Chapter 3
Byakuya was wearing his "work clothes", which probably meant they were only made out of good silk instead of exquisite silk. It was a little hard to tell, because Byakuya's aesthetic tended toward simple things of the absolute highest quality. Also, he could probably wear a potato sack and make it look good.
Rukia herself had shown up in a terminally grass-stained cotton yukata, the victim of an impromptu football match last summer that had broken out after Ichigo found out Renji knew how to play.
"Why would you even retain such a thing?" Byakuya asked, horrified. "You may have as many new garments as you need."
"It's still perfectly serviceable," Rukia frowned. "Just greenish. Aren't we just going to get dirty anyway?"
Byakuya gave that special sigh he reserved just for her. "We shall endeavor not to. You seem to have a special talent for it." His hand was on the door to the greenhouse, but he seemed reluctant to go in. "What is your disposition this morning, Rukia? It is important that you enter with only peace in your heart. These orchids have been repotted recently, and they require a gentle recovery."
She had been so excited when he asked her to spend time with him that morning, but then it had turned out to be orchids. Darn Renji and his stupid prescience. Or maybe Byakuya was just really predictable. In any case, perhaps she had been unfair to his orchids in the past. Perhaps orchids were secretly fascinating. She was determined to give it a fair shake.
"So full of peace, you wouldn't believe it," she assured him cheerfully.
He looked very much like he did not, in fact, believe it, but he led her inside anyway.
It was over-warm and humid inside, and Rukia immediately broke into a sweat despite her light clothing, but Byakuya seemed unbothered. He made a beeline for a specific plant and wordlessly began to examine it. Gently extracting it from its pot, he brushed its roots free of dirt. Rukia looked around at the little plants in their pots of bark mulch.
"Aren't orchids supposed to have flowers?" she asked.
Byakuya looked up, startled. He had been deeply focused on his plant, she realized. "In time. The orchid show is not for several months. These," he gestured to one bench, "may be ready by then. As well as many of the ones in the main greenhouse."
"Is there something I can do, Brother?"
"Patience, Sister."
After an interminable length of time, he finished examining his plant. "Three," he decided. "We will take three cuttings."
He pulled out three little perforated pots and various bags of mulches and soils. Rukia found it very amusing that her obscenely rich brother paid actual money for special dirt, but she kept her face carefully neutral as he demonstrated how to properly fill a pot.
"You do the next one," he instructed.
Rukia glanced up from time to time, checking his face.
"You would do well to pay attention to your work, rather than my appraisal of it," he informed her. "That was adequate. Please fill the third."
Rukia clenched her back teeth and repeated the process.
"Better."
Then, he pulled out a small knife, which he wiped down with alcohol, and began carefully slicing pieces off the plant he had pulled from its pot.
"What are you doing?" Rukia pestered.
He handed her one. "These are pseudobulbs. We will place one, gently, into each of the pots we have prepared." He made an indentation in the dirt of one pot with two fingers, tucked the pseudobulb down in, and then covered it with a fond look on his face.
"Why?" Rukia asked.
Byakuya stared at her. "This is one way to get more orchids."
Rukia stared at him. "They don't grow from seeds?"
"It is very difficult. I do grow some from seed, in hopes of something interesting. It is generally a touchy and thankless enterprise, but it is the only way to create a unique varietal."
And too delicate a task for a clumsy oaf of a sister.
"Seems like a lot of trouble for some flowers," she commented.
"That's what makes it worthwhile," Byakuya replied. He looked up and studied his sister's face. "You find this to be foolishness."
Rukia waved her hands frantically. "Oh, no, no, no! No. It's just…"
How could she tell him of all the times they'd tried to make things grow, out in Rukongai? Not prissy, delicate flowers, but food to fill their pinched stomachs.
Fujimaru was usually the one who would get ahold of some seeds and bring them home, starry-eyed with hope. Every stupid time, Rukia and Kosaburou and Mameji would get sucked in to the fantasy of fresh vegetables growing right outside their door. Renji would grumble and lecture and naysay endlessly, but once the seeds were planted, who was always the one out there in the garden, plucking weeds, shooing pests, giving up his own water allotment?
Usually, if they came up at all, the plants were stunted and weak. But one time, a huge, curling vine came forth, exploding with orange, trumpetlike flowers. The flowers fell off after a few days, to reveal tiny melons that swelled after each rain. Alas, when they could wait no longer, and finally broke one open, it was foul inside, slimy and rank-smelling. Everyone was so upset until Rukia herself had the idea of taking melons out to the overlook and hurling them down the side with the good view of the far-off Seireitei. They had exploded delightfully as they bounced down the sheer drop-off.
Byakuya just didn't seem like a man who could appreciate the joys of chucking a rotten melon off a cliff.
"It's hard to grow anything out at the edges of Rukongai," she finally said, her voice slow and measured. "The soil is poor and the rain is unpredictable. Inuzuri isn't that far from the Wilds, though, and seeds would sometimes come in, on the wind I guess, or animals. I always really respected those weird, twisty flowers. They would be covered in big thorns and burning sap, but they could grow anywhere. They didn't need coddling in a greenhouse."
One of Byakuya's eyebrows rose and there was just a hint of a smile on his lips. "Didn't you know, Rukia, that the great-grandmother of this very plant came from the Wilds?"
Rukia gawped at him. The Wilds were a region of untamed forest that demarcated the edge of Rukongai to the south. It was not a natural wilderness, but twisted by wild magic, full of aggressive, monstrous animals and virulent plantlife. If anything lay beyond the Wilds, no one had ever come back to tell of it.
"Things from the Wilds don't breed true," was all she could think to say.
"The orchids of the Wilds can be crossbred with the more common domestic varieties," Byakuya explained, clearly pleased, for some reason. "It is exceedingly difficult, but in a few more generations, I will have created something entirely new."
"How...how did you get a flower from the Wilds?" Rukia asked, clearly still hung up on the nightmare land of her youth, the place the made Inuzuri seem like a nursery school in comparison. "No one goes in there."
Byakuya made a thoughtful face. "Some do. The specimens sell for a small fortune. It was my understanding that for a bold and enterprising soul, it was a way to elevate one's status. There are many valuable things to be found in the Wilds."
"No," Rukia shook her head, horrified. "Desperate and suicidal, maybe, not bold. If the animals there don't tear you to shreds, the air, the water is slow poison. It kills, not right away, but ruins your health, gives a slow, painful death. Only an utter fool or a madman would go into the Wilds, even for all the money in the Seireitei."
