Title: The Span of a Relationship, part two
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ikkaku x Nemu
Rating: PG for some language
Warnings: Angsty. Like whoa.
Summary: A series of short drabbles using 8 of the themes at ikkanemu
Disclaimer: I am not Kubo Tite, thus I do not own Bleach. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them for my own enjoyment.
For Virgo, since if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be writing these two. That's right, everyone, blame her.
1. No obstacles
She dreamed of a life with no obstacles. A life where she did not have to hide anything. Her thoughts. Her pain. Her emotions. Her love. Her voice. Her soul. A life where she could be free to express all of these. A life where she did not feel guilty for her defiance.
Her defiance...
Every time she left him, she felt the burning of disobedience in her gut. And every time she returned home, she felt certain she would be found out. Discovered. Caught. Punished.
Punished for loving someone. Punished for letting him love her.
A life without obstacles...such a thing is only a dream for Kurotsuchi Nemu.
2. Dangling Threats
"Nemu."
"Yes, Mayuri-sama?"
"It's come to my attention that you've been leaving your quarters at night."
Silence.
"Is this true, witless girl?"
"...Yes, Mayuri-sama."
"Where do you go in the middle of the night?"
"For a walk." It was not a lie.
"And where do these walks take you?"
She swallowed. She took a deep breath.
"Answer me, witless girl! It will hurt more if you hold your tongue. I will know if you lie, and I will make you regret it. So tell me, my disappointment, where do your late night walks take you?" As one might dangle a treat in front of a dog to get it to perform the trick desired, Mayuri dangled threats in front of his daughter in order to get her to answer.
"...To the 11th division, Mayuri-sama."
He advanced on her, fingers curling as they gripped her tightly.
"Fool girl."
3. Father's Approval
He didn't give a Hollow's ass what the captain of the 12th division thought of him. There were only two people whom he wanted to think of him favorably. One was his captain, Zaraki Kenpachi, the most badass shinigami to ever walk Sereitei. The other was Kurotsuchi Nemu, the most beautiful shinigami to ever look his way.
So he gave a fuck what Kurotsuchi Mayuri thought. He could take his opinion of Ikkaku and shove it up his ass, for all he cared, 'cause it didn't matter to him whatsoever.
But when Nemu came to him, so many bruises darkening her body that there was no visible patch of unmarked skin to be seen, and said that her father did not approve of her spending time with him...
...well, it suddenly seemed to matter just a little bit more what Mayuri thought of him.
4. Unregretful mistake
It had been wrong to start a relationship with Madarame Ikkaku. She knew that now. If she'd never begun to see him, she would not have this pain now.
Not physical pain. Nemu had long ago learned to live with physical pain, as it was constantly laid down upon her by her father. No, physical pain she had mastered. She could block out physical pain, when the need arose. She lived with physical pain--it was her constant companion.
This pain was new. This pain that ate away at her daily, chewing at her soul, gnawing ceaselessly, mercilessly, until she felt she might break in two from the force of it.
Yes, it had been a mistake. But she refused to regret that mistake. Because, while she may have yet another pain to live with, she had something that she hadn't had before.
She had the memory of his love for her.
5. Possession
He finally managed to corner her, holding her elbows as lightly as he could. He knew even that light touch might cause a flair of pain from old bruises...
...bruises he had caused her...
...and he asked her, softly, why she was avoiding him.
"Please, Madarame-san, I cannot--"
"Nemu, don't call me that--"
She looked at him, whimpering softly and trying to pull free from his embrace. It didn't matter that his touch was as light as the caress of a butterfly wing. She could not pull free from it.
"Just tell me what I can do, Nemu." He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead.
For that brief second she leaned into him before wrenching back as if she'd been burned.
"Let me go, Madarame-san, you should not be holding me like this."
"Why not?" He challenged, stepping so close that the dark folds of his clothing blended with her own. "Why can't I hold ya? Why're ya resistin'?"
"Because I am his possession!" The words burst forth from her lips violently as she managed to yank free of him. Emotion clogged her throat and she turned away, ready to flee from him.
He pulled her back, his arms locked around her as if he never intended to let go, his voice soft yet authoritative against her ear.
"You're no one's possession, Nemu. Ya belong ta no one save yourself. Remember that." And then, he was gone.
6. Friend of my Friend
"Ne, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou, may I speak with you please?"
Nemu paused, looking up and blinking curiously at the man who'd spoken. She hesitated, then nodded, turning to face him fully.
Ayasekawa Yumichika smiled, motioning that she should follow him. He began to stroll, as if he had no real destination, his tone belying his carefree expression.
"Kurotsuchi-fukataichou, how are you?"
Nemu was confused by his question. She was not accustomed to anyone inquiring after how she was, let alone a member of another division she'd only ever passed casual pleasantries with.
"Ayasekawa-san? Why do you ask?"
