In This Part: A few people have their say, and things get better.
x x x x x x
Thirty-Four: Sea-Change
"I'll see you next week!" Yuzu pauses in the kitchen doorway. "Remember to put the plates in order. Thank you for doing the dishes, brother!" She throws Ichigo a dainty smile he hasn't seen on her face before, and vanishes out the door in a swish of flower-printed skirt.
"Bye," Ichigo calls belatedly, up to his elbows in hot water. "What's with her? I do the dishes every Sunday."
"The investigation is in progress." His father glances up from his laptop screen. The table is spread with printouts and binders. "But it is Daddy's suspicion that your sweet sister has found a boy."
"Right." Ichigo rinses another bowl. "Should I worry?" Yuzu is level-headed, even if prone to bouts of starry-eyed fawning over TV stars and pop singers. In any case, any guy she'd be in such a hurry to meet must have passed the Karin inspection. His sisters, always close, became all but welded together during the uncertain months of the war, with him away in Soul Society for much of the time.
He has to stop thinking that way. In his mind, before the war is still an aeon apart from after the war.
"You should be glad one of my offspring has embarked on the precarious paths of romance! Someone has to carry on the Kurosaki name."
"They're kids. I'm in college. Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?"
"Never too early to hope, my son." His father gets up to fetch another cup of coffee. Ichigo tenses, but no elbow or foot comes flying his way. "You haven't given me much cause! Rukia-chan has been absent from the dinner table."
Ichigo first bites his tongue, then nearly chokes on it trying to choose silence or a snappy retort. "Yeah. She's busy."
"So I hear. What with chasing you down to Shikoku with that tall red-headed punk."
Ichigo was, if not quite afraid, aware this might come up. His father received him with a suspiciously blithe demeanour as he returned from the mountain climb, alone. He hasn't yet told anyone, even Chad, although he wouldn't put it past his friend to have deduced some things on his own.
"No thanks to you!" Ichigo grabs a towel and begins drying the plates. "Anyway, it's sorted out." That might be both the under- and the overstatement of the year. What else is he going to say? "So, Pop, the fact is I'm gay for Renji, but straight for Rukia, if that helps"?
"There is no need for modesty in matters of the heart! Love with all you have, and drown your sorrows till they die from it." His father raises his coffee mug. "Daddy sowed a few of his own wild oats in his day, long before Masaki came and claimed his heart. This one time I was with Kisuke down in the Southern Thirty-First—"
"Save the reminiscence, old man." Do I even need to mention this? Though it'd be too weird if—if someone figured it out and told him. He can live with the thought. He lives with the reality of it, day to day, and it has held for the last two weeks. The problem, as usual, is other people living with it.
"It is a grand cautionary tale! Of the dangers of awful saké, lovely brown-eyed boys in kimono, and Kisuke's skills in espionage."
"Which is why I don't wanna know!" He sweeps his sweaty palm against the now-damp towel. "Look, Dad..." His father arches a brow; he has just tweaked the conversation towards serious.
"Get some coffee and sit down, son."
"Whoa, now! I wasn't about to... spill my soul on the table. Figuratively, I mean." He begins piling the plates into the cupboard, sorting them precisely as Yuzu would. "Yeah, they found me, and we talked. And... we're good now. That's the gist of it."
"That young lady was trouble the moment she came into the house," Isshin says, and Ichigo has to turn to catch his expression. "You needed that trouble, Ichigo."
"Guess I did." He meets his father's eye and thinks Isshin would need a cigarette to complete the thoughtful look.
"I might have hoped you'd have picked someone closer to home." Isshin sips his coffee. "But if Rukia-chan went home with your heart in tow, who am I to question the course of love?"
What about the part where Renji gets an even share? Rukia had a head start, but maybe the distance evened out. Renji is aggravatingly blithe about the whole arrangement in the first place. So things are more relaxed in Soul Society, and people can choose more freely. Ichigo's betting the bastard doesn't have to hem and haw like this to anyone.