Byakuya certainly appreciated the irony of trying to interest Rukia in orchids. It was the very hobby his own grandfather had suggested in the hopes of diverting some of the excess energy that was constantly landing his young, hotheaded self in trouble. Byakuya had definitely thought orchids were boring and stupid at first, until he had learned that the most valuable specimens came from one of the most dangerous regions of Soul Society, at which point he immediately decided to go find one himself.
It was possibly the most monumentally stupid thing he had done in an era of monumentally poor decision-making. It was by sheer providence that he thought to hire a guide, and had happened upon an experienced orchid hunter of singular resourcefulness and capability, a woman determined to bootstrap her way from abject poverty to the very highest echelons of Soul Society. His grandfather had been extremely relieved and then extremely dismayed when Byakuya returned a few weeks later, bearing a brilliant, undomesticated, thorny beauty, and also some orchids.
Byakuya thought about trying to tell this to Rukia, but he wasn't sure how. He would have to explain his youthful volatility, the difficult familial position he was in at the time, and his complicated relationship with his grandfather, a man who terrified her. She might fret over his future health, even though he had been outfitted with the highest quality respirator and water purifier. Further, she didn't seem to have much empathy for one who would seek their fortune at the ends of the earth, and he knew he lacked the storytelling ability to convey what a determined and courageous woman Hisana had been, even to the end.
So, instead, he said, "It is ironic that, despite thriving in those dreadful conditions, the orchids of the Wilds do poorly in controlled conditions. I no longer own any pure specimens, only their hybrid descendants. I've managed to breed most of the thorns and poisons out of them at least, they are much more pleasant to work with."
Rukia fluffed the mulch over the little pseudobulb she had just transplanted. "Yeah. I bet."
The Eleventh Division was recruiting.
Most squads would pick up new members in a few months, when Shin'ou's spring term ended, but the Eleventh didn't have any rats' asses to give about fresh-faced cadets brandishing class rankings. Instead, the unseated officers would run around the seediest pubs and gambling halls in Upper Rukongai, stapling up flyers and sending word around that they were holding a Brawl.
The Brawl was held in what had once been a training field, but was now basically a muddy pit, surrounded by a chain link fence (to keep people from escaping). Two figures in shihakushou and dark sunglasses trotted up to the outside of the fence, carrying lawn chairs and notepads. In a practiced motion, each one managed to toss their chair at the ground and unfold it simultaneously. Then, despite their vastly different anatomical scales, they threw themselves into the chairs in perfect synchronization, looking extremely relaxed.
Madarame Ikkaku stormed up to the inner side of the fence. "The sign-up table is down there, losers."
"Piss off, we're spectatin'," Renji replied.
"Like hell you are. Ain't no spectatin' at The Brawl. I'm glad you dirtbags are here, actually. We haven't had a 4th seat since Iba left, 'cause no one can beat Yumichika, and he won't take it."
"No thanks, I had a big lunch," Rukia shrugged.
"Am I being un-frigging-clear? If you are here, you are fighting! I will toss you into that pit myself if I have to! Yumi! Fill out entry forms for Abarai and Kuchiki here!"
Yumichika, who was in the middle of three other people's forms, yelled back something obscene.
Renji and Rukia exchanged a look over the top of their sunglasses, and then fished laminated badges on lanyards out of their kosodes, and presented them for inspection.
"What is this happy crappy?" Ikkaku demanded.
"Press passes," Renji explained lightly.
"Press passes?" Ikkaku echoed.
Renji raised his eyebrows.
"Are you starting your column up again?" Ikkaku asked, the tiniest note of hope in his voice.
"Naw," Renji shrugged. "But Hisagi wants a big feature on The Brawl, and asked me real nice if I could write something up for him."
"A big feature…?" Ikkaku appeared to be wavering. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's your sidekick here for?"
"The illustrations," Rukia supplied.
"And I'm her sidekick, get it right," Renji added.
Ikkaku sniffed and jabbed a finger towards them. "Okay. You nerds can stay, but only because 'Let's Do Shikai!' was friggin' lit. Make sure you get Yumi's good side, Kuchiki, or I'll never hear the end of it."
Rukia shot him a thumbs up.
Ikkaku harrumphed, and stalked back down to the amassed crowds, where he started shouting instructions.
Renji checked the time. "Should be starting real soon. Very prompt, The Brawl."
"So, how's it go?" Rukia asked, half because she wanted to know what she would be seeing, and half because she liked the way Renji explained things, especially stupid Squad 11 things.
"So, Seats 11 through 20 start out in the ring." He pointed down to where eight men and two women were stretching and swinging their weapons around experimentally. "At the stroke of 3, the filthy horde goes screaming in. If they knock out an officer, congratulations, they're Squad 11. Now, there are probably unseated folks mixed in that crowd, too."
"What are they there for?"
"That's up to them. If you fight, you get out of clean-up duty, that's one reason. Some of them want to take a crack at one of the seated folks, gotta grudge maybe, or just wanna see if then can. Some of them like to play defense, keep the new folks from getting in. Some just wanna fight because, you know, Squad 11. They don't really have anything to win or lose, aside from a nice Saturday afternoon."
"I thought we came to this to see Madarame fight. But he's the 3rd Seat, right?"
"Oh, right. Once the thing gets going, every two minutes, another officer goes in. Now, sometimes, it sucks, and all the newbs are out of commission by the time Ikkaku gets his turn. He'll just fight his own officers if that happens. There's also a good chance he'll start yelling at us again."
"Will Captain Zaraki come?"
Renji tugged at his bandana. "Sometimes he does, mostly he can't be assed to show up. And if he does come, he doesn't bother with the rules, he'll just jump in if the fight looks good. If that happens, the rest of the officers who are waiting will jump in at the same time, it turns into a free-for-all." Renji chewed his lip. "Captain Zaraki also liked 'Let's Do Shikai!' but he's not gonna buy it as an excuse, he'll probably throw us in."
"You didn't mention that."
"I forgot. He usually doesn't show. Look, if it does happen, you gotta take out Yachiru, okay?"
"Renji, come on!"
"I am not foolin' around! She is insanely fast and I have never even touched her. Your brother can catch her, though, and I know you're somewhere between him and me, speedwise. Watch out though, she hits way harder than you would think and she bites."
A gong rang and there was a great pounding of feet as the stampede into the pit began.
"And you would take out Zaraki, I suppose?" Rukia asked, skeptically.
"Depends on how it falls out. I might have to fight Ikkaku and Yumichika first, or they might team up with me to try to take the big guy down. Ikkaku can still beat me six times outta ten, Yumi maybe twice outta ten. Either way, it'll be a lot harder if Yachiru is clinging to my head, that's for dang sure. The last time I fought Zaraki one-on-one was last fall, right after I got bankai. I will have you know I lasted an entire four minutes against him, and I did actually draw blood, thank you very much."