"Because you are the friend of my friend. Actually, I believe you to be quite a bit more than a friend to my friend. And if you aren't yet, then I know that he wishes you were!" Yumichika smiled, his steps light. "And I notice you have been avoiding my friend. You seem more down than usual, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou, and I ask only to ensure that my friend has caused you no hurt. Because if he has, allow me to apologize on his behalf. I swear I have tried to train that boy but he is, as some would say, a moron when it comes to some things. The man knows how to wield his sword but not much else." And here the fifth seat sighed dramatically, shaking his head artfully so that the soft strands of his hair brushed his cheeks but fell back into place neatly.
Nemu looked away from Yumichika, her eyes saddening a bit more. "Madarame-san has done nothing wrong, Ayasekawa-san. I am merely...busy, helping Mayuri-sama."
"Ah, I'm happy to hear that, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou! I trust that when you aren't so busy you will drop by and see our mutual friend." He went on, as if sensing her inevitable refusal. "Normally I wouldn't ask, except that he has been terribly moody lately and I'm beginning to think that he needs a good swift kick in the ass, if you get what I mean. Taichou has very little patience for layabouts, and I'm thinking he might let Fukataichou gnaw Ikkaku's head off to get him moving again. And while his head isn't exactly attractive, it is still more attractive attached to his neck than not, so could you come by and see him? Arigato, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou!" And here he bowed, sparkling with a bright smile as he turned and walked way.
Nemu blinked at his back, wondering how he could be so certain of her acquiesce. Never mind that he was correct in his assumption.
7. Can't take back what you've taken away
"Madarame-san?"
Ikkaku looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "Hai, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou?"
He tried to ignore the brief flash of pain that crossed her eyes at the use of her formal title. Tried to ignore the squeeze in his chest at the recognition of that pain, knowing that he had put it there. Tried to distance himself from her, so that her pain would not affect him.
Tried. Failed.
"May I speak with you, please?"
He thought about snapping off a sarcastic remark. Thought about refusing her. Thought about telling her that there was nothing for them to speak about, since everything that could be said had been said.
Thought. Didn't.
"Hai, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou." He stood, hooking his thumbs through the belt of his pants and following her small steps as she led them away from the high traffic area of the vice-captain meetings. She led him down an all-too-familiar alleyway, finding refuge in the shadows.
Ikkaku waited, standing in the sun, blocking the view of the alley from any who might pass by. He tried not to remember the last time she'd dragged him to this alley. Tried not to remember her lips, her tongue, her hands, her body, her scent, her touch. Tried not to remember that feeling--that feeling of completion as he'd buried himself in her. That feeling that nothing could ever feel so right as she did. Tried to forget the feeling that he would give anything to keep her next to him.
Tried. Failed.
"What'd ya wanna talk ta me 'bout, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou?"
She winced visibly now. He used to revel in the fact that she hid nothing from him. It thrilled him to know that she felt safe enough with him to express whatever she was thinking. Now, his heart breaking, he wished that she would hide her feelings from him again.
It may have been selfish, but he couldn't help it.
"Ikkaku..."
He stared at her, stunned, his throat tightening. And before he could stop himself he was speaking again. "Ya can't take back what ya've taken away, Kurotsuchi-fukataichou. Ya wanted us ta stop seein' each other. Ya wanted us ta stop bein' close. Ya took away what we had. Ya can't try an' take back that decision."
He regretted the words as soon as he said them, watching her expression crumble in on itself. Something within him broke right then, watching as she worked hard at carefully blanking her facial features. She looked away from him, her hands clasped in front of her. When she looked back at him, he knew that he had destroyed something.
Destroyed them. Destroyed her. Destroyed both. It didn't matter. Either way...he took a step, reaching for her.
"Nemu, I--"
"I'm sorry for bothering you...Madarame-san."
And, like that brief time when they were happy, she was suddenly gone. Without explanation, without preamble, without warning. And he was left reaching for a ghost, his heart breaking.
8. Numb
She'd thought the pain was bad. She'd thought it would rend her in two. She'd thought that she would never make it through, would never again be herself. She thought that there was no way she could ever function again. There was nothing to stop the pain, nothing to distract from it, nothing to heal it. It was an open wound that festered and refused to scab over. It was her heart, ripped from her chest, beating pathetically against the ground. It was his name, pounding in her ears, struggling to be released. It was her voice, trapped in her throat, denying her the temporary relief of even speaking with him.
He'd thought it could not get any worse. He'd thought her leaving him was bad. He'd thought that never being able to hold her again was bad. It hurt to remember how close he'd been to her. She'd been happy, he could tell. She smiled. She spoke. She whispered to him in the night that she longed to stay with him. She held him to her, pressing her face against his chest, engulfing him as he engulfed her. He could feel her heart pound against his ribs and he could drown in her arms. He listened to the things she didn't say, and he told her things no one else would hear, and through it all he knew she was happy, because she knew he would protect her.
Both thought that it had been bad, before. The pain that had become the focus of their lives had, indeed, been bad.
But that was nothing compared to the numbness that followed.