Wednesday, August 7, 2002
Rukia awoke as some sort of dream was ending. She wasn't immediately sure what it had been about, only that it had been happening, as if a heavy fog had rolled in between her and her awareness of it in her waking moments. She became aware of her continuing contact with Ichigo. Yet again they hadn't moved. From his pulse she could tell he was still fast asleep. Memories of the previous day came flooding back as she stared at him. She found herself blushing a bit before looking at where their hands came together. She very slowly untangled her fingers from his before sitting up and tucking his arms back under his covers, watching him for awhile in thought before coming to a general decision. She quietly got up and retrieved new sleeping clothes before she went to the bathroom.
After turning on the fan the first thing she did was to busy herself with sorting out their dirty clothes into provided bags for laundering by the hotel. She knew to put like colors together, at least, and kept their items separated from one another, processing through them without much thought beyond that, her mind elsewhere. Once she'd done that she showered while letting the soaking tub fill, sinking down into it once she'd finished. She oriented so she could recline in it, only keeping her head above the water.
She had been severely underestimating exactly how dangerous touching Ichigo really was, even as she had known it was dangerous. It wasn't typical for either of them to be behaving in the ways they were. The degree to which they blushed around one another lately was proof of that. She had luxuriated in it because it felt right but it also felt . . . too right? She still had that feeling of things running away from her, even after their talks.
She had decided to give them the label of boyfriend and girlfriend as cover so they wouldn't feel embarrassed by admitting they had feelings for one another and as a way of providing a framework of normalcy for him that she also sort of understood. It was a structure for them and a weapon against the world, but it was also becoming a self-serving rationale to excuse what happened. She had done it to reduce the chance of drama as much as for her own reasons, but if they kept going there was a serious risk of running into drama because of it instead. Neither of them knew what they were doing.
How did he feel about it? The wisdom of his words that they could stand still together fully resonated with her then, as had his conduct the night before. He knew. He would understand. It couldn't be any easier for him, could it?
She wondered what her brother would do in a similar place as her. She recalled when he had told her the story of his time together with Hisana and afterwards. How reckless or officious had he been in pursuit and courtship of her sister? Had he always been as he was? She could scarcely imagine him otherwise. He'd said that when he brought her into the clan was the last time he'd ever broken the rules. Ever since the events in Soul Society last year he'd merely . . . creatively interpreted them. If he was willing to let her and Ichigo reside together, perhaps he had once been quite different and understood such things. Or maybe he trusted her to conduct herself appropriately. Perhaps it was both.
Rukia suddenly found she wanted to sink deeper into the water. What would her brother say if he knew what she'd already done? If anything the massage had felt more scandalous to her than bathing with Ichigo. It was one thing to look, and everyone had an imagination, but it was entirely another to touch. The only thing that had kept his hands in check had been his own decency and respect for her. They were being so familiar as well. Was she not bringing shame to the clan? That word echoed in her head again.
She would . . . she would have to take a step back and reassess with a cooler head and a new perspective. She had to stay focused. This was supposed to be about making sure he was eventually fit to fight and psychologically sound, not about her feelings. This was supposed to be a mission! Her own voice lectured her in her mind: One affects the other. Do you think they don't know? And if you hold him at a distance now, instead of like you should've earlier if you were really serious, what happens then? Anyway, doesn't the saying go "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" So what about the future? Haven't you already . . . messed everything up?
Her jaw clenched. Giri and ninjō, obligation and feeling—why did everything have to come back to them? Had she really already messed it all up? Should Soul Society have actually sent someone else? She was, once more, confronting that void within her. She could at last glance at what was at the bottom. In doing so, bits of her dream filtered back to her. It had been some sort of bizarre conflation of Die Hard's Nakatomi Plaza with Las Noches, the story intertwining in odd ways with her memory. The pieces she had didn't make sense, but she diverted her attention to the idea behind it.
It had been a week since they'd really talked about the war. They'd outlined their experiences to one another but not really discussed them in a substantive way. That couldn't continue. They couldn't just paper over it by saying it was in the past or it would come back to haunt them.
She couldn't really talk about Aaroniero without talking about Kaien, and she still wasn't ready to do that. But the rest she could. She remembered the look in his eyes when he'd talked about what had been happening to him at the same time. She could talk about Zommari, even if it was all second-hand from her brother. She had to. She recalled sensing a running theme in all his encounters except for the fight with Ulquiorra. She would have to address that too. He would need a long time to process the lessons of both.