"You're a lot stronger now," Rukia pointed out. "You did all that training with Chad."
"Well, don't go tellin' Zaraki that."
"What's that guy doing?" Rukia asked, pointing at a man crouched by the entrance gate.
"Ah, an intellectual. At the start, you see, everyone is mobbing those first ten officers, it's hard to even get to them. So a better strategy is to wait for the when the upper level guys start coming in, and try to get first crack at them."
"But wouldn't a lot of people do that?"
"It gets confusing down there. Also, they're idiots, Rukia."
The Ninth Seat went barreling in, knocking the waiting opponent flat on his back on her way by.
"Also, sometimes that happens," Renji noted.
"Have you ever been knocked out in a Brawl?"
"Everyone does from time to time," he excused.
She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. "You're so strong on defense, though, and you obviously think these things to death."
He looked back at her, weighing something in his mind. "There was a portion of my tenure at Squad 11 when I did not take this sort of thing very seriously."
"You mean you would show up hungover or something?"
"Something like that." Renji grinned suddenly. "In later years, Iba and I got into this really fun game where we would try to get each other knocked out. It was against the rules to do it directly, but we would distract each other or kneecap each other or knock each other's sunglasses off until one of the newbs got us. Iba was disgustingly good at that game."
Renji's caginess was not lost on Rukia, but he had mentioned there were things about their lost years that he wasn't too proud of. Well, his on-the-job performance in Squad 11 twenty years past was hardly her concern. Rukia let it slide. "You wore sunglasses to this thing?"
"Iba and I are incredibly cool."
Rukia made a few loose sketches while Renji took some notes, looking up from time to time.
"Ah, crud, there goes Maki-Maki," Renji hooted. "That guy has to be the number one source of new Squad 11 recruits."
"Is it normal to call people by their Yachiru nicknames?" Rukia asked.
"Only the Makis. There's like five Makis in Squad 11. Big Maki, Really Big Maki, Maki-Maki, Maki-chan (who left a million years ago, I don't know why people still talk about him), Hammerhead, and Ugly Maki. I guess that's six. Ugly Maki is actually an ironic nickname, he's very good looking. For someone in Squad 11. That's not even a Yachiru nickname, Yachiru nicknames are never ironic."
"Do you have a Yachiru nickname?"
"Of course I do. Arright, pay attention, Yumichika's going in, it's about to go down."
"Does he care about these things?" Rukia asked, making a mental note to find out Yachiru's nickname for Renji at all costs.
"Oh, he cares. He cares so much. Keep your eyes on that big meaty guy back near the mud hole, the one with the mullet. 3… 2…"
"Wow!" Rukia blinked. "Yikes, that looked painful."
"I gently suggested once that we put on the posters not to show up with tragic haircuts. I was very much overruled, Yumichika says he wants to know what he's getting up front."
"Well, when you're the Kenpachi, you can run things however you want."
Renji snorted. "Nooooo, thank you. You couldn't pay me enough."
"You ever thought about which division you wanna be captain of?"
"Six."
Rukia snorted. "You can't be captain of Six."
"Six or bust," Renji stated definitively, obviously only half paying attention to her. He leaned forward in his chair. "Ikkaku's getting ready. See him down there, surveying the field? Now, Ikkaku likes to think of himself as a crazy, unpredictable fighter, but he is, in fact, very predictable, once you figure out how his weird, overheated brain works." Renji pointed to a far corner of the pit, where a short, but very muscular man was kicking a prone shinigami in the stomach. "You see that sleazebag down there with the exquisitely groomed mustache, giving Tazawa the business? He's already taken down the 11th and the 8th Seat. That's Ikkaku's guy for sure." He looked at Rukia. "Why?" he quizzed her.
Rukia pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, if the goal is recruiting, you wouldn't want the same person taking out too many officers. That guy is already in, right?"
"He is," Renji agreed neutrally.
"Or, maybe Ikkaku sees him as the greatest threat, and would rather take him on the offense."
"Closer," Renji said mildly.
Rukia's brow furrowed, as she tried to think about other Squad 11 stories Renji had told her. They were all phenomenally stupid. "He's the strongest and Ikkaku always wants to fight the strongest person," she blurted out.
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner!"
As if on cue, Ikkaku went barreling into the fighting area, Hozukimaru swinging. "YOU, with the mustache pomade!" he bellowed.
"He also hates people who overuse hair product, for... reasons," Renji noted.
"Does that mean I should gel up?" Rukia asked.
"No, no, it will only enrage him."
"You ready for a real fight?" Ikkaku screamed, casually knocking out some other poor combatant for emphasis.
"Bring it, cueball!" the other man shouted.
Renji wagged a finger. "He gets mad if you call him that, not just because he is an overly sensitive baby, but also because it's so played out. Spend some time coming up with some custom insults, which is one of your biggest strengths anyway. He's kinda vain, and it will really distract him."
"Will do," Rukia agreed.
The mustachioed man went face first into the muck.
"That was so fast," Rukia gasped.
"Yes, and that's important. He will always try to do a one-hit K.O., and he will lose all respect for you if it works. You need to start out on the extreme defense."
"Does he have any respect for me to start with?" Rukia asked skeptically.
"He's fighting you, isn't he?"
They watched Ikkaku mow down a woman wielding a pair of curved swords.
"He does not give a single crap about hitting women, obviously," Renji noted, somewhat judgmentally.
"Good," Rukia sniffed.
"Loves fighting other people with reach weapons," Renji added as Ikkaku engaged a man with a polearm. The man actually held his own for close to a minute before Ikkaku disarmed him and moved on.
"Are you out of The Brawl if you get disarmed? Why didn't he knock that guy out?"
Another member of Squad 11 came by and clocked the man in the back of the head as he scrambled to regain his weapon.
"You seem hung up on the idea that anyone cares about the rules or that the actual purpose of this is gaining new members. It is not. It's just an excuse to fight. It's Squad 11. Everything is just a thinly veiled excuse to fight."
"That's it, I'm callin' it!" Ikkaku's shout rang up from below. "How many'd we get?"
Some math was performed.
"Six! Six, Boss!"
"A good haul!" Ikkaku roared. "But a crummy Brawl! Who's still got some fight left in 'em?"
Five shinigami tackled him at once.
Yumichika sauntered up to the fence. "Tell me the truth, Abarai. You miss this, don't you?"
