A/N: Gaaah. First off, an apology in advance. I managed to mildly sprain my wrist yesterday, and various events kept me from doing one of my three routine edits on the chapter; therefore, I apologize for any remaining mistakes or rough patches. Also, this isn't my favorite of all chapters; it's mostly plot-centered, though it's very far from boring. Hopefully you will enjoy it more than I have, XD.
Although I don't expect to hit 150 reviews with this chapter, I will go ahead and post my Request Guidelines in my Profile tonight; they're pretty simple, no character death, no bashing!fics, and nothing above PG-15 unless you want it to suck. (no pun intended) I'm simply not a smut author. Other than that, start thinking on your requests and keep counting reviews!
WARNINGS for this chapter include minor violence, some blood and angst, and language. Also, this is my longest chapter yet, by a margin of nearly 800 words.
Translator's Notes:
Akihiko: male name meaning 'Bright Prince.'
Fumio: male name meaning 'scholarly/literary child'
RED DUTY, BLACK HONOR
Chapter Thirteen: The Shift
"...absolute idiocy!" Renji snarled, pacing back and forth before his desk and glaring furiously at the two Shinigami in front of him. Both had been officers for over a century, and neither had yet managed to rise into even the lowest of seated positions, a fact that had suggested they were either particularly weak or particularly stupid.
Sadly, this pair appeared to be both.
"You released your Shikai. Inside an occupied, unshielded common room in the Division barracks, endangering the lives of twenty-six of your squad-mates, causing extensive damage to the building, giving me a hell of a lot of paperwork to excuse the mess you two made, and now Yamamoto's on my ass to have both of you thrown out of the ranks. So I want you to give me one damn good reason I shouldn't have you both decommissioned for blatant incompetence, and maybe you'll only spend time in confinement!"
Neither of them responded; the one on the left, a reed-thin, brown haired man a full head shorter than Renji, stared down at his own toes, as he'd been doing since the start of the interview, too ashamed to meet his Captain's eyes. The other, only inches shorter than Renji but running towards plump, with long blue-black hair and a pockmarked complexion, sniffed slightly, his expression disdainful.
Renji wheeled on the right-hand offender, glaring down at him. "You have something you would like to explain about the incident, Yahi?"
"No."
One tattooed eyebrow lifted. "No what, Yahi?"
"Just no." Narrow black eyes turned ceiling-ward, gazing over Renji's head.
The second eyebrow joined the first. "That's no way to address your Captain, Yahi."
"Fair enough, given that I don't consider you my Captain."
Hinamori, who had been lingering in a rear corner of the room, flinched, expecting Renji to explode. Certainly he would have been well enough within his rights to do so. She was surprised, therefore, when he merely rocked back a step, gazing down at the unseated officer before him with a thoughtful expression.
"And why is that, Yahi?"
The question clearly surprised him; Yahi blinked once before gathering himself and throwing his answer at his Captain.
"You're a child. You've been with the Gotei for barely half a century, so you have half the experience of many officers who were passed over to give you a promotion you don't deserve. The only reason you got your rank is because you tricked your way into Bankai and you're sleeping with Kuchiki."
Of all the responses Renji could have given that little outburst, the last one Momo would have expected was a bark of laughter. "All right," Renji snickered, walking back to his desk and leaning comfortably against the front edge, "I'll address the last issue first. I don't know which Kuchiki you're thinking of, but I can assure you, I'm not sleeping with any of them. Rukia and I grew up together; we're family. And Kuchiki-taichou might have a stick up his ass, but it sure as hell ain't mine."
"You dare -" Yahi began, incensed, as Hozou and Momo choked. Renji ignored them all and continued speaking.
"As for my experience, yeah, I'm young. But I've handled missions to the Living World, the Valley of Screams, and Hueco Mundo. I've fought ranking Espada, not to mention Kuchiki-taichou and Kurosaki Ichigo, and obviously survived the experience. I was given commendations following the war for both valor and exceeding the call of duty. And although I may have achieved my Bankai in near-record time, I can assure you, there was no cheating involved."