She curled up in the water. Even though it was still piping hot it did nothing to suppress a chill that shuddered through her.
Ichigo woke up on his own sometime long past when Rukia had gone to the bathroom. After discerning she'd decided to get dressed he busied himself with his various usual tasks. The shower wasn't on but he just assumed she was enjoying the bath without much additional thought about the matter. He returned to bed to work on his karaoke project and to consider additional places they could go.
It was later still when she opened the door and stepped out. He could tell something was different the moment he saw her. She looked much more reserved than she had been, like she often had the year before. The fact she'd picked sleeping clothes also made her intent clear. Something in him fell at the sight, but on some level he understood—he'd been expecting it. He'd greatly enjoying their time together lately, awkward as it could sometimes be, but it was still all happening far too fast. Something had to give and one look at the critical appraisal in those ultramarine eyes told him exactly what it had been.
Ichigo gave her a distant and slightly sardonic smile. It was fine, in its own way. It was still who they really were, feelings or not. Being there with her was more than enough. It was more than he thought he'd have again for a long time. "Hey," he said informally.
Rukia seemed to relax a touch before looking away, saying "Hey," back noncommittally. She made her way to her bed and sat on it, opposite him. They didn't look at each other. A not-entirely-comfortable silence began to spin out between them.
He scratched at a temple before exhaling and saying with just a little bit of impatience "So, what do you want to cover?" It'd been a week and in the background of everything else he'd had more time to review things. He preferred to just get any discussions vented and over with.
"I know we're not doing it this way anymore, but it was my turn and I think it's important I tell you something first," she replied.
He had no objections and looked out at Tokyo to signal as much. It was a little hazy, but otherwise a hot and sunny day.
She turned to face him, making her expression and tone as passive and indifferent as could be before speaking. "Last time you said 'even if it had been entirely otherwise, who knows if I could've beaten Zommari?' The truth is . . . you probably would've lost, and even if you hadn't, I likely would have died."
Ichigo turned to face her, meeting her gaze. There was a hint of sympathy for him in her eyes, but her expression was cool.
Rukia didn't like what she saw in his chocolate eyes but continued on implacably. "You were undoubtedly more powerful, even at that time, since he was the 7th Espada and at full strength you beat the 6th, but it's not always about power. I wasn't aware during the fight, but nii-sama told me about it much later. Zommari's ability was that he could control objects by marking them with his eyes. He had fifty. If he marked someone's limb, he could seize control of it; if he marked their head, he could seize control of the whole body. Nii-sama was forced to disable both his own left arm and left leg," she continued. She took a breath before saying "Zommari took control of my body, making me cut down Hanatarō, before making me threaten to decapitate myself. Only nii-sama's use of kidō prevented that. Zommari could not control Senbonzakura." The implications were clear from how she'd introduced the event and there was no point in rubbing them in.
His jaw clenched and his fingers dug into the sheets as he stared at her while things churned in him. He'd known for a long time how desperate the situation must've been for everyone when the four taichō had shown up, had understood it if not made peace with it, and had admitted as much to her. To be told point-blank that even if everything had gone completely differently, even if he had stuck with her against her objections or he had somehow made it to her in peak condition, that he would've failed and she would've died was something else entirely. The mental sword lodged in his chest throbbed in agony.
She looked down for a moment before refocusing on him. He needed to understand that raw talent and force of will, as much as they had achieved for him, could only take him so far. She would address training him in being a true, proper Shinigami later. "When we return to Karakura, I'll have to go on patrol. Although Ishida has covered for Kurumadani, as a Quincy he destroys rather than purifies souls. It's preferable that I do what Kurumadani cannot while improving his abilities. I . . . won't let you accompany me for such activities whatsoever until your powers have returned," she carried on.
Ichigo had assumed as much but to be reminded he would be useless in the future right after being told he had been a particular kind of useless in the past burned. He smoldered in silence. He no longer really wanted to be having this conversation.
"Ichigo," Rukia said, drawing his attention. "When you do have your powers back again . . ." she trailed off, before her eyes became colder, "I wasn't there for any but one of them, but I know you and I know what you've said. Nnoitra, Yammy, Gin, and even Aizen . . . you weren't really prepared to kill any of them, were you?"