Renji watched as the Twelfth Seat went flying through the air, landed in a mud puddle, and skidded until he collided with the unconscious and bloodied Fourteenth Seat.
"You know," said Renji thoughtfully. "I honestly do not."
Byakuya finished recording his orchid notes for the day, and was placing the log back on the shelf, when he happened to catch a glimpse out the window of Rukia dashing up the drive. He glanced at the time. They were due to attend a party that evening, and Byakuya suspected she should have already been well into her preparations by this hour. He wasn't looking forward to the event, the latest in what seemed like a tedious string of excuses to gossip about politics and suck up to those who had gained positions of power in the continuing turmoil following the entire Aizen ordeal. As if Soul Society hadn't almost been destroyed. As if people hadn't died. But life went on it always did, for the civilians as well as the soldiers.
He wondered where Rukia had been.
He half hoped that she would delay their departure, not that she ever had. Not like someone else he had once known. Someone who would keep him nervously standing in the front hall under the angry gaze and tapping foot of his grandfather, only to glide in, looking so astonishingly beautiful that-
Byakuya swallowed.
He thought of Hisana often. Every day, in fact. He had not forgotten her, not a bit of her.
But there were parts he thought about and parts that he didn't.
What he thought of mostly, was the end. The peaceful, sleepy days of companionable silence. Of cancelling plans to read quietly by the fire. Of clear soups and soft bedding. Of short trips to the chilly garden, looking for early buds, wondering what might bloom early, of what she might get to see one last time.
Even though he remembered her passing quite clearly, it was difficult to demarcate her last days from the ones that followed. It often seemed that she lay just beyond his peripheral vision, that if he wandered the rooms of the house, he might just find her in the greenhouse sketching or drinking a cup of tea in the solarium.
These maddening phantoms had begun to fade after the first anniversary passed, and Byakuya began to think of life continuing on, as he took on a captaincy and leadership of the Clan. Then, abruptly, the quiet, nervous, unwanted shade of his wife had come to live with him. Sometimes, he would mean to go into the library, and he would see Rukia there, drawing in the sunny corner near the window, and he would back away. He would glimpse her in a crowd at a social event, lurking around the fringes, and for a moment, his brain would trick him into thinking she was someone else.
But Rukia was not a ghost of her sister. That had become gradually clearer ever since her near-execution. The Rukia who had returned from her latest mission bore little resemblance at all to his resigned, peaceful, dying wife. Rukia still guarded herself around him, maintained some sense of propriety, but with every slip, every time he saw her wandering the gardens barefoot in sub-freezing weather or heard her make some absolutely cutting dig at a mutually detested acquaintance, he got more and more of a glimpse of the mysterious person underneath.
Which had caused him to think about the sharp, clever, self-possessed woman who had led him into the Wilds and stolen his heart. To be perfectly honest, Rukia also bore little resemblance to that Hisana, although his brain kept trying to make her fit, to find the patterns that would make a sensible tale of their sisterhood.
The pain of remembering a younger, stronger Hisana had once been unbearable, so he had resorted to the numbing melancholy of the dying version instead. But now… it was not so bad.
Carefully, Byakuya selected another journal, one from two shelves up. He leafed through it gently, stopping only on the hand-drawn diagrams, every detail intricately illustrated. He hadn't been able to look at these since she had to stop drawing because her hands shook so much.
It hurt, but he found he could stand it.
There was a soft rap on the door. "Your Lordship," Seike reminded him. "It is time to start preparing for your engagement this evening."
Byakuya slid the journal back onto the shelf.
"Of course, Seike. Thank you for reminding me."
"Renji! Renji! Do you want more booze?"
Without looking up from his writing, Renji held out his cup for a refill.
"I realize I have missed a lot," Momo noted, pouring him some sake. "But you were supposed to watch out for him, Izuru, and look what he has become."
"No, bringing his paperwork to the bar is some new fresh hell, you can't pin this on me."
"I am paying attention, you know," Renji grumbled, after taking a sip. "And it's not paperwork, it's Bulletin stuff for Shuuhei. I got a quick turnaround on this, he said he needed it by Monday."
"Are you bringing back 'Let's Do Shikai!'" Momo asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I'm not, this is a one-time thing." Renji looked up. "Is Shuuhei even here? I need to ask him something."
"He said he'd be late," Izuru replied. "Probably Bulletin stuff of his own. This is weird, you and Shuuhei working all the time while Momo and I slack off."
"Speak for yourself!" Momo protested. "I worked hard all day, and now I'm relaxing, because I earned it! Captain Hirako says he'll tell me when he needs me to work overtime and he doesn't want to see it otherwise."
"Sounds like excuses. Slacker."
Renji ignored Izuru's snark. "You guys are working out, then? You and Captain Hirako?" he asked, putting down his pen. "You seem...like pretty different people."
Momo cocked her head to one side. "I haven't decided yet. He's weird, for sure. And right now, he's really into dismantling the way we've always done things at Squad 5 and rebuilding everything from scratch."
Izuru made a horrified face. "Oh, Momo, all your work!"
"I'm glad, Izuru," she scowled. "He talks to me a lot and asks my opinion and we're trying to build back in all the things that were good and to make sure people feel included. But the place was like a moldy house. It needed to be torn down, down to the studs. When we're done, it's going to be my squad, more than it ever was before."
"Good for you," Renji announced.
Izuru still looked skeptical.
"How about you?" Momo jerked her head at Izuru. "You still hate him?"
"Hate is a very strong word."
Momo looked at Renji meaningfully. "He hates his new captain."
"I don't! It's just...he keeps wanting to do things together. And he's so… concerned with my personal life. It's not right."
"What he means is, Captain Outoribashi keeps asking him why he makes sad faces all the time."
"This is just my face! It's how I look!"
"You didn't used to," Renji pointed out. "For the record."
"He wrote a song about me."
"Shuuhei writes songs about you all the time."
"That is different."
Momo and Renji exchanged a look .
"No! Stop that! Stop making that face at each other!"
They shrugged.
"I am not discussing this." Izuru looked at Renji. "How do you deal with it? Hating your captain?"
Renji opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I don't hate him," he finally managed. As a captain, he appended mentally. As Rukia's brother, he can suck rocks.
"Really? You sure used to."
Renji fiddled with his pen, trying to form an answer in his head. He had certainly said some dirty words about his captain the night before, that was for sure. But he didn't hate Captain Kuchiki, and for all its frustrations, he kinda liked working under the guy. Obviously, anyone would look good in comparison to Aizen, but working under Zaraki wasn't exactly a picnic either. The disorganization, the bloody stupid ways they went about everything in Eleven. Six wasn't perfect, obviously, but it was the best squad he had ever been in by far, and a lot of it was due to his hardass, perfectionist captain. His hardass, perfectionist captain who nevertheless let him go through with some of his admittedly longshot ideas for bringing the stragglers up to standard and starting a futsal team and for building morale. He breathed out in a huff, well aware that Izuru and Momo were both staring at him, waiting for a response. He just didn't have the words.