"But you -"
"And if you're still so concerned about my ability to lead you, then I'd be happy to offer you a one-on-one demonstration of my strength."
Yahi paled and Hinamori gasped, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent room. Renji's expression was casual, a half-smile on his face as he leaned back, both hands resting along the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out as he rested his weight against the glossy wood.
"T-that isn't - quite unnecessary, I assure -"
"No, Yahi, it's obviously very necessary. I figured there'd be some resentment over my promotion; you're just a good example of the attitudes I'll be facin' from a lot of older officers and the lesser nobility like yerself. So, we're gonna go outside, gather the squad together, and you can prove to me exactly why you're as superior as you think you are. A'right?"
His face white, Yahi could only nod in assent. "H-hai, sir."
Hisagi Shuuhei stepped out of his quarters before dawn that morning, still rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, and very nearly fell over the mostly inert form sprawled in front of his door.
"What the - who're you?"
The shinigami jerked awake, snapping off a salute, babbling apologies and explanations too fast for either to make much sense. Holding up a hand for silence, Shuuhei sighed faintly and dragged the other hand over his face in exasperation. So much for an easy start to the day.
"Start over. Name, rank, and company." The man looked vaguely familiar, a thin black mustache and a hangdog expression on his weathered face. He also looked like he'd spent half his life drowning in a sake bottle... and frankly, smelled that way, too.
"Aramaki Makizou, Tenth seat, Zaraki squad," came the immediate answer, and Shuuhei nodded in recognition. Now, he remembered where he'd seen him; lingering on the fringe's of Yumichika's fight yesterday. Not typical of the Eleventh; he'd been standing at the end of it, which meant he hadn't participated - the only one of the fighters left standing had been Yumichika himself.
"Ayasegawa's not up yet, but if you want to wait for him, you can do so in the office," he offered, mind already moving ahead, tallying his schedule for the day.
"Thank you, Hisagi-taichou, but I'm actually not here to see Ayasegawa-san. I was hoping to speak to you?"
That took Hisagi back for a second; what could an Eleventher want with him? "...regarding...?"
Makizou still hadn't risen off his knees, and now he dropped into a low bow, his forehead pressing into the polished wooden floor. "Hisagi-taichou, I would like to request a transfer to your division!"
Shuuhei blinked once, watching as his neatly planned schedule for the day went sailing out the proverbial window. Why did he suddenly have the feeling that this was going to be a very long morning?
"Renji-san, is this... really necessary?" Hinamori's terrified whisper was barely audible, even though she was walking directly at his shoulder. Glancing down at her, Renji stifled a sigh at her shock-white face. The threat of violence in her division - even controlled violence - was scaring her breathless.
It was understandable, but sad. She'd been so strong, back in the Academy; stupidly brave, the first of the three of them to go charging back, trying to fight off a Hollow a hundred times their size to save Hisagi. Seeing her reduced to this - a trembling wreck because of the imminent duel, but standing in her place at his side anyway - was enough to make him want to cry. Stupid, brave, scared little girl.
"It's necessary, Momo. I'm sorry I have to do it, but I don't have much choice. I never asked to be Captain, and I wasn't expecting it, but I can't let my officers run roughshod over me. I need their respect if this is going to work."
Stepping down from the porch, he wound his way through the assembled division, Momo, Yahi, and Hozou, the other offending officer, trailing in his wake.
From behind him, Hinamori could see so clearly how much her old friend had changed. Renji wouldn't have noticed or realized; he couldn't see himself the way others did - but it was truly astonishing, how much he had grown.
She remembered the first time she'd met him in the Academy, how surprised she'd been by that shock of brilliant red hair and the boisterous attitude. He'd been overwhelming, uncontrolled, wild.
That had changed; no longer was he a feral animal, hungry and wary. He was still a predator, true, but confidant, assured of his own strength. It was clear in the way he moved, the carriage of his head and the set of his shoulders. The billowing white haori only served to make that shock of vermillion hair more noticeable, and, combined the deep-green scarf rippling across his shoulders, gave him an air of majesty that she'd only seen before in the most deadly-powerful of the Gotei Captains. Although it pained her to admit it, even Aizen-taichou had never managed to acquire that sweeping dignity.