"Rukia . . ." he warned, not liking where this was going even as he had long considered the subject himself.
"You always . . . think there must be some kind of better solution!" she accused, injecting a genuine spark of anger into it. His nobility in his conduct was one of his strengths, but it was just as much one of his weaknesses. He could easily have finished off several opponents in Soul Society but had spared them to his later gain. He had just as easily gone lightly on several opponents in Las Noches, and almost gotten himself and others killed. It was hard to admonish him for a trait that had spared Renji and Byakuya but at the same time . . . "If you're going to fight, you have to be ready to kill! You have to fight as if to kill, even if you don't in the end! It's not a game! There's no place for sympathy!"
He was very still then, and the eyes that regarded her were hard and dark. It was as though he was challenging her to continue on with wherever the train of thought was taking her.
She didn't have a choice. "When you fought Ulquiorra—" she started.
"Why didn't you intervene when I fought Grand Fisher?" he interjected. His tone was like razor wire.
"You told me not to interfere," she said truthfully, not immediately sure what one had to do with the other.
"Bullshit!" he exclaimed, catching her off-guard. "You wanted to! I had to demand you stop! You were calling me a fool that whole time, but it was like I said some magic words that made you back off! Even still, you came back and were restraining yourself from fighting, even though in that power-draining gigai you couldn't have done anything, even with kidō! And now you're telling me there's no place for sympathy? You're telling me to just wait?!" he almost shouted. He narrowed his eyes severely and leaned in. "You were ready to let me die in that fight out of my own stubbornness, but you're gonna lecture me on the need for remorselessness? You're gonna hold that thing up as an example to follow? You'd better explain," he growled.
Her eyes widened in surprise and a touch of distaste at the same time. They were dangerously close to talking about things she didn't want to, and she didn't at all like how confrontational the conversation was becoming. "Kon asked me to return and I didn't want to leave in the first place," she said calmly, "Ukitake-taichō has a philosophy that there are two types of fights . . . the fight to protect life, and the fight to protect pride. I . . . didn't want to injure your pride in confronting your mother's killer!"
They stared at one another in silence for seconds that seemed to be eons. "That's crap," Ichigo said at last, looking back to the city. His voice was quiet and lacked for emotional content. He had never run into Grand Fisher again. The night Shinji had tried to convince him to join the Visored, he'd felt an Arrancar and an unknown taichō level Shinigami appear. In retrospect, it was obvious who the latter had been, and so too did it become obvious who the former had been. He didn't begrudge his father finishing what he'd started. That kind of pride wasn't really worth anything. It wasn't about doing the thing; it was about doing it when it needed to be done. He'd been stupid and emotional in that fight. To excuse it in the name of pride was wrong.
Rukia didn't know what to say. Her own words came back to her: What is this about pride!? What is it when it's compared to life!? They were followed by Kaien's: But you know, Kuchiki, I think that when it comes down to it, both are telling us to protect the same thing . . . your heart. Her eyes searched his face for a moment as she thought: Please don't say it . . .
He'd seen from her eyes that this had something do with Kaien. He didn't want to touch that issue if she didn't, but this was about them—this was about the rules for them. "I can understand taking every fight seriously," he continued, "because in some way the stakes are always high." He turned to face her again and she could see hot steel in his eyes. "But to draw a line and say it's okay to let somebody die for their own vanity . . . the Kuchiki Rukia I know would call that foolish too! If you're dead you have no pride! And if you're alive . . . you can rebuild it! I would know! If you let somebody die, what does that do to you!? You can't fix that! I would never follow such a selfish philosophy! Pride is . . . keeping the people you care about alive! They're the same thing! All that matters is not letting the other person die!" If one had to be ruthless to do that, then . . . well . . . it was then that he saw the tears.
They fell from both outer corners of her eyes, leaving lonely glistening trails. She hadn't been able to stop the first two. There would be no others.
He immediately stopped as though he'd just broken something priceless. The only other time he'd truly seen her like that was when she had first been taken back to Soul Society. "Rukia," he whispered, his eyes going wide.
She turned away from him without a word before she pushed herself off the bed, going to the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.
Ichigo was too stunned to react. He called out her name again, louder. There was no response. He made his way over to the door, not bothering to test the handle. "Rukia, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ." he continued, not knowing what to say.