Suddenly, two hands slammed down on his shoulders.
"Are you writing copy at the bar? My perfect son! My only true friend!"
"Hey, Shuuhei," Izuru gave their friend an aloof nod.
Momo ruined Izuru's attempts at being cool by announcing, "Izuru's been letting other people write songs about him."
"Momo!"
Hisagi clenched a fist dramatically as he slid into the seat next to Renji. "It's your beautiful face. It's like the moon. It's so inspirational."
Renji contemplated piling on and letting Kira be the butt of the jokes for a bit, but he decided to be a good friend instead. "Oi, Shuuhei, I figured out how I want you to pay me back for this favor I'm doin' you," he said, pointing toward his notepad.
"I don't owe you a favor," Shuuhei shot back. "You asked for some press passes, and said you would write me a story. We're even, pal."
"C'mon! It's a feature, and I threw in illustrations!"
"I'm payin' you, what more do you want?"
"I want a tiny little favor!"
Shuuhei shrugged noncommittally.
"C'mon, everyone loves his down-home earthy prose," Izuru pointed out. "Wasn't 'Let's Do Shikai!' your all-time second or third most popular column? You're probably going to sell out your print run. When's the last time that happened?"
"Okaaaay," Shuuhei declared magnanimously. "I will listen to what your teeny tiny favor is, and then I shall decide."
Renji gritted his teeth. "I need you to teach me to cook rice," he muttered.
Shuuhei blinked, and cupped on hand behind his ear. "Come again?"
"I realize how awkward this is, but I would be very grateful… if you could show me… how to cook rice," Renji sighed. "Sempai."
Momo gave a snort of laughter.
Shuuhei crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Look, man, I gotta warn you. Cooking is really not the best way to impress someone you're into."
Renji squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to take this. He deserved it.
"Because sometimes you can cook for someone that you're into a couple times a week for like, I dunno, three or four years-"
"It was three," Renji grumbled.
"-and they might somehow still be surprised when you casually mention that you thought that-"
"Everyone here knows this story!" Renji exclaimed. "I'm a dumbass! We! All! Know! And I'm not trying to impress anyone! Who would be impressed by rice anyway?"
Shuuhei picked up an extra cup and motioned for Izuru to fill it. "I would be overjoyed, Abarai. I'll teach you to cook anything you want."
"Rice'll do, thanks," Renji grumped, then suddenly brightened. "Wait! Could you teach me to make those little homemade shrimp crackers? Those are so good."
"Mmm," Shuuhei agreed. "Now those, those will get you a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. I assume we're talking about Kuchiki?"
"This has nothing to do with her!" Renji protested. "It's for me! I just want to eat at home sometimes!"
"Where is Rukia, anyway?" Momo asked. "I was under the impression you two were a package deal again these days."
"She had noble stuff," Renji excused. "Some ritzy party or something. I'm sure she'd rather be here. And, ah, we're not- we don't- I mean- Izuru, why don't you ever do noble stuff?"
"Weak, Abarai," Shuuhei noted. "But, yeah, Izuru, why don't you ever do noble stuff?"
Izuru wrinkled his nose. "I haven't felt like it. It's so lame, guys."
"His sister's been sending him nastygrams," Momo offered cheerfully.
"The problem is," Izuru said, rubbing his forehead, "that after the entire Central 46 got wiped out, they had to replace them, right? So, there was the whole wave of wheeling and dealing and negotiating and sucking up and family alliances and drama. Rukia is actually lucky she was out of town and missed most of it."
"That's mostly settled at this point," Shuuhei pointed out. "A few of the members are expected to be temporary placeholders, but they've got butts in 46 seats, they're back in business now."
"Right," Izuru agreed. "Which has set off a second wave of this nonsense, because now everyone wants an in with the people who were picked."
"How does this affect you?" Renji frowned. As far as he knew, the Kiras were very minor nobility. They had a nice estate just outside the city, where Izuru's sisters lived and kept the furniture from getting too dusty.
"Because my first cousin was a clerk for one of the original members, and since now everyone is so inexperienced, he basically got promoted to being the secretary for the Committee on Seireitei Internal Affairs."
"Is that important?" Renji asked. "Also, I still don't see what that has to do with you?"
Izuru closed his eyes painfully. "It's…noble stuff. It's nonsensical. It's complicated. It's..."
"It's betrothal season!"
"Omaeda Maremi! Betrothed! Tsunayashiro Wakana! Betrothed! Naruse Tami! Betrothed!"
Rukia was not a particularly social creature, and cultivating friendships with other nobles, particularly ones outside of her own family was a bit of a fraught affair. Nevertheless, she had been attending these things for half a century now, and she had managed to find a few people who, if perhaps she wouldn't storm Hueco Mundo for, she didn't mind shooting the breeze with at parties (or, when the opportunity arose, sneaking off to a dark corner with for a quick snog, although less so in recent years). They had all started out in the Eligible Daughters category, and slowly, methodically, worked themselves in a state of questionable eligibility at best.
Byakuya, to date, had showed little interest in who Rukia chose to socialize with. On one hand, her motley collection of eccentrics mostly hailed from the more rarefied families, which he approved of. They were also all deeply devoted to various avocations, which he had recently recommended that she herself adopt. And yet...
"Tami?" Rukia replied, swishing her plum wine. "Really? She told me once she'd rather kiss a horse than a man." This was not exactly an idle threat- Naruse Tami maintained a champion bloodline of horses, and 95% of conversation with her consisted of stories about how mean they were and all the ways her prize-winning war stallions had tried to murder her this week. She loved those horses with all her heart. Byakuya actually owned one, a terrifying nightmare of an animal that reminded Rukia strongly of Zaraki Kenpachi.
"That may not be a problem, since she's marrying Kannogi Naohisa, who feels the same way about women. I probably wouldn't mind ignoring a guy's affairs as long as he ignored mine, if I got to live it up in his family's lake house," Akizuki Toshiko announced. Toshiko was a bit of an expert on affairs, if only in her own imagination. She had written a great many scandalous romance novels under a nom-de-plume. Many of them featured scenes that seemed anatomically unlikely, in Rukia's opinion, but it hadn't stopped her from reading all of them.
