A/N: oops another one, lololol tears tears


Drabble collection: when in doubt, bleach it out

We are the sum of our experiences. We do not tremble. We do not fall. We conquer. -full cast, at various points


Title: flowers on your grave

Summary: These are the consequences for power. –Isshin during the seventeen months

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"Hi honey."

Once a year he says these words, but he makes an exception today. Everything has changed so suddenly, and he returns to his honey's resting place like a pilgrim to the altar.

"Hi honey," he says again, this time with a sigh.

He does not allow himself to greet her this way at home, with a poster and his children staring on dubiously, or even when he dreams about her at night. Isshin sits across from her tombstone and offers a sheepish smile.

"I miss you. But I guess you know that."

He rolls the flowers around in his hands, tugs a little bit at his black tie.

"Yuzu is growing up to be very much like you. And she's a tough little girl. Always cooking and cleaning. Keeping her grades up." He chuckles. "And Karin is, of course, not amused." His grin widens. "They're beautiful, Masaki."

She's the only ghost he has never been able to see. He can feel, just barely, tugging at the edge of his vision, little sprites here and there, watching him. Saying to one another how they wish someone would come visit them too. The ghost of a child is crying. A dead old man leans on his cane. So Isshin imagines Masaki is sitting right across from him in her curls and her fair skin, with eyes filled to the brim with kindness.

And Ichigo? He could practically hear her ask. How is my son?

"I'm sure you know all about Ichigo," he answers out loud. "He's doing his best." He lowers his head. "But I do wish he didn't have to so much."

He wrings his hands now, the flowers set to the side. "I'm sorry. This is still hard to do, after so many years." He swallows slowly. "I miss you. But I said that already."

After a few minutes, he pops his head back up, his smile returned. "Oh yes! We had a third daughter!" His voice lowers again, retains his serious edge. "She's a Soul Reaper, Masaki. In my mind, she's still here, but she's been gone for months now." He blinks knowingly. "I suppose you've seen her since then."

He leans forward, drawing his face toward his fists. "She and Ichigo…" he isn't sure how to finish it for a moment. "Oh, what the hell, your son's head over heels for her, and I suspect she's all for it too." He laughed. "Imagine that! Your son falling for a Soul Reaper. Reminds me of all the idiotic things I did when we were dating."

A sigh. "But she's gone. Oh, she'll be back," he adds after a moment. "I know it. But Ichigo's not taking it well. He thinks I have no clue, but I do." Isshin chuckles again, as if he is not talking about heartbreak. "My adorable idiot son."

It begins to rain, predictably. It rains on this day most years.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm still sorry."

She's looking at him now, her face serious. Is that what you want to be? Sorry? His wife shakes her head.

"It's my fault. These are the consequences for power," he tells her. "Our children have inherited my darkness." He holds his hands out in front of him; they're big and dark and strong. "See these? They've killed. They've wielded zanpakuto."

You sound like our son, she sighs. Sobbing because you could not—

"I know," he interrupts quietly. "I know, but—I can't." He shakes his head, a wry smile in place. "Ichigo gets it from somewhere."

They are both quiet for a long time, unable to speak.

"She'll come back," Isshin finally says. "When she does—"

You'll what? Her soft voice is especially cutting.

"I don't know," he says lamely.

Masaki sighs, beautiful as ever, even in his mind. She is so full and correct in his mind now, after all these years. She even wears her favorite sweater, a plum color.

You'll stop being sorry. You'll just make up for it by helping your son. Her orders do not sound like orders. They sound like the most logical sense. He could almost grab her up in his arms and swing her around, just as he did when they were young.

"I'm expecting Urahara any day now; something weird is going on." He blinks. "I'll help my son, Masaki."

Her answering smile rings back at him so beautiful, so thrilling, that he has to grip his fists like a silly youth. He is too old for this, too young to be so lonely. Then he remembers his son, staring at his plate at dinner, his son, glaring at his schoolwork and pressing the pencil so hard into the paper that it rips suddenly and then he stares at it, dazed. His power he does not understand; his loneliness even less. At least this much his father understands for him.

Isshin shakes his head again for his adorable idiot son. Their adorable idiot son.

"Honey, I miss you." His smile is charming, a little silly. He stands now, stretching a little bit, and he sets the flowers on her grave.

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fin.


A/N: i made up masaki's character a LOT, forgive me. please review