"Please leave me alone for awhile, Ichigo," she said quietly from the other side of the door.
It was like the blade stuck in him was suddenly being twisted. He'd never known words to hurt quite that badly before. "Rukia," he grated out. It sounded strangled.
"Please," she repeated, even more quietly.
Everything in him seized. This wasn't supposed to happen! Everything they'd done was supposed to prevent this from happening! He stared at the door dumbly, filled with a sudden immeasurable self-loathing that roared against the tides of his determination. He'd fought so hard to make it there and he'd just . . . he wanted to scream. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to run off and do something stupid. He clenched his fists against such thoughts so hard it seemed they'd break. She wouldn't forgive him for any of that. She'd said 'for awhile'. He focused very intently on those two words. He resolved to wait at the door forever if he had to. He wasn't going anywhere. After a very long time he released his fingers, blood oozing lazily from his palms where his nails had dug in, and slowly turned, carefully sitting down and delicately leaning back against the door.
He didn't have to leave to respect her wishes. He swore he could feel her heartbeat through the door—she was leaning against it too. There were, at most, three centimeters between them, but even so it felt like light years. There were over 30 million people around them, but it felt like he was suddenly out at sea somewhere. He brought his elbows up onto his knees and placed his palms over his eyes, fingers in his hair, oblivious to the small smears of blood he was leaving on his face.
When it came to the notion of someone making her cry, he would fight anybody, anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances and conditions. What was he supposed to do when it was him who'd caused it—or, if he selfishly shifted at least some of the blame onto Kaien, if the guy in question was already dead? Whatever your relation to me, Shiba Kaien, whatever your story might be . . . we both seem to have really messed up when it comes to Rukia. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't even keep his promise that she could trust him with her heart. He didn't have the words and even if he did she wouldn't hear them until later.
Not for remotely the first time, Ichigo replayed the events above the dome of Las Noches in his mind. He could just imagine what the Hollow in his conscience would say if it learned he'd made her cry. He could imagine its sneer. And he . . . might have to be more like that if he wanted to keep her and everyone safe? Self-hatred wasn't nearly a strong enough phrase for what percolated inside him. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anything.
He heard her voice then, so clearly at first he thought she was talking to him: If you're afraid of losing, just get stronger. If you're afraid of not being able to protect your friends, swear to get stronger until you can protect them. If you're afraid of the Hollow inside you . . . just get stronger until you can crush him. If you don't want to listen to others, then hold your chin up and yell those words to yourself! That's the kind of man you have been . . . in my heart, Ichigo!
His hands slid away from his face and his gaze turned to the skyscrapers outside, the ones both so like and unlike the ones in his inner world. His sense of touch became acutely sensitive to the beat of her heart on the other side of the door. Three centimeters or three hundred trillion kilometers, out at sea or at the bottom of it, powerless or powerful, fighting or fighting without fighting, none of that meant anything. He just had to be better somehow.
Maybe he didn't deserve her. Maybe he didn't deserve anything he had. But the only way he would ever be worthy was to keep going. Rukia would show him the way. She always had. He just had to have the courage to take it and do what was right. What was the right thing to do? What would . . . her hero do? He stilled himself and drew in a breath before releasing it. He had to do what he thought was true.
"I know about Shiba Kaien," he said only loudly enough to be heard through the door. His tone was neutral. "I know you're not ready to talk about it. I know I remind you and others of him. I know if I was less selfish I'd probably try harder not to remind you of him. I know that I'm the son of a man who probably used to be named Shiba Isshin. I don't know how they were related, so I don't know what that makes me and him. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know what happened to you. I know that it hurt you a lot. I know it has something to do with Aaroniero. I don't know any of the words to make it better. I know there probably aren't any."
He stopped, and there was a long silence.
"I just kind of pieced it together after your nightmare. I'd tell you I was sorry for addressing it so directly, but that'd make you mad, so . . . just know that I know and if you want to talk about it there's no shame in that, and if you don't that's fine too. And I'd tell you I was sorry about cutting you off when you were about to repeat yourself, but you'd get mad about that too, and you were probably mad about having to repeat it anyway so . . . just know that I remember," he continued. He sat up straight, away from the door, and put his chin up. "I'll get stronger, to be like the man in your heart again," he said with a decisiveness that was light but unbreakable.
Another long silence followed, one that was ended by the quiet click of the door opening behind him.