"Not me," Hirata Sasori sniffed. "I'll never marry a man. How do you do it, Rukia? Surely, your brother must have gotten about a thousand offers for you while you were out of town." Sasori was close to six feet tall, and built like Chad. She was from a branch of the Kasumioji family, the weapons-makers, and prided herself on being able to fight with every kind of blade her family could produce.
Rukia frowned. "He's never tried to marry me off. Never even mentioned it. Wait, I guess he did the other day, but it was in passing."
"Really?" Sasori raised her eyebrows. "My pop never shuts up about it."
"I don't know. I always assumed it was because he also doesn't want to get remarried."
"You're in the shinigami corps, though," Toshiko pointed out loftily."They can't make you get married if you're in Gotei."
Rukia frowned. "I don't think that's true."
"What do you mean, it's not true? Rukia, I need that to be true. It's a plot point in my next book."
Rukia made a face. "You're writing a romance novel about shinigami?"
"Shinigami are hot property these days! Did you see the pictures in the Seireitei Bulletin Ryouka Invasion Special? Some of those assistant captains-!"
Rukia rolled her eyes. "I know them all. They're dorks."
"Don't burst my bubble, Kuchiki! Also, one of my heroines is trying to escape an arranged marriage by entering the Gotei, you're telling me that wouldn't work?"
Rukia contemplated this. "You've got it backwards, I think. The Gotei can grant marriages, which can't be overruled by Family Law, not the other way around. I mean, I guess your heroine could enter the Gotei and marry another shinigami to escape her arranged marriage? Would that work?"
Toshiko gasped. "Rukia, you're a genius!"
Rukia shrugged. It's not like she hadn't read a million of these things in two different worlds, no less. "It wouldn't work that well. Her dad could still disown her."
Toshiko flapped a hand. "No, he ultimately loves her and doesn't want to lose her. But meanwhile, she's married her best friend, who is helping her out, but then they discover-"
"That they have feelings for each other," Rukia and Sasori droned together.
"This is a winner," Toshiko mumbled. "I should go home and start writing."
"Do not make the best friend look like me," Rukia warned. "Don't do it."
Toshiko made a face that indicated this was exactly what she had planned to do.
"I wish I could join the shinigami," Sasori scowled. "Not just to avoid a marriage, although that sounds like a bonus. I just want to fight monsters. Father refuses to let me attend the Academy, though."
Rukia tilted her head to one side. "You don't actually have to go to the Academy to join the Gotei, I just found out recently." She wondered if anyone noble had ever Brawled their way into the Eleventh. She had the distinct impression that Sasori and Ikkaku would probably get along just great.
Toshiko's face lit up. "Then, if you needed to, you two could get shinigami-married!"
Sasori and Rukia eyed each other.
"Wouldn't say no," Sasori declared.
"I'd consider it," Rukia agreed. "I already have a shinigami best friend, though. He'd get mad if I didn't give him first right of refusal." It was a joke. Mostly a joke. Byakuya wouldn't marry me off to someone terrible anyway, she assured herself. Probably.
"I can accept that," Sasori nodded.
"Rukia," a cool voice broke in as a familiar reiatsu washed over her.
Rukia jumped. "Brother! What are you doing here?" In my secret spot behind the food table, she didn't add. She hoped, desperately, that he hadn't overheard any of that ridiculous conversation.
"My apologies, ladies, I would speak with my sister," Byakuya addressed her friends, who were both bowing deeply.
"It was good to see you, Lady Rukia!" Toshiko called.
"We should have tea, soon!" Sasori added.
As Rukia bid her friends farewell, her stomach knotted. Byakuya never talked to her at these sorts of things, and all the talk of betrothals had her a little spooked.
"Those are some interesting acquaintances you have," Byakuya noted, eyeing Toshiko and Sasori, as he led Rukia into a quiet corner.
"They are both from very respectable families," Rukia pointed out.
"True," Byakuya drew out.
"Brother? Was there something you wished to discuss?"
"Ah, yes. Are you having a good time?"
There was a bit of a faraway look in Byakuya's eyes. Usually, he adopted his party face at these things, an expression that was 95% boredom and 5% vague amusement, as if he were thinking about a joke he had heard earlier in the day. But right now, he looked 95% bored, 3% irritated, 1% tired and 1% kinda sad.
Rukia stared at him blankly, stupefied by both the question and the facial expression. "Uh, some of the canapes were good?"
"This party is a meat market," Byakuya muttered.
"That's why I like to hide behind the shrimp table," Rukia pointed out. "Maybe you're too tall for that."
"Would you mind if we were to depart early?"
Rukia almost asked him if he were feeling alright, but decided he was just as likely to bristle at her concern as to be comforted by it. "Can we do that?"
"We have put in our appearance," Byakuya shrugged. "It is a bit early, but that just means we would have time for decent glass of sake at home and a game of shogi. If you were so inclined."
Rukia dumped her plum wine into a nearby potted plant. "You're on."
Rukia looked at her bowl. She took a deep breath and then regretted it.
She wasn't sure how late they had stayed up, but she was pretty sure Byakuya had tricked her into drinking too much when it looked like she was starting to dominate the shoji board. It wasn't a full blown hangover, but her head pounded, and her stomach was extremely skeptical of this morning's breakfast offerings. She was honestly a little impressed. Kuchiki Rukia was not an easy woman to outdrink, and she had never taken her brother for much of a boozer. She filed this information away for future reference.
"Is something the matter, Sister?" Byakuya asked.
"I told you my memories are still a little mixed up," Rukia confessed. I don't remember if I like nattou or not. Do you remember?"
Byakuya opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I like nattou."
"I know you do, Brother," Rukia replied. Stolidly, she took a big bite and chewed it thoughtfully.
Byakuya watched her.
"I do not," Rukia declared. "Whether or not I did before."
Rukia's maid appeared at her elbow. It was a new girl- for some reason, Rukia never managed to keep maids for very long, and the last one had either been dismissed or found a new position during Rukia's extended absence. Mikan, Rukia reminded herself of the girl's name. Mikan, Mikan, Mikan. "Would you like me to fetch you something else, Lady Rukia?"
Rukia blew her hair out of her face. "Do we ever have… oh, what is it called? Where you mix raw egg with hot rice, and it cooks it up nice and foamy?"
"Tamago kake gohan, miss," Mikan provided. "Er, I can check."
Byakuya raised one eyebrow. "It sounds like peasant food to me."
"Oh, you would like it, Brother, it's so good with hot sauce."
Byakuya regarded her coldly.
"Could I get some miso soup?" Rukia mumbled.
"Of course, miss," Mikan scurried off.