"There's more," he blurts out, and pours himself a mug of coffee after all. It occupies his hands. "I mean... the whole different worlds thing. What if I'm never gonna... bring someone nice and decent home for a Sunday lunch?"
"You may have to choose some day. Find something that's worth it, and it may even be easy."
"You stayed here. Even after Mom died. For us."
"Don't be so stiff! You'll get a cramp. Soul Society will be there when my time comes." Tilting his chin down, his father smiles. "It'll also be there in the meantime. You chose your trouble, and you haven't pulled back so far."
"I don't think I will." He means more than the substitute shinigami job, or the training with his powers. He could no more give up Soul Society and his people there than he could cut out his own heart. Even less, because in the latter case, he'd just die and join shinigami ranks for good.
"I will tell you something. There aren't many stories like yours," Isshin says. "But Soul Society has changed, and few people thought that was possible either. So work your reflexes, my foolish son. Juggle both worlds."
"It takes a bit more than some feat of dexterity!"
"All good things can hurt." Rising a little rigidly, Isshin comes to the counter. "And the best things hurt like hell."
"Sometimes." Ichigo nods. His father reaches over and sets a hand on his shoulder. A slow, airy gladness spreads through him. They're worth it, though. "I guess... thanks. That sounds right."
"Take your time, Ichigo," his father says. "But when you get your act together, your best things had better show up for lunch on a Sunday."
x x x x x x
The downpour pelts the meeting hall roof as the officers begin to assemble. The storm-shutters are drawn to cover the veranda running around the building, so lanterns have been lit to supply for the lack of natural illumination. The subdued auras of the gathered shinigami create a patchwork of power, intent and will that permeates the entire hall. Renji stands back from the people, tries to find a comfortable stance, and finally shuts his eyes and draws a few methodical breaths.
Nothing to it. The requisite bit of pomp and circumstance, then a few well-wishes and pats on the back with a chance of congratulatory speeches, and then he can ditch the crowd and proceed to get drunk off his rocker with a few choice companions.
It's the first captain inauguration since the war. He probably should count himself lucky that the event is even this low-key. But it is his inauguration, so he'll jitter if he wants to, even if it would be better done out of the sight of the wide-eyed rookies of his own division.
A high, placid reiatsu detaches itself from the general susurrus and settles next to him like a wave cresting on the shore. "Abarai-kun? A word?"
"Sir?" Renji snaps to attention in spite of Ukitake's familiar address. "Uh, 'course. Though maybe you want to make it short, there's not that much time... Sorry, sir." He rubs his knuckles against his temple, half apologetic.
The captain-general nods towards a sliding screen leading out of the central hall. "We'll have time for lengthier discussion later. I'd hoped to speak with you before the ceremony, but things have been busy all around."
Renji follows, some of the strain flowing from his shoulders as they cross into the side room. "I know, sir. The Hollow infestation in the Eastern Sixties—I had to ask Captain Komamura for more troops. Can only imagine how your week's been."
"Under control, Abarai-kun." Ukitake closes the door after them. "Rukia has been a blessing, if a slightly overindustrious one."
A laugh escapes him. "Colour me unsurprised. Whenever I see her, it's always somewhere else that she's gotta be..." That isn't the entire truth. The last thing Renji needs is for the conversation to be derailed into his personal relationship with Ukitake's fifth seat, so it will do.
"She will be here," Ukitake assures him. Rukia is still missing from the throng of shinigami; not that he thinks wild Hollows could keep her away. She is simply cutting it close. "Her knowledge has been much in demand. The Yellow Springs delegation has left, but they wish to return shortly."
"Oh?" He's kept himself apart from the diplomatic business. The news trickling through Rukia have been more than enough. "Things went fine? Not that Rukia's said anythin' to the contrary."
"Quite fine. Little that is concrete was decided, but this is an opportunity unlike any we've had in a long time."
Renji has a healthy respect for Ukitake. Tranquil, pleasant, razor-sharp, the captain-general sees hope in the unlikeliest places and builds consensus over old schism with an adroit hand. He has been invaluable in salving the war wounds that still gape in many parts of Soul Society. Now, he is being kind, but a covert expectation echoes in his tone.