It struck her, abruptly enough that she had to squash a sudden shiver, how much he reminded her of Kuchiki-taichou in that moment.
When they reached the far training ground, Renji slowly unwound the scarf from his shoulders, carefully folding it before turning to Momo and pressing it gently into her hands.
"Take care of that for me, okay? It was a gift from someone important; I don't want it to get damaged."
Unable to muster her voice, she nodded silently and slipped the fabric into the front of her kosode, arranging it so that it lay flat against her side between the layers of her uniform, wondering at the silky texture as she withdrew her trembling hand.
"A'right, everyone, gather around!" Renji barked, and the milling crowd obediently drew close, forming a loose half-circle across one side of the training grounds. Long experience and common sense had taught the Shinigami to never completely surround a pair of fighters - dodged and missed attacks had to go somewhere, and if the arena was completely ringed by spectators, well...
"Unseated officer Yahi was brought to my office early this morning due to an incident involving released Shikai inside one of the squad buildings," Renji explained calmly, his rough voice carrying easily, even to the farthest reaches of the waiting group.
"When he was brought to my office to face disciplinary measures, he expressed his views on my Captaincy to me in no uncertain terms. Just so that we're all on the same page, Yahi, I'd like you to repeat for our squadmates what you told me earlier."
With a sinking heart, Yahi squared his shoulders and repeated his complaints, keeping his voice level and steady. As he spoke, it grew more and more obvious that very few of the squad shared his opinions; the mutters and hisses grew to outright shouts as he trailed off. He hadn't repeated the last of his opinions - that Abarai had been sleeping with one of the Kuchiki in order to gain his position.
Noticing the omission, Renji quirked an eyebrow at the man, and Yahi cringed slightly, shaking his head. Please don't make me repeat it.
Raising his other eyebrow, Renji shrugged one shoulder in response. Fine. Doesn't matter.
"In order to address Yahi's questions, I reminded him of my extensive mission experience throughout the Three Realms as well as my service commendations, and assured him that there's no way ya can cheat your way to Bankai. To make sure he's got no farther questions, we're goin' to have a light sparring match. Anyone who'd like to spar with me after him is welcome to do so."
Turning back to face his pale-faced opponent, Renji drew Zabimaru and raised it in a shallow salute. Trembling, Yahi drew his own blade and returned the gesture.
'Kazedai,' Zabimaru's deep voice growled, vibrating up through Renji's mind.
'Great Wind?' Renji echoed skeptically, dividing his attention between his blade and his opponent's, waiting for an attack. 'You know him?'
'Hai. He's much like his wielder; arrogant and ineffective. His ability is a wind-based shuriken-style attack.'
'Very dangerous?'
'It would be if that pompous rat knew how to use it,' came the sibilant retort of Zabimaru's tail, and Renji stifled the urge to laugh.
'All right, then. Let's get 'em, Zabimaru!' Without bothering to release his shikai, he leapt forward, swinging an easy blow towards Yahi's chest. The man blocked quickly enough, but the force behind the blow - no more than a fraction of Renji's strength - was enough to bend Yahi's arms back until the back of Kazedai's blade was nearly resting against his shoulder.
Sighing, Renji took a half-step back, pivoted and swung, striking at an upwards angle, catching the blade just over the hilt. Kazedai spun away into the dirt, and several of the watching officers shook their heads in disgust at Yahi's incompetence.
"Disarm," Renji announced dispassionately, leveling the point of his blade at Yahi's throat. "Kill. You're dead, Yahi. Now, retrieve your blade and let's try this again."
Grimacing, the man did so, taking up his position. They exchanged salutes again, and Yahi jumped forward this time, trying to bring a strike down on Renji's shoulder. It was blocked with a casual, almost lazy movement, and Yahi backed off, only to come back, cutting at Renji's ankles a split-second later. That attack was leaped over, and Renji smacked the flat of Zabimaru's blade against the back of Yahi's neck on his way back down.