"Do you have plans for today, Rukia?" Byakuya asked.
"I was going to do some drawing, actually," Rukia replied. If she could clear this headache, that is. She wished she had some coffee.
"Ah, wonderful," Byakuya noted pleasantly. "By the way, we are having an exceptionally delightful guest for tea this afternoon."
"The keeper for the Seireitei Firebirds!" Rukia guessed facetiously.
"I'm sure he is absolutely boorish," Byakuya returned.
"That poet you like. The one who dresses in cobwebs and writes about very small birds," Rukia tried again.
"Alas, she does not answer my tear-stained missives," Byakuya replied in an utter deadpan.
"The Captain-Commander," Rukia made a final attempt.
"Rukia, who is the most charming, agreeable, and absolutely captivating woman you can think of?"
Rukia wasn't sure if there were any of Byakuya's relatives that he actually liked, but she did know that he never, ever spoke ill of them. No, he spoke cheerfully of them, instead. The more he hated them, the more complimentary he became. His sense of humor was so dry and so bitingly specific that he had apparently done this for a long time without anyone catching on, but Rukia could recognize a sick burn from a mile away and had cottoned to his game almost immediately. She wasn't nearly as good at it as he was, but her attempts were decent enough to let him know that she saw what he was doing and that she loved it. He was really very, very funny, if you paid close enough attention. But between the headache and the nattou, Rukia's sense of humor was on strike this morning.
"It's Aunt Azami, isn't it?" she grumbled.
Byakuya smiled, just a tad, raised his eyebrows, tipped his head in the slightest of nods, and sipped his tea.
"How many more of these do we have to do before we can go fight?" Eighth Seat Shirogane asked glumly, as Renji passed her another budget form to double-check for him.
He flipped through his stack. "Three. And don't think I ain't grateful for your help-'cause I am-but this is good training for you, too, you know?"
"Is it, now?" Shirogane echoed skeptically.
"Pretty common in most other squads for the lieutenant to push some of his paperwork off on his top seats. Ohno and Kuchiki make such a hash of it, though, Captain always makes me re-do theirs. Keep working hard, you might make lieutenant before either of 'em."
The bespectacled young woman regarded him strangely. "Is it true, then? You aren't planning on sticking around?"
Renji almost dragged his brush across the page, but managed to stop himself in time. "Whu? Where'd you hear that?"
Shirogane frowned. "I mean, it's just a thing people were saying for a while. That once you got back, you would most likely take over one of the squads without a captain. Since you have bankai and all, and also, you don't really, er…"
"Fit in around here?" Renji asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Get the respect that you deserve," Shirogane said quickly, making intense eye contact with her budget forms.
Renji was stupefied for a moment, but then he gave her a kind smile. "Respect is something that's gotta be earned, and that can take time. No one's ever refused to follow my orders, doesn't bother me if it takes some folks a while to come around."
Shirogane was looking at him like he'd just suggested that Hollows could be perfectly reasonable as long as you didn't catch them when they were hangry.
"Anyway," Renji blathered on, "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. All those captain slots are filled now, which is good, 'cause I'm nowhere near ready for that." He paused. "Plus, I like it here. I'm sure it was just wishful thinking on the part of whichever Gotou or Ohno started that rumor."
"I'm sure," Shirogane agreed noncommittally. "Squad 6 isn't a place that's real used to change. You've changed things. Believe it or not, there are people around here who like the idea that respect can and should be earned."
Renji was thoughtful for a long moment. "Your dad-"
"My father was an excellent assistant captain, very brave and very loyal," Shirogane announced. "He always followed his orders to the letter and never tried to change a single thing."
"I guess that answers the question of how he happened to get on Captain Kuchiki's good side," Renji said softly.
"Well, that and the fact that Dad was always respectful of Lady Hisana, at a time when a lot of people weren't. She was common, did you know that?"
"Huh," Renji replied. "I mean, yeah, I knew that. Did you know her? The captain's wife?"
"Me? No, she died when I was a baby. Dad always said that you'd never know she wasn't born noble, to meet her." Shirogane laughed. "Whatever that means, right?"
Renji knew exactly what it meant, because he had once watched Rukia skin a flea-ridden muskrat she had caught and thought to himself that had never seen anyone clean a carcass so elegantly.
But instead, he chuckled "Right!" and glanced down at his unfinished budget. "Hey, forget the rest of this, let's go outside. I'm dying to see your new attack."
Shirogane wrinkled her nose. "It's only three more, let's just get it done. I don't want you to be preoccupied with your unfinished paperwork when you're supposed to be admiring my swordsmanship."
"Wouldn't want that at all," Renji agreed.
Rukia sighed. She had really been getting into her flow on her Brawl illustrations, and she was grumpy at being interrupted. She had a suspicion this was going to be the greatest piece of art she had ever done.
"-so wonderful to have Lady Rukia back with us again, unharmed and as lovely and charming as ever!"
Rukia tried to make a neutral face at Aunt Azami's disingenuous gushing. She was half tempted to show off the new scar that took up most of her upper arm, but Byakuya surely wouldn't appreciate that.
"I hear from Takehiko," Aunt Azami went on, a little chillier, "that your lieutenant has returned to duty, as well,"
"This is true," Byakuya agreed.
"We all know you were having your fun when you hired that person, but my understanding is that you missed an opportunity to replace him with a more appropriate officer, a member of the family, perhaps."
"Aunt," Byakuya replied, "The workings of the Gotei 13 are very convoluted and may seem confusing from the outside. Your understanding may not account for the fact that there is no such person with whom I could replace him."
"My Takehiko has served under you for quite a few years now."
"There is an examination system, Aunt, that qualifies an officer for the position of adjutant."
"I find it a bit difficult to believe that there is an administrative hurdle that a Kuchiki could not find some way to overcome."
Byakuya took a sip of his tea. "It is a very thorough demonstration of overall fitness and ability, Aunt, and for good reason. Vice-Captain is possibly the most dangerous post in the Gotei. They are sent into unknown, potentially dangerous circumstances and expected to engage formidable opponents at a much lower power level than what is required of a captain. There is a tremendous attrition rate. I think I do not need to remind you that my own father died a Vice-Captain."
Rukia pulled the peel off a slice of cucumber with her fingers. She had known that, she thought, that Byakuya's father had died in the line of duty, but she hadn't necessarily considered his rank at the time.
"In any case, the test is a well established measure of one's minimum suitability. Only a very great fool would seek to circumvent it."
Rukia's brain churned with thoughts. Byakuya had said he felt she was capable of passing the exam. She had assumed at the time that he didn't put much stock in the abilities of the vice-captain class, but maybe he thought better of her after all. Or maybe he just enjoyed tweaking Aunt Azami's buttons.