"Somethin' wrong?" Renji fists his hand lightly before he can rub at his brow. It's become a nervous tic he could do without.
"Rukia has made me aware of the details of your imprisonment. I also read your report to Captain Kuchiki."
His teeth grit. "If I've jeopardised the negotiations, then you have my apologies, but I did what I had to do. Nothin' is gonna change that." In his mind's eye, Rukia clutches at her throat and sags forward as blood wells between her fingers. That justifies the death of the man responsible, and more.
"As far as I am concerned, you defended fellow shinigami, as well as yourself. We had no diplomatic relations with any part of Yellow Springs at that point. The first is a personal viewpoint; the latter is fact." There's nothing threatening in Ukitake's demeanour, but Renji shrinks back a step. What did he even think the captain was implying?
"Yes, sir," he says, abashed. "I... Did it come up? Hu Wei, that is?" The name scratches in his throat, but comes out clear.
"Not in so many words. I expect it might, if and when the talks continue."
"I'm not proud, sir." Renji aligns his hands to his sides, tilting his head to look past Ukitake. "Don't think I did the right thing. Just the only thing I could, things bein' as they were."
The captain-general gives him a weighed look. "You know as well as I that I need you, Abarai-kun. Soul Society needs you. Our ranks are thin. We must have capable leaders if we are to regain our strength."
Renji nods, reeling a little with the apparent change in gears. The conversation moved forward while he tangled with memories. Ukitake's martial prowess ranks among the foremost in Soul Society; fewer people realise he wields words with the same supple grace.
"You saved one of my soldiers. You are doing as much for one of my vice-captains, after more than one knowledgeable party told me to write her off as a lost cause," Ukitake says, in that same even, unassuming timbre. "You will fumble, but I believe you'll strive to do better for it."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," Renji manages. His mouth turns up in a self-ironic smirk. "Good to know what's expected from me, sir."
"I also believe we are expected back any moment now." The noise level beyond the door screen is dropping; people are beginning to find their places. "I will see you shortly."
"Sir." Renji bows his head, and when he lifts his gaze, only a stirring of air marks Ukitake's exit. Maybe in five hundred years he'll come and go like that, too, in mere ripples in the fabric of space. He shakes his head at the thought and pushes the door open into the hall.
The captains and their seconds have formed the customary lines in the middle of the hall, odd division numbers facing the even. Behind them cluster the seated officers, backed by the rank and file of the Fifth, the only division attending almost in full.
From outside rattle the sounds of a proper summer lightning storm. Renji emerges from the side room as two figures dart in from the rain, halting by the front door with their heads bent together. Rukia dashes stray droplets from her hair. Renji can almost hear Ichigo's pointed remark on how her shunpo seems to lack the speed to dodge the downpour. Whatever the young man actually says, it earns him a swift shove in the ribs before they sidle away to take their places with the Thirteenth.
He would laugh. He knows he'll learn the story in lurid detail later, whether Ichigo was late or Rukia simply had to brush up a report before they could go. He'll listen and chortle at the guilty party, and the incident will shape another link in the chain of their entwined lives, strange and extraordinary and everyday.
Ukitake's third seats call the gathering to order. Through the receding bustle of people settling, Renji goes to join his vice-captain in the row of officers.
x x x x x x
"Abarai Renji. By the decision of the Captains' Council, you are hereby invested with every authority and responsibility of a Captain in the Gotei Thirteen.
"You can look up now, Abarai-kun," Ukitake concludes more softly. Renji lifts his head from the respectful incline and holds still as Ukitake sets the haori on his shoulders. The crisp, bone-white silk has a weight of its own, more than the falling folds of the cloth.
There are gaps in the rows of senior officers, but the seated officers press in behind them to fill the empty places. Captain Kuchiki is flanked by his freshly promoted vice-captain, a seated officer Renji remembers as both headstrong and skilled. Building a theme there, is the captain? He nods furtively to the woman, still grateful that the official part is over and he didn't have to say much at all.