"Kill. Dead again, Yahi. Position!"
Twenty minutes later, Renji had actually worked up a sweat. On his orders, Yahi had released his shikai after Renji had 'killed' him for the fifth time, and it was actually making things a little more difficult. Kazedai's blade separated into four shuriken, each about the size of Renji's spread hand. Much like Senbonzakura, the separate pieces were directed either mentally or with hand movements.
However, Yahi had a distinct disadvantage - he had to direct each of the four blades simultaneously, and he wasn't in close enough concert with his Zanpakutou that it was willing, or able, to help him. And Yahi, as it turned out, could not divide his attention in four directions at once and still fight his opponent effectively, if at all.
So really, it boiled down to Renji dodging or deflecting attacks from one or two of the blades at most, while the others simply buzzed around pointlessly. Even with Yahi's shikai released, Renji had 'killed' the man three more times within the last ten minutes.
A fast flashstep put him behind Yahi, twisting Zabimaru in his hands so that he could use a Senka strike with the flat of the blade - this was a training exercise, and while Renji was bleeding freely from the few strikes Yahi had managed to get in, he'd limited his own blows to bruising ones.
But everyone in the Gotei knew Kuchiki Byakuya's favorite attack, whether or not their eyes could follow it.
Everyone in the Gotei knew that Renji had picked up a lot of his former Captain's habits.
Yahi was turning even as Renji began to swing, one hand sweeping to summon one of Kazedai's blades to strike Renji from behind -
- except Renji had been fighting him long enough to know that was exactly what Yahi would do. And he flashed away again, reappearing to Yahi's side, not realizing he was doing so too fast for the man to alter the course of his hurtling blade.
The dull, wet thunk seemed impossibly loud on a training ground gone suddenly silent, an abrupt change from the cheers and whoops of a split-second before.
A wet cough brought a gout of blood from between slack, stunned lips.
One of the spectating Shinigami screamed, and Renji felt a curse fall from his mouth. Dropping Zabimaru - the nue was too shocked to even think of objecting - he wrapped his arms around the limp form of Yahi Akihiko as the other man fell, the blade of his own Zanpakutou lodged in his throat.
"Fuck," Renji said with feeling, then, "Hinamori! Healing kidou, now! Zadi, contact the Fourth, tell them I'll be bringing in a critical injury!" Tearing off the sleeve of his shihakusho, Renji pressed it down, carefully, on either side of the embedded blade, trying to slow the bleeding even as Momo dropped to her knees beside him, her shaking hands glowing green.
Most higher-level Shinigami couldn't be injured by their own Zanpakutou, but that was a matter due entirely to their relationship with their blades. Hisagi, for instance, had almost cut his own arms off more than once, learning to control Kazeshini's wild flight paths.
Lower-ranked Shinigami, or those with little rapport with their blades, would be injured by their own weapons just as easily as anyone else's. It was a sobering thought, but nowhere near as sobering as the reality of his officer's blood coating his hands.
"Shit, Renji, what happened to you?"
"Blood's not mine," Renji sighed, not for the first time. When Ikkaku stared at him, incredulous, he belatedly recalled that yes, in fact, some of the blood was his, coming from the deep slash on his upper arm and the two across his chest, neither of which had stopped seeping yet. He'd been refusing the attentions of the officers of the Fourth, wanting to make sure Yahi was all right first.
"One of my men was injured in training," Renji explained, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to erase the memory. "With his own fucking Zanpakutou, the idiot. Right in his fucking neck."
"He alive?"
Renji's lips tightened, and he glanced towards the door of the operating ward, where they could feel Unohana-taichou's formidable reiatsu approaching. Slipping silently through the swinging doors, the woman's deep-blue eyes fixed upon Renji just long enough to offer him a faint smile and a nod before disappearing back inside.
Exhaling a sigh of sheer relief, Renji slumped down in the uncomfortable chair. "He's alive." A few minutes of silence went by before he thought to ask, "What about you? Why're you here?"