"Have you considered, then, giving some personal attention to some of your dear cousins?" Aunt Azami suggested sweetly. "Help them to achieve their potential? Since you yourself are such an experienced and well-respected captain?"
"As a captain, there is great demand on my time and attention, Aunt. 'Personal attention' is literally why I have Abarai. It is hardly my fault if you son doesn't wish to train with the man. Your nephew Choei, for example, has been much improved under his tutelage."
Aunt Azami made the face she often made in regards to her nephew Choei. Then she looked at Rukia slyly out of the corner of her eye. "I hear he is very coarse. Hardly an appropriate person to be associating with our younger, more impressionable family members."
Rukia swallowed. She knew rumors went around quickly, but this quickly?
"You've never even met the man," Byakuya sniffed disdainfully. "Perhaps he has not had the benefits of a civilized upbringing, but he is very honest and upright. He may have a great many...idiosyncrasies, but on the whole, I think a good many of our young people would do well to look to his example."
Rukia's teacup was frozen halfway to her mouth. She had forgotten how to blink. Byakuya hated Aunt Azami, but she never would have guessed that he hated her enough to defend Renji to her face.
"Perhaps I should meet him, if you think so highly of him," Aunt Azami returned, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Perhaps that would clear many things up."
"He's very busy these days," Byakuya excused a little too quickly.
"Is he?" Aunt Azami asked. "I heard he does a great deal of socializing." She shot Rukia another knowing look.
Byakuya looked horrified. "Aunt, surely you have better things to do than keep tabs on my underlings."
"It came up naturally, in the context of some of the company he keeps."
Byakuya waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, I'll wrangle him over for tea one of these days. Please, can we speak of something less tedious? Surely you have some more interesting topic, closer to your own heart, for us to discuss."
"We started out talking of Lady Rukia, didn't we?"
Rukia sighed.
"It's inappropriate, in my opinion," Aunt Azami went on, "sending a young woman off on a long mission like that, away from her family and society." Aunt Azami put her teacup down very intentionally. "Nephew, dear, I know you like that idea of these things percolating naturally, but with Rukia's schedule being so dominated by her little job, don't you think it's time to take a more active hand in," she gave Byakuya a meaningful glance, "selecting a husband."
Rukia had just taken a large sip of tea, and she held it in her mouth, knowing that she would choke on it if she tried to swallow. The words "betrothal season!" echoed ominously in her head.
"No," Byakuya replied.
Relief washed through Rukia's body.
"It is so stressful, dear, having the family in this state of having no Heir in sight, and the main house being barely functional-"
"In what way are we not functional?" Byakuya asked, aghast.
"You entertain so little, Nephew, as compared to when your dear mother and grandmother were alive."
"My own wife was also very social, you may have forgotten."
Rukia gripped her teacup. This was the most interesting tea she had attended in forty years. Byakuya was dropping things left and right.
"Er, as you say, dear."
"It is no matter. Throw your own social events if you desire them. Speak to Seike if you wish to use the manor or the grounds."
"That's not the point, Nephew, dear. The Head should acknowledge his family by celebrating their achievements. For example, were you even aware that your second cousin Gotou Naoko will be very shortly delivering a new family member? The first in over ten years." Aunt Azami let out a heart-broken sigh. "I suppose her mother is probably planning to hold the shower at her house..."
"I sent a card," Byakuya pointed out.
"Do you throw parties for babies?" Rukia asked. There were plenty of babies in Rukongai, but they came about the natural way- dying and getting scooped up by the first person who happened across them. They might get passed along a few times before they found a semi-permanent home. Pregnancy was a strange and mysterious idea to her.
"It is traditional," Aunt Azami sniffed.
"I could throw a party for the baby," Rukia announced.
Byakuya and Aunt Azami spilled their tea at the same time.
Rukia smiled smugly. Brother wanted her acting more like a Kuchiki, right? And Aunt Azami thought she wasn't as good a Lady as Byakuya's mother or grandmother? Sounded like hitting two birds with one Sokatsui to her. "You don't mind, do you, Brother? If we had a little get-together for her here?"
"Have you...ever…?"
"I'll take care of it," Rukia replied flippantly.
A strange look overcame Byakuya's face. "That would be very kind of you, Sister."
Aunt Azami still looked mortified.
Truly, the most eventful tea she had ever attended.
"Captain," Abarai said, standing as Byakuya entered the office on Monday morning. From the look of things, the young man had already been at work for a while. "I wanted to let you know that I will be resuming a more normal schedule this week, at least during standard work hours."
Byakuya's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
Abarai set his jaw. "It means I'm not gonna sit in here doing paperwork eight straight hours a day like I did last week."
Byakuya's brows went up. "I believe I indicated how highly I prioritized catching up on it, did I not?"
"That's true, sir," Renji pointed out. "But I can stay late to do paperwork. I've been away from the officers for too long. I don't know who's struggling and who's slacking and who's ready to take on bigger things. It's not their fault I'm behind and they deserve a lieutenant who puts them over some already long overdue forms. Sir."
Byakuya regarded him coolly, secretly pleased. He'd expected at least another two days before Abarai pushed back on the paperwork. "As it happens, I think that's an excellent idea. I have been contemplating the idea of doing a full review of our seated officers. I'd like you to draft an evaluation rubric and once we come to agreement on it, I'd like you to put each of them through their paces. I also wish to make a note of who practices my family sword style, and their proficiency therein. I shall perform that portion of the assessment myself, but please add it to your evaluation."
Now it was Abarai's preposterous eyebrows that shot up. "Sounds like a lot of fun to me, sir, but some of 'em aren't gonna like it. You've previously made one-on-one time with the ol' Vice-Captain to be optional for 10th Seat and above."
"I did that upon hiring you in the interest of sparing some delicate egos. Lately, I have been told that my officers are receiving inadequate training and I find myself no longer concerned about egos. Please inform me if you receive any pushback, Lieutenant."
"Will do, sir." Renji thought for a moment. "Can probably have those evaluation criteria for you tomorrow."
"That quickly? Please take your time and be thoughtful about this."
Renji scoffed. "Sir, I'm never not thinkin' about this stuff. Just a matter of writing it down."
Byakuya felt a warm wave of contentment. Dealing with his jockeying, backstabbing, bootlicking upper seats was one of the most soul-sapping aspects of his job, and bludgeoning them with the blunt object of his meathead vice-captain bearing an impartial scoring rubric was going to be so, so satisfying.
~ end part 3