As the captain-general withdraws, the more raucous parties in the crowd seize the opportunity. Renji catches Ikkaku's crowing "Hell, yeah!" before it is lost in a swell of gleeful noise.
Rukia flies in first to embrace him, having manouevred past Ichigo, Ikkaku and Hisagi with a few well-placed stomps and some quiet but no doubt dirty language. "This will have to do for now. I'll congratulate you properly afterwards," she murmurs as he squeezes her close, derailing him entirely for a heartbeat. "I'm so proud of you, Renji."
He lets his hand trail down the length of Rukia's arm. She makes way for his vice-captain, letting him turn to Hinamori.
"Now they can stop using 'Captain' as an abbreviation," she says.
"We'll get them used to 'Cap'n' in a couple decades," he replies, if only to hear her stifle laughter and disapproval.
"In that vein, you should say something to them later. After you've dealt with the first wave, of course." Hinamori waves a meaningful hand at his looming friends, held at bay by Kira's rapidly diminishing efforts. "And please try to be coherent by noon tomorrow. There is a plan about to go into action."
"A plan? Sounds nefarious."
"A plan about a party." She fixes him with a look. "Which you did not hear about from me. So we'll go out and celebrate to our hearts' content tonight, but we'll be back by midday eager and bright-eyed. Are there any questions?"
"No, ma'am." He buries her in a quick, one-armed hug. "Midday. Sober an' lucid. Got it. You better clear the way, they're comin'."
Hinamori shies away with a silvery laugh as Ichigo, Hisagi and a slice of the Eleventh descend on him, trailed by Kira a step behind the most enthused shoulder-claps and back-thumps. Renji twists away from Ichigo's celebratory armlock and tumbles into a loud declaration by Ikkaku that he always knew the scrawny hothead was going to make good for himself one day. He refrains from the mention that "scrawny" hasn't described any part of him for the better part of a century, guffawing at his old mentor and friend.
" 'Captain Abarai', huh?" Ichigo gets a word in edgewise at last. "Looks like they hand out those haori to just about anyone these days."
"Funny thing, that." Renji folds his arms. "I'm half surprised they didn't send ya one. I mean, if a bankai is all it takes..."
"Fuck, don't give them ideas! My summer exams are killing me, I don't have time to beat off any crazy job offers. 'Least before August."
"So... call you in a month?" He pitches his voice a tad lower. The question has a private side. They all make time best as they can; wry quips don't hurt when reality dictates otherwise.
"Whenever you get the chance. I just have anatomy exams."
Renji snorts with helpless laughter. "Sure, I'll keep that in mind."
"I'll leave you to your adoring audience. I better find Rukia before someone squishes her underfoot."
" M'sure she'd be deeply moved by your concern. Right after she punched out anyone that tried."
"Yeah, yeah, crush my chances at chivalry, why don't you?" Ichigo vanishes into the crowd.
Smoothing the haori—it will be a while before he gets used to it—Renji turns to receive the regards of his new peers. He knows most of the captains at least superficially, but they will be his close colleagues instead of superior authorities now. His old captain is the last to speak to him.
"Captain Abarai." The title still has the cadence of the matter-of-fact address of his first name. "My congratulations."
"Captain Kuchiki." Appending the name to the title turns it somehow awkward. "Thank you, sir. I'll, ah, do my best."
"I vouched for you. You will perform adequately."
Torn between laughter and exasperation, Renji allows himself a chortle. "Yes, sir. Will do."
"There is no need for that. We are of a rank." Captain Kuchiki nods to him. His worldview has shifted to accommodate this change and locked into place. Renji has, in his day, caught glimpses of his old captain that tell him there is a man behind the officer. it doesn't stop an errant thought whether it would be comforting or horrifying to be able to live a life as regulated and logical as the one Kuchiki Byakuya leads. Somehow, though, that life has room for Rukia, and even for Renji himself on occasion.
"That might take a bit of practice," he says, grinning. "I'll keep at it, sir."
"See that you do, Captain."