Ikkaku snorted in response. "Idiot newbies. Some punk two months outta the Academy thought he'd challenge me fer Third seat. Guess he thought I'd be off my game 'cuz Yumi took off." The feral grin spreading across Ikkaku's face suggested that that was anything but the case.
"He alive?"
"They're reattachin' his arm now. Kid was decent - might recommend him fer Yumi's seat, actually."
The door to the operating bay squeaked open, and both men glanced up as Kotetsu Isane stuck her head out, looking nervous.
"Ah, Abarai-taichou? You can see him now," she offered quietly, and Ikkaku gave a bark of laughter.
"Abarai-taichou. Ain't never gonna get used to that."
"Shut up, Ikkaku," Renji advised, smacking the man on the back of his head as he stood to follow Isane.
Yahi looked pale, even against the white pillows of the Fourth. When Renji sat down in the chair beside his bed, one eye slitted open, glassy from the painkillers in his system. It took him a half a heartbeat to identify his visitor, at which point he immediately attempted to sit up, struggling to do so and salute at the same time. "Sir, I -"
"Lie down, ya moron. You just lost half the blood in yer body."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Yahi managed, letting his body drop back onto the pillows. "I was out of line this morning. If you chose to strip me of my commission, I will understand -"
"Shut up, Yahi."
"Yes, sir."
Leveling a steady gaze at the man, Renji considered his words for a moment before speaking. "What happened earlier shouldn't have."
"No, sir. I was completely -"
"Didn't I tell you to shaddup?"
Yahi squeaked and fell silent. Sighing, Renji continued.
"I was referrin' to you gettin' injured by yer own Zanpakutou. That's a damn rookie mistake an' you know it. And when ya get back to the Squad, yer gonna train until you can control all four'a those damn blades without even thinkin' about it, you understand? Ain't nothin' keeping you from bein' damn good with your shikai except laziness, Yahi. An' that is the one thing I don't tolerate, got me?"
The man stared back at him for a moment, utter shock written across his face, before a slow grin curled the corner of his mouth. "Yes sir. Thank you... Abarai-taichou."
Snorting, Renji swung out of his chair and headed for the door. "Don't thank me yet, Yahi. I'm gonna beat trainin' into ya 'till you turn into an officer to be proud of."
Watching him leave, Yahi let the unfamiliar feeling of a smile linger on his face. He'd spent so long as a mediocre everything, surrendering any hope of becoming remarkable. Everything about him, from his appearance to his Division, was so obscenely ordinary that they faded into the background.
Until Aizen, the most politely forgettable Captain in the history of the Seireitei, had left them in a wash of blood and shattered dreams, and then Yahi and his entire Division had become less than nothing, going from ordinary and reliable to broken and useless in a span of moments. They'd lost everything that defined them; their confidence, their hope, their strength, their pride.
But now, finally, it looked like someone was bringing it back.
Closing his eyes, Yahi fell into a peaceful sleep for the first time since the night of the defection.
Shuuhei was getting a migraine, and it wasn't even ten o'clock. He was sitting behind his desk, staring at the seven men sprawled in various abuses of proper positions across the floor of his office, impatiently awaiting his judgement.
Four of them were unseated officers. However, the other three were seventh, tenth, and fifteenth seats, respectively - and all seven of them were from Zaraki's squad.
And all seven of them wanted to transfer to the Ninth.
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he glanced over to where Yumichika was diligently doing paperwork on the far side of the office, pointedly ignoring the men sprawled across the floor.
"Ayasegawa!" Shuuhei barked, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. Violet eyes snapped up to meet his, and the glitter of mirth was clear in their depths.
"Yes, Hisagi-taichou?"
"Opinions on the transfer requests? You've worked with these men; I haven't."
"Mmm..." Yumichika eyed the loose cluster of men for a moment, then, much to Shuuhei's astonishment, proceeded to rattle off the entire history, battle experience, training regime, fighting style, and Zanpakutou abilities off all seven, going back to the grades and placements each of them had received in the Academy.
