Compression, Chapter Ten
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Renji slid his sunglasses into place, smiling at the sky.
The unusual sight of work-hour daylight buoyed his mood, and he strolled into the open-air market unaffected by the bracing cold of the winter afternoon. Nose guiding his steps, he drifted past the temptations of broth and savory, tender meats and found himself in line for taiyaki.
Thirty minutes later, the redhead emerged with as much food as he could carry. He munched absently on a fish-shaped incarnation of happiness, watching his reflection meld with the season's fashions in the large storefront windows of the business district's boutiques.
I look like I just escaped from a zoo…or a motorcycle gang. Not sure which one I prefer.
Renji paused mid-chew as he contemplated two slightly related scenarios; his inspector lounging languidly and nude in a cage, or pressed along his back as they straddled his Harley. His claret eyes crossed slightly at the potential of leather, chains and collars, and he swallowed the fish-cake tail with a gulp as his trousers grew a bit tighter.
A sales clerk paused to shoot him a questioning look; Renji came back to himself and ceased his loitering.
"Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself," the lieutenant mumbled as he resumed his walk.
Still, he reached for another snack, today was incredible.
Most impartial observers would agree; pawing at Kuchiki-keibu twice in a day and living to tell about it was no small feat. He'd been shaking the entire way to administration that morning, but Kyouraku-keishi-chō's advice had turned out to be extremely useful; Renji'd had his doubts, but finally conceded that the time for subtlety and half-measures was past. His mouth went dry as he relived the feel of that lithe frame in his arms; the look on his accosted superior's face had been adorable, the sweet scent of his hair divine. It almost took the sting out of Aizen's re-emergence, though the second that Renji's thoughts turned in that direction, his heart sank.
It was just like this last time.
It astonished him how quickly they fell into their old routine.
I get angry, he calms me down; I get bored and restless, he kicks me out and does all of the work. We're both stressed and upset, but I'm the only one that'll show it. I remain useless, and he's alone again.
Renji came to an abrupt halt, barely noticing the 'Don't Walk' light before the cars accelerated in front of him. For the second time that day, he came to a decision.
Not anymore. I may irritate the living shit out of him in the process, but I won't let him push me away again.
The last week hadn't exactly been a resounding success, he acknowledged as he crossed the street.
We haven't exactly had a heart-to-heart…but we're talking. He's been pretty damned patient with me, and he let me take lead…
Considering the wording of the last phrase, Renji's mind moved on from their investigation to the lesson scheduled later that night. Would the man simply stand back and issue commands in his general direction, or –
Will he dance with me? Come to think of it, which one of us will be the 'guy' if he does?
As the heavy soles of his boots scuffed along the pavement, he mulled their 'arrangement' over further. The redhead was taller, broader of shoulder and more imposingly masculine than the elegant noble; surely that counted for something?
On the other hand, one look from him makes me weak in the knees; we both know who wears the pants in this relationship. Although…he didn't put up much of a fuss when I manhandled him earlier; maybe he likes it when someone else takes charge?
Renji's imagination threatened to spin out of control at the possibilities. He narrowly avoided a collision with a telephone pole, shaking his head as his other head expressed its interest in his burgeoning fantasies.
"I gotta get it together," he grumbled at his hair-trigger libido, "or I'm gonna blow it; the last thing I need is to fuck this up again."
The tattooed man's gait slowed to a standstill as he squinted at a garish, oversized neon sign adorning a pizzeria.
"Speakin' a getting' things together…where the hell am I?"
A door opened ahead and a tall, snowy-haired man set a recycling bin out on the curb.
"Oh, hey, Ukitake-sensei!"
"Abarai-kun!" Juushirou straightened and waved with a grin. "Right on time, I see."
"Eh?" Renji closed the distance, pushing his sunglasses up over his forehead with his free hand.
"Kuchiki-keibu mentioned you'd be early when he phoned," Ukitake explained, opening the dance studio's front door.