As Captain Kuchiki takes his leave, Renji is momentarily left alone. The captain has accepted his forward movement. Whether it extends to his personal as well as professional life, he doesn't yet know. Rukia will bring the matter to her brother when she thinks the time right. She is the second child, as it were, and an adopted one at that—that gives her more freedom in some choices.
For the present, he is content to take things day by day. He doesn't get much further than that when Hinamori tugs on his sleeve and steers him towards the beaming ranks of his division. He lets her sweep him along, knowing there will be another time for finishing his thought, and for whatever follows.
Tomorrow is soon enough. Tonight they'll celebrate.
x x x x x x
Rukia tucks the lacquered comb in her hair and peers around the door of Ichigo's tiny bathroom. "What is the racket now?"
Karakura Town celebrates an August festival night, and she and Renji were invited to attend with Ichigo's family and friends. The two seem to have hit a sour note in their preparations. Leaning against the front door, Ichigo is glaring at Renji. They both ignore her question in favour of their stare-off. "I said 'traditional', not 'causes brain bleeding'."
"What's wrong with this?" Renji points at what looks to be a box with a folded-up yukata in it. Rukia supposes the Kuchiki family seamstress might use, in diction dripping with immaculate disdain, such turns of phrase as "colourful", "eccentric" or "certainly imaginative" to describe it.
"Let me count the ways."
Around item five, Renji puts away the offending yukata and retaliates with a lemon yellow tee-shirt and the hat he seems so fond of, with a four-letter English word sewn above the cap. His shaggy mane of hair is nowhere near its old length, but he consents to Rukia taming it into a ponytail. Her own blue and pale green yukata passes Ichigo's inspection.
When they are ready, she stops to kiss him in the doorway. "You could always have pretended you don't know him."
"I'm gonna do that anyway." Ichigo cups her face, careful of her hair once she pinches his palm. "Maybe now we won't get sued for causing a public panic."
"I can hear you," Renji says from half a staircase down.
"Anyone asks, I'll tell them you're colourblind. Red-green and blue-yellow."
"Can I hurt him? Just a little?"
"No," Rukia says, her geta clipping against the stone of the stairs. "Perhaps after the family visit."
A train ride later—the seats are nowhere near as comfortable in this local variant, Rukia notes—they land at Ichigo's family clinic and are promptly enveloped in the merry chaos of the Kurosaki family. Rukia is commissioned into helping to pack an enormous picnic lunch, which she quite prefers to Ichigo and Renji's lot of planning outdoor games with Isshin.
With surprising efficiency, however, the effort gets under way. They pile into another train, then exit to climb a lushly wooded hill that overlooks the town. Rukia spots the shapes of moss-topped tombstones and crumbling statues off between the trees. The graveyard has sat here a long time, even if it is now concentrated around the temple at the top.
At the cemetery entrance, Ichigo reaches up and confiscates Renji's hat.
"Hey! What was that?"
"You're not swearing in front of my Mom!"
Renji adopts a skeptical countenance. "What's that say?"
"Censored." Ichigo wads the hat in his shoulder bag.
All Rukia can offer in consolation is a puzzled look before she and Renji trail the Kurosaki family. The summer's day is breathtaking, especially this high above the screen of hot air clogging the streets. She turns towards the breeze playing through the foliage, breathing in the dry fragrances of the temple grove.
They make their offerings after Ichigo's sisters. Rukia touches a match to a stick of sandalwood incense and watches Ichigo, with one hand on the gravestone, and Renji, hanging back a ways as if not positive of his welcome. She goes over to him to take his hand. "You're new. Come on now."
"Rukia-chan is correct! Daddy will welcome his newest son with open arms—"
Ichigo nothing so much as materialises to intercept his father before Renji is smothered in a dubious embrace. "Shut up, old beardo!"
"What is this, Kurosaki Adoption Agency?" Karin is sporting a glower very reminiscent of her big brother. "Are we gonna keep feeding and housing every stray Ichigo drags in?"
"Karin-chan! How cold-hearted Daddy's precious girl has become!"