Baradi was secretly a kidou specialist but couldn't write reports to save his life, Nihunai specialized in taking on multiple opponents in combat, Adoshuma's shikai release turned his sword into a long chain with spikes attached, which he was proficient in using, and so on until Shuuhei thought he would have to scrape his jaw off the desk.
"...so I'd recommend testing Baradi, Aramaki, Hishou, and Sakidoba for the eighth, tenth, fourteenth and nineteenth seats respectively, and placing Nihunai, Adoshuma, and Fai in unseated positions and allowing them to work their way through the ranks as they so desire, on the condition that they understand officers of the Ninth don't kill each other in duels of succession. Does that sound reasonable, Captain?"
Belatedly, Shuuhei snapped his mouth shut, running the information backwards and forwards again in his mind. He did have far too many empty spaces in his seated ranks; the four that Yumichika had recommended would help to fill them out, and there was nobody in his squad that he felt ready to take the positions in question.
However, bringing in one oddball officer from the Eleventh that he'd trained with, however sporadically, for the past two years, was a very different situation than accepting seven completely unknown entities into his already-fractured Division. The last thing he needed was a pack of stereotypical Eleventhers terrorizing his people. On the other hand, they were trained and experienced officers, and that was something he desperately needed. Fresh Academy graduates were all well and good, but there weren't any prodigies handy this year that might have filled the empty seats in his ranks.
So... compromise.
"I'll put the seven of you on a one-week probationary period within my Squad to ensure there are no problems with integration. If I'm satisfied that you can fit comfortably with the rest of my officers, I'll test you in at the end of that time. Accepted?"
"Yes, sir!" barked seven voices, and Shuuhei turned his bemused gaze to Yumichika as they filed out.
"Where you expecting them, Ayasegawa-fukutaichou?" Shuuhei asked quietly, once the clumping footsteps had faded out.
"Not at all, Hisagi-taichou!" Yumichika fluttered in reply, and the astonishment in his voice was enough that Hisagi believed him. Which meant that members of the Eleventh were defecting - by Zaraki's standards at least - on nothing more than hope. Hell of a risk to take; if Hisagi had turned down their applications, they'd have been thrown to the wolves back in the Eleventh.
A thought flickered it's way through Shuuhei's mind, and he let a snort of laughter escape him. "Still, if we've dragged seven of your old teammates away from the most block-headedly loyal division in the Gotei, can you imagine how many are going to be turning up on Renji's steps? Kuchiki won't have a Division left by the time all the transfer requests are filed."
The dull thud of Ichigo's head impacting the surface of his desk jerked Kira's attention away from the paperwork he's been focused on. Bemused, he blinked at his young Captain, raising his eyebrows when Ichigo lifted his head an inch, only to drop it back again.
"Sir, are you all right?"
"...fuck," came the inelegant grumble, and Ichigo picked his head up enough to look across the office to Kira. "No, I'm not all right. It's this... thing with Rukia."
"You're having second thoughts about your engagement?"
"I had second thoughts as soon as I started thinking about it," Ichigo answered, mouth twisting sourly. "I think I've passed hundredth thoughts by now."
"It is a very... unconventional arrangement," Kira answered slowly, drying his brush and setting it and the papers he'd completed aside. "In all honesty, I'm not certain why the Clan elders agreed to the match at all, although I do have an idea..."
Sharp brown eyes narrowed at him. "What do you mean, Kira?"
"Ah..." Kira paused, frowning uneasily at the top of his desk. "You are aware, sir, that I come from a minor noble family?"
Ichigo shook his head, wordlessly - the history of someone's blood never mattered to him - and gestured for Kira to continue.
"Well, marriages among the nobility here aren't anything like marriages in the Living World," Kira began, shifting his hands restlessly on his desk. There was a splotch of ink on one of his fingertips, he noticed with a sigh. Licking the black blot, he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and attempted to scrub the stain from his skin.