"Course he did," the redhead groaned. How the fuck does Captain do that?
"Nice to see some things haven't changed," the older man laughed, patting the lieutenant on the back as he ushered him inside.
"Dear God," Renji shook his head, trying to decide if a clairvoyant Kuchiki boded ill for him, "he's always been like this?"
"Oh yes," Juushirou affirmed, "but with a shorter temper. Would you care for a tour?"
"Um, sure. You're not too busy?"
"You flatter me, Abarai-kun. I teach a few private lessons during the day, but mostly I run group sessions in the evenings."
"Ah." Renji bit his lip. "Not the most lucrative business?"
"No, not at all," the instructor smiled, "but it brings me joy. Would you like to put that in the refrigerator?"
"Nah, I'm almost done," the redhead peered down at the bag of remaining snacks. "Mind if I munch?"
"I wouldn't dream of coming between a young man and his food."
"Sorry. I know it's kinda weird, but the morgue vapors always stoke my appetite."
"Shunsui had a similar response," Ukitake reminisced, guiding them around the main dance floor, "though a fair amount of sake preceded most of his improvised meals."
"Heh," Renji chuckled, "I have a hard time imagining him working a case."
"As did he," Juushirou sighed, "which is why being Chief Superintendent suits him so well."
"Ouch. Did you guys train together?"
"Yes, we were early graduates at the Academy," Ukitake paused by a large, mirror-backed display case. "After working Homicide for many years, Shunsui was promoted… and I decided to teach recruits basic psychology instead."
"Hmm." Renji swallowed the last of his mochi and checked his reflection in the mirror. "Were you partners?"
Ukitake's deep brown eyes sparkled. "Professionally, no."
"Oh." The lieutenant paused, then sputtered as the implication hit him. "Oh!"
"Fear not, Abarai-kun," an amused Juushirou counseled. "We old fogies haven't forgotten what it is like to be in love. Workplace romances happen…and are likely to happen again, from what I hear?"
Renji went as red as a tomato.
"Please forgive my forwardness," Ukitake supplicated, searching the younger man's face. "But you needn't worry; Shunsui and I have no secrets from each other, but we will be discreet about your situation unless you instruct us to do otherwise."
"It doesn't matter," the tattooed man groaned. "I could probably take out a billboard and shout it through a megaphone and he wouldn't necessarily acknowledge it."
"Now, now, don't despair. If anyone can get through to Bya-kun, it will be you; that much is clear even to me."
"I appreciate your confidence," Renji admitted. I sure as hell hope you're right. "Howd'ya know Captain, anyway? From the Academy?"
"Oh, no," Ukitake scratched at the back of his neck, sliding his hair over his shoulder. "He was my last Lieutenant before I retired from active duty."
The blank look on the tattooed face made the dance instructor laugh.
"Contrary to popular opinion, Bya-kun did not spring from the earth fully formed as a Police Captain."
"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse," Renji confessed with a sigh.
"It should serve as an example that we can learn from each other, regardless of how different we may be."
The redhead considered the kind words, and the gentle man before him.
"So…I don't mean to pry," the younger man inquired, "but how'd you end up with his studio?"
A wisp of sadness clouded Ukitake's earnest expression. "I'll tell you what I know, for what it's worth. Come; allow me show you something."
The white-haired man moved to the center of the display case, where an impressive trove of trophies and framed photographs stared back at the two men. It took a moment for Renji's sharp crimson eyes to scan the plaques before the common thread became clear.
"Holy shit - these are all his," the lieutenant whispered reverently.
"Well, I think his partner Halibel-chan would remind you that these were not solo achievements… but, yes; here you see all of their national trophies, as well as the commemoratives for three of the international expositions they performed in."
"Damn." Renji exhaled. "I figured he was good, because, well, he's just like that, but…wow."
They stood before the collection of silver and crystal with solemnity befitting a memorial.