"I didn't drag Rukia anywhere, she invaded my closet! And they live in Soul Society!"
"This means they like you," Rukia explains in an undertone.
"What's not to like?" Renji leans down so she can hear. "You don't think there's anythin' familiar about this? The hittin' and yellin' at your family?"
Yuzu pushes between Isshin and Ichigo to defuse the situation. Ichigo stalks up to them with a backwards glance of singular annoyance. "Seriously. Can you believe them?" His tone implies that agreement with him is the only sane option.
"I can," Renji drawls. Rukia presses her cheek against his arm and laughs.
Twilight falls as they go to the Karasu River to light lanterns. The banks where the river wends through the shrine gardens are crowded with people. A more festive assortment of vendors and amusements is gathered on the street beyond the trees. Here, a solemn ambience reigns among those who have come to send their dead home.
In spite of the cemetery visit, Rukia sets a light afloat for Kurosaki Masaki—a more private show of gratitude, in a way. They all love you so much. Thank you for Ichigo. I'm so fortunate, and your son is to thank for a large part in it.
Renji comes to her with three more lanterns, not saying a word. As she lights the wicks, he covers the wavering licks of fire with their orange paper hoods. They release the lanterns onto the current together. Live well, my friends, wherever you are. This is what she wants to believe. The three graves in Rukongai are only for remembrance.
Ghost-lights, soul-lights, guide-lights. This festival night is so old that it's known even in Soul Society. There the candles are lit for the lost, those who die unclean deaths and can't be laid into the purifying embrace of the Sea. She likes the way of the living world better.
"Hey. We're gonna walk to the beach." Ichigo steps up behind her and Renji, still hunkered down by the water's edge. "You coming? I told Chad and Tatsuki we'd catch them there—and there's gonna be fireworks."
"Of course." Rukia glances at Renji for affirmation and finds him already standing.
"Lead the way." He claps Ichigo on the shoulder. She falls into step between them as they make their way towards the shoreline path to the ocean.
x x x x x x
The faded indigo of the sky is already punctured by shining bursts of light and colour, raining down towards the upturned faces of people crowding along the beach. The circle of their closest friends is assembled: Chad, Tatsuki and Orihime greet their trio with various degrees of effervescence but equal amounts of warmth. Tatsuki promptly throws Ichigo flat in the sand for never calling. After a minute he spies Ishida on the fringes of the group and is gratified by the discovery, even though it takes a few tries from Orihime to pull the Quincy into their company proper.
The fireworks, while pretty, don't seem quite as great as in the years before. It may be that Ichigo is too preoccupied by other things.
Nights like this are fewer and further between than they used to be, now that the lot of them are scattered across two worlds and four cities. Tatsuki has a point about the phone, Ichigo has to admit, still scraping sand from his jeans. He does envy the ease with which shinigami can pop into any part of the country via the dimensional gates. It's pretty damn vital to keeping in touch with the other side of his social life, anyway.
He watches Rukia, smiling in unbound delight, caught up in an animated narration of the unfolding fireworks by Orihime. Renji and Ishida are standing some way off, debating some tactical issue whose finer points elude Ichigo, save for when Renji raises his voice to hammer home a detail. Hurrying back from the smattered line of stalls that has sprung up along the beachside, Tatsuki slips between the two other girls to hand out the fruits of her food-fetching trip.
With a sort of wistful grin, since no one can see but Chad, Ichigo turns his eyes back to the fireworks and decides that they are just fine.
A little later, Ichigo books Tatsuki for a rematch, since they'll have her for three weeks before holidays are over. She gives Renji and Rukia the occasional sidelong eye, but humours him—in her own words—with stories of Kyoto, her new karate instructor and the terrible roommate she tossed out on her butt at three in the morning. Grinning with appropriate devilment, he steals her for as long as he can in good conscience, before returning her to Orihime. His conscience is salved when he discovers her engaged in teaching Renji to catch fish at a stall with a flimsy little hoop-net.