"Ordinarily, if Rukia-san was a blood daughter of the Clan, a husband would be selected for her by the Clan Council from among a pool of candidates that had put themselves forward or been put forward by their parents. They would all offer something to the Kuchiki clan by their marriage; if it was a scion of another noble family, it's usually something like alliance, wealth, lands, or martial services. If it's someone from within the Clan, often a distant cousin, they would be selected with an eye towards breeding powerful children in the interest of continuing the Clan's bloodlines. They would be married, and he would receive Rukia-san as a wife, as well as a substantial dowery, and in many cases a good deal of influence in the matters of the Kuchiki clan."
"That's appalling," Ichigo muttered, more to himself than Kira. "It's worse than prostitution. Wouldn't she have any choice in the process?"
"Not necessarily, no. As Kuchiki-taichou's sister, she might have been able to demand some leeway, but it rather depends on what mood she managed to catch him in."
"All right," Ichigo scowled, thumping the side of his hand against the top of his desk in an absentminded rhythm. "Not that I'm complaining, but why didn't they do that with Rukia?"
"Ah..." Grimacing, Kira reshuffled his papers briefly, licked the inkspot on his finger again, and rubbed it against the leg of his hakama, where the black ink wouldn't show. "Several reasons, sir. For one, as an adopted non-noble, Rukia-san is not technically part of the line of Clan succession, so any children she bore would have to be formally adopted into the Clan before being considered heirs. Moreover, there are certain... expectations of behavior for a nobleman's wife that I'm not certain Rukia-san necessarily holds to."
Ichigo confined his reaction to that by merely raising an eyebrow; however, the sardonic expression on his face was quite enough. Taking the wordless prompt, Kira bit back a sigh and continued.
"The wife of a noble is expected to be eternally obedient to her husband in every respect." At Ichigo's bark of laughter, he allowed himself a very small smile. "For the, ah, well-known traits of Rukia-san's disposition, along with her lack of actual noble blood, I imagine there were very few marriage offers actually being put forward. But there's also..." Frowning, Kira moved both his hands back to the top of the desk and twisted his fingers together. "I really... should not be aware of what I'm about to tell you," he said slowly. "I played with one of Kuchiki-taichou's younger cousins, Kuchiki Fumio, when I was a child, and we still speak occasionally. He's one of the archivists for the Clan, responsible for recording the family tree."
"I'm listening," Ichigo said slowly, his eyes intent on his subordinate, and Kira fought the urge to squirm under the stern regard.
"The nobility of the Soul Society have always produced the most powerful Shinigami; in fact, it's generally accepted that only those with high reiatsu, or at least the capacity for high reiatsu, are able to bear and birth children. That's why the nobility are able to propagate when other souls simply cycle between the worlds. Within the last century, though, there's been an increase in the number of Rukongai citizens not only displaying power and potential, but graduating the Academy and attaining high positions."
Ichigo nodded, slowly. He wasn't entirely certain yet where this lecture was leading, but he had a feeling that it was something that he desperately needed to know.
"The simple fact that the Rukongai citizens are infiltrating the ranks of the Gotei is making the nobility uncomfortable enough," Kira explained, the words bitter on his tongue. "However, there's a deeper issue as well." Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the top of his desk, Kira exhaled the secret that Fumio-san had imparted to him. Even now, years later, he could recall the fear in those pewter Kuchiki eyes.
"There have been fewer children born to the Kuchiki clan in the last century than any century from the beginning of their history," he said, voice just above a whisper, and Ichigo exhaled a breath through clenched teeth with a hiss.
"They're weakening."
"Yes, I believe so."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Ichigo mumbled after a moment, and Kira nodded faintly.
"Hisana-san did not have the capacity to bear children; whether that was due to her illness or a simple lack of power, we will never know. However, now that Byakuya-san has sworn never to remarry, the chances of the Kuchiki clan bearing children in this generation -"
"Are now dependent on me and Rukia," Ichigo supplied with a groan. "That's why the elders supported Rukia's engagement to me, isn't it? Because of my crazy reiatsu, they think I'll be able to sire kids?"
"Presumably, yes. There are a few cousins of marriageable age, but most of them don't have reiatsu levels that would suggest the ability to conceive healthy offspring."
"Oh, fuck," Ichigo muttered, and thunked his head against the desk again.