I'd be proud as hell…and I bet he was, too. Why would he leave all of this behind?
Mulling that conundrum over, he let his attention drift towards the photos of varying ages further along the display. A yellowing composition caught his eye, and he squinted at the faces therein.
"Is that-"
"Kuchiki Soujun, Byakuya's father," Ukitake gestured to the familiar, yet not, face smiling back at them. "A college friend, and the original owner of this establishment."
Renji leaned in, studying the figure more closely. At first glance, the man was indistinguishable from his son; on further review, Soujun's limpid, unguarded eyes and warm smile were both inviting and utterly foreign amidst the otherwise Kuchiki features.
"Was he a cop?" The redhead wondered.
"Far from it," Juushirou crossed his arms, a contemplative look gracing his features. "He was an artist and a poet; this place was his labor of love."
Ukitake glanced at the man beside him and went on. "Soujun dropped dead when Bya-kun was five years old; the boy inherited the studio, as his mother had succumbed to cancer the year before."
"Fuck." Renji swore quietly, lips pursed.
"I was one of a small group of instructors that taught here before Soujun's death; we continued on at the family's behest, expecting to keep the place occupied until Byakuya was old enough to take over."
The redhead's curious eyes continued to sweep the memorabilia, noting the dates inscribed. "He must not have taught here for very long."
"Officially, he didn't teach here at all. Byakuya and Halibel competed as amateurs, as do most young dancers. He did some free instruction here, but mostly served to drum up business."
"I'm having a hard time envisioning Kuchiki-keibu's sales pitch, Sensei," the lieutenant admitted with a smirk.
"Bya-kun didn't need one," Ukitake smiled. "The lure of sighting a national champion here was enough to fill our coffers; I'm slightly ashamed to admit that we'd let students get 'lost' on occasion, allowing them to wander down to the practice room and moon over our local celebrity."
"Heh," the young man chuckled, "I betcha that went over big."
"Oh, yes," Juushirou grinned sheepishly, "the temper tantrums that followed were further free entertainment, and discouraged most of his fans from trying to sneak in again."
"Did you teach him how to dance?"
"Sadly, no. Bya-kun had little need of my help, either in ballroom or back at headquarters; they employed a private coach for training," the elder explained. "I considered myself a source of emotional support…thus, he had little need for me, period."
"I guess some things really haven't changed, eh," Renji summarized with a sigh.
A comfortable silence fell between them, which the tattooed man soon punctuated with a sudden intake of breath.
"Why did he leave?"
The question had been eating at him since his first glimpse of the Kuchiki family photo album the previous week; Rukia wasn't able to fill in much detail, as she'd joined the family a few years afterwards and didn't have the gumption to ask her brother for further details. The petite beauty had herself only recently been made aware of the pictures, having received the album as a gift…or peace offering…in the aftermath of Aizen's disappearance.
"It's like everything else in that house, Renji," she'd admitted over lunch. "More pictures of Hisana are great, but every piece of information I get prompts ten times more questions than it answers. I know the studio and the people in these photos are important to Nii-sama, but I don't think he's ready to talk about it…at least not with me."
"I have to wonder," Rukia continued, "if that's why he wanted to take you there. I think he's trying to reach out to you, Renji; you're closer to him than anyone else."
Even now, as he stood staring at clues of his superior's past, Renji was torn; he wanted, more than anything, to be that person, the one that the stoic man would finally open up to, to matter as much to Byakuya as the other meant to him. However, the lieutenant couldn't deny that if he was wrong…if all of his well-wishers were incorrect, that his inquisitiveness could permanently extinguish the burgeoning warmth in their relationship.
"Abarai-kun," Ukitake's sigh jarred Renji out of his thoughts, "while I agree that's an important question, it's not for me to answer."
The redhead let his eyes drop, chewing on his lip partly in embarrassment, partly in disappointment.