"It is all in the wrist, Renji-kun," she's saying. "Oh, it's fine, I can pay for a few more tries, I know Urahara-san's exchange rates border on extortion. But I think all you really need is a bit of finesse."
"You already got six fish," Renji points out. "You know, since you'll have to keep mine, too. I don't think they'd survive the trip back to my place."
"Ah." She sounds the tiniest bit dejected. "I could keep them for you, though! You could visit them when you come to see us."
"Timeshare of a fishbowl, hm? Can't say I've heard that before."
"Need me to rescue you?" Ichigo quirks an exaggerated brow at Renji, even as Orihime is distracted by her best friend's reappearance.
"Nah, I'm good. She's fun. Though if Arisawa'd like her back, all those fish kinda made me hungry for taiyaki." Renji cranes his head towards Orihime. "You name them for me, 'Hime! I'm gonna drop by, so take good care of 'em!"
Her lilting "Yessir!" drifts after them.
"And you're expecting me to fork over the cash to cover your culinary whims, right?" Ichigo's eyebrow has not descended, only its tilt changes from inquisitive towards aggravated.
"You heard that bit 'bout extortionist exchange rates, right?"
Ichigo rolls his eyes. He will mooch right back when he is in Seireitei, so it all evens out in the long run. "Come on then. But don't get used to it. I'm gonna keep a tab."
x x x x x x
Eventually Rukia breaks away from their loose cluster of people and towards the breakwater that guards the mouth of the cove. The tide is out, the murmur of the ocean clement. The wind impresses the outline of her body into her yukata as she climbs atop a water-smoothed rock.
"What's out there that's so interesting?" Ichigo eyes her from the shore. He's found a rock to sit on, his weight leaned back on his hands. Renji slouches in the sand at the base of Ichigo's sitting place.
"The end. You gotta forgive her if she gets a bit weird sometimes."
" 'The end'?"
"You were at the funeral ceremonies, after the war." Renji hears the gravity in his own voice. "You saw the Sea." He isn't much given to any sort of pageantry, but this is instilled in every shinigami. It begins as legends in the Academy and solidifies into lore of death rites and reincarnation and the endless cycle of souls. Soul Society has no gods, but it has its own faith.
"On the border, yeah."
"That's close enough. In Soul Society, the ocean's the end of your journey. I know it sounds all poetic an' shit, but it's one of those things that are."
"That's the Pacific Ocean. There's America on the other side, not some... uncharted territory."
"You wanna debate metaphysics? I'll hook ya up with Vice-Captain Ise."
"Rukia sees something out there." Ichigo scratches his temple.
"She was almost ripped apart." Renji speaks softly. "Mind and body torn in different directions. She copes, she's great, but yeah. Sometimes she gets like that. Goes all quiet, stares off into the distance."
"That sorta sounds like a near-death experience. I get it."
"Don't think about it too much. She'll sort through it." That is the best advice he has to give. Besides, Rukia is as hearty and happy as he's ever seen her. If she gets contemplative sometimes, it is a small price to pay.
" 'Course she will."
Renji can hear the unvoiced, and we'll be here to watch her back. He leans to the side until he can feel the warmth from Ichigo's skin on the side of his face. Hands off in public places, he agrees, but there's something comfortable about the sensation of Ichigo's presence, the heat and smell of him.
"Damn," Ichigo says. "I can't even go, 'If you hurt her I'm gonna kill you', can I? Since we're all in on this."
"Probably not." Renji stretches forward, his fingers skimming the sand. "She can speak for herself, anyway."
"And if she hurts you? What am I supposed to do then?"
"Let us sort it out, dimwit."
"I am gonna cap the non-intervention period for silent treatment at a week." Ichigo probably thinks he sounds stern. "You guys have that down a bit too well."
"What, you're suddenly some kinda relationship expert?"
Ichigo prods him in the side with a sand-crusted foot. "I figured out I could just swing your way. Don't push your luck."
"No, sir," Renji drawls, to hear Ichigo groan in indignation. "Never crossed my mind."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't. I got proof."
