annoy him. It's just him trying to get used to being a guardian rather than a killer, controlling his emotions instead of channeling them out through his fatal sword swings.

Now, he doesn't look at huge houses with envy anymore. Instead, he gives them an amused glance and nothing else. Having a home is more important than having a house, because what's a building when one can't relate to it?

Yachiru's snuggling up to him doesn't irritate him any longer, and he finds himself easily allowing his own arms to wrap around her small figure, to bring her closer to his chest, keep her warm. He can feel her heart beating against his own, its rhythm steady and peaceful, all the more calming to his awkward nerves.

And if someone were to ask Kenpachi where his home is, he'll admit that it's right there, in his own arms.

Because, simply put, home is really where the heart is.