"Do you know what MacGuffin is?" Juushirou asked suddenly.
"Um…"
"Have you heard of Alfred Hitchcock, at least?" The older man teased mildly.
"Yes," Renji replied with a huff and a frown.
"As a master of suspense," Ukitake went on calmly, "he made good use of plot devices, like stolen objects or state secrets, that were less important in themselves than in what they motivated the characters of the films to do to get them. Loosely, such objects came to be known as MacGuffin."
"Oh."
The redhead's absent expression goaded Juushirou on further. "What I am trying to say is that the event that you're curious about is like MacGuffin; the details of Byakuya's past are less important than the fact that he may be willing, perhaps even desirous, to discuss them with you."
"I see." Renji's frown evened out to a pensive expression as he crumpled his empty snack bag. "I'm glad to hear that, I guess. I just need to figure out how to get there without screwing things up in the process."
"And you will, son," Ukitake patted his back again. "You've been learning from one of the finest detectives I ever met, and we both know it isn't hard to get a confession from someone who wants to talk."
"I dunno," the young man muttered, "I swear Captain knows what I'm thinking before I do."
"I can't confirm or deny that," the snowy-haired man mentioned with a small smile, "but as long as your intentions are good, I think you'll be fine. As I said the other night, it helps not to overthink things."
"Yeah. Thanks, Sensei." Renji sighed, eyes closing briefly.
"Well, what a terrible tour I'm giving!" Juushirou laughed, stepping away from the case. "Let's move along, shall we?"
Renji allowed himself to be marshaled around the well-worn dance floor, through the lounge in the back and down a dimly-lit staircase. Blocky linoleum floors and peeling, likely-leaden paint cloaked the hallway leading to a locked door in the basement. Cinnamon eyes roved over cobwebs and fading antique concert posters while the proprietor fussed with the recalcitrant deadbolt.
The weathered wooden door swung open with a creak; there was a distinct lag between the switches being flipped on and when aged fluorescent bulbs flickered to life.
"Welcome to the top-secret practice space!"
Renji took a few steps forward, impressed at the open expanse of hardwood floor flanked by mirrored walls, themselves bisected by a lightly-stained barre running the width of the room.
"Nice."
"I'm glad you approve," Ukitake murmured. "If I may be so bold, I'd like to give you these."
Long fingers extracted a pair of keys from a crowded ring and extended them towards the detective. "The brass key opens the door we just passed through, the silver the door at the top of the stairs that exits onto the alley."
"M-me? Why?" Renji's eyes widened while he accepted the keys.
"As you can see, the room hasn't seen use in quite a while," Juushirou gestured to the subterranean studio. "I have it on good authority that you'll be receiving some private instruction, and I wanted to extend an open invitation to use this space."
"Really?" The redhead blinked at the metal shapes resting on his open palm. "That's awfully generous of you, Ukitake-sensei."
"I have ulterior motives," Ukitake grinned broadly, "not the least of which is that in some endeavors, privacy is essential to making progress, ne?"
Renji unleashed his own lopsided smile. "Sure couldn't hurt."
"That reminds me…your Captain asked a favor of me."
"Oh?"
They abandoned the practice room again, meandering back up to the aged couch situated in the sitting room at the back of the main studio. Renji flopped onto the sofa as Ukitake wheeled out a cart bearing an older, top-heavy television with a tape-deck within.
"Bya-kun wanted to be sure you had enough time to watch the assigned dance competitions from the previous week. Comfortable?"
"Oh yeah," the tattooed man sighed. Figures Kuchiki-keibu knew I hadn't watched it yet.
"Fear not; I think you'll find this most illuminating," the older man mused as he inserted a DVD into the more modern device below the hulking T.V.
Renji suddenly remembered the similar amused look that graced his superior's face at the mention of said recording.
He said something about Spandex, right?
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A/N: A bit of fluff for the holiday weekend. To be continued...