"Show you proof." Ichigo clamps him into a headlock. He jabs his fingers into Ichigo's ribs and wrenches free. They are on the brink of a full-fledged scuffle when there is a splash into the water some way off.
Renji looks up, leaving himself open to a shove in the side, to realise that the rock where Rukia perched is vacant. "Rukia?"
" 'The end', my ass." Ichigo laughs. "You sure she wasn't planning a swim?"
"I'll kick your disrespectful behind later, how's that?" Renji elbows him. "Better go see she doesn't drown herself."
"You are not gonna go skinny-dipping in the cove, is that clear?"
"Who said anythin' about swimmin'?" Renji lets a hint of a leer into his expression. "Nah. She's gonna want a towel. Thought I'd be a gentleman, throw off some expectations."
"Right." Ichigo stands up to slap sand from his jeans. Renji looks about for the shoulder bag. As he gets to his feet, Ichigo grabs the shoulder of his shirt. "Hey. About just now, I..."
After a desultory glance to either side—the others have scattered along the beach, and they might as well be alone—Ichigo turns his head down until the angle works for the both of them, and kisses him. It doesn't last long, but it's warm, quiet and comfortable.
It's the way you kiss someone you expect to stay around a while: there's no rush, since I'm going to keep you.
Renji doesn't think he's ever been kissed quite like that.
He thinks in long term only in the broadest of senses, his plans hooking onto a concrete goal, no matter how nebulous. He isn't sure how long this will last. Ichigo withdraws, neither breaking the moment nor dwelling on it. When he turns to go, calling out to Rukia, Renji doesn't follow right away.
Ichigo is alive, Rukia in Soul Society. He's looked for them both across the borders of worlds. Time and distance matter, but they don't decide fuck.
Renji doesn't think in forever. He knows what he has now, and he knows it is worth hanging on to.
He comes to the rock in the dark, the bag slung over his shoulder. Eyes away from her, Ichigo is holding a steadying hand out to Rukia, who clambers up from the sea.
"Is there a particular reason I couldn't swim for a moment?"
"We can have a beach day if you want," Ichigo grouses as he gestures at Renji, mouthing "towel, now". He pulls out the towel and hands it on until she can curl into it. "You don't need to flash the coast guard."
"Lay off, Ichigo. So she took a dip. What's the harm?"
"Was there someone watching?" Rukia's eyes widen. "It's dark!"
"Could've been," Ichigo says, but his voice mellows. "You're fine, dummy. And it's getting pretty late. We better start heading back."
She sneezes into a corner of the towel, imperiously. "My yukata, then, please."
She wraps herself in the robe and pins up her wrung-out hair with alacrity. Her feet are bare and her geta in her hand when she joins them on the shore path. The rest of their party of friends seem to have gone their ways into the night.
"Okay, step lively and we'll make the last train." Ichigo squints at his wristwatch. He stops and turns, half illuminated by the tawny globe of the street lamp above them. "I mean, if you're not just... going home."
Rukia's dangling geta clack together. "I suppose we—Renji?"
This isn't quite the first time. They have slept in close proximity before there was any talk of feelings and attraction and ties beyond those of friendship. The scenario has repeated itself in small variations since they came to their present understanding; it suits him better than well. What surprises Renji is that the question comes from Ichigo, and that Rukia echoes it to him. He bites back a reactionary bit of levity. It is new, but pleasant, being the occasional centre of their undivided attention.
Ichigo's eye has a hopeful gleam he is trying to hide, all the more disarming for how badly he fails in the attempt. Rukia looks up at Renji, mischief flickering under her calmer smile; her free hand is extended towards Ichigo. It would take a step forward for him to close the circle.
So is there anywhere in the worlds that he would, or should, rather be? They have had an evening in excellent company. Whatever the rest of the night will bring, there are hours until dawn, waiting to be stolen.
Renji drapes one arm around Ichigo's, the other around Rukia's shoulders, and feels their hands fumble and join together behind his back. Leaving behind the nighttime ocean, they go to catch the last train home.
x x x x x x
All the best parts in the Ichigo and Isshin scene I owe to Jaina.