And it's alright,
I'm alright,
I want to be okay
I've seen it before,
This eyesore
It's me
When Rukia woke up the next morning, she had some vague memory of dreaming about Chappy, except this time, Chappy was Satan, the SWA fangirls were its minions, and Kiyone was the devil behind it all.
Come to the dark side…we have Chappy plushies!
"Weird dreams," she muttered before rolling over and going back to sleep.
When Rukia woke the second time, she was late, although not enough for Yuu to break down her door or for Nii-sama to be watching food grow cold at the table. She rolled out of her futon and into her clothes, noticing her phone blinking beneath the folds. After a few seconds of digging, she pulled it out. It was a message from Renji.
Friday! You know what that means!
Finally—an evening out where she wasn't living the fear of torture by teatime. She texted back, telling him she'd be there tonight and advising him not to drink so much. He sent back telling her to stop being a stick in the mud and that alcohol would help her wonderfully.
Gods of death were not that different from teenagers, Rukia decided. Both held great fascination in excessive alcohol consumption and partook in the activity with the sole goal of getting wasted. Rukia preferred a glass of umeshu plum wine with a shot of green tea, thank you very much.
She jumped into her uniform and flung open the door, nearly bowling over Yuu in the process. Both apologized profusely—Yuu for being late and Rukia for running her over—before she went to the dining room, pretending she wasn't two minutes late as she opened her mouth to greet Nii-sama with a bright and cheerful, "Good morning!"
Nii-sama was nowhere to be found.
She sat down, unsure whether to wait or eat. He'd probably gone to 6th early, but usually he would instruct a servant to have her commence without him. Right now there was nothing to tell except for an empty seat and his warm, waiting meal across from her.
Evidently he hadn't spoken to anyone. He'd just upped and left.
So much for that good morning…
She gave thanks and took a spoonful of broth, but her appetite seemed to have vanished with her cheer. It was now that Nii-sama was absent that Rukia realized how empty the manor felt…and how much he seemed to be avoiding her.
She tried not to feel shunned.
Rukia skipped breakfast and headed to work, intent on focusing on more pressing matters. Before she reached the office she could already hear this morning's heated discussion.
"I offered her Ichigo's underwear. She refused it for a toy!"
"So I'm right! It is Abarai!"
"I bet she would've refused him too! And that guy probably doesn't wear underwear!"
"He doesn't."
Both Kiyone and Kotsubaki, who had each other by the lapels of their uniforms, turned to see Rukia leaning casually against the doorpost.
"Is there a reason why you would know this?" Kiyone asked testily.
"Because I grew up with him?" Rukia said, shrugging. "And what did you expect? They didn't sell underwear to street urchins in Rukongai. Though…I guess he probably does now…hmm…"
Discussing Renji's underwear or lack thereof effectively ended the argument, because they disengaged and went back to work with embarrassed looks on their faces. Mission accomplished. No more of that Red versus Orange business in her presence. It surprised her they were still on that one, because Kiyone and Kotsubaki had the attention spans of ferrets.
Seeing no reason to linger, Rukia made to leave. Just as she turned, she bumped into someone behind her.
"Good morning!" Ukitake exclaimed. "How are you three this morning?"
Rukia jerked aside to let him in. "Never mind us—how are you?"
"I'm good, I'm good!" Ukitake replied, waving off any concerns with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about me—I wanted to see how you were doing!"
"We're doing fine, sir!" Kotsubaki said, his hand hitting his forehead in a quick salute. "I'm glad to see you healthy!"
"What? I'm more glad to see you!" Kiyone exclaimed. "H-Healthy, that is!"
"Thank you!" Ukitake replied, beaming like the sun itself. "It's such a beautiful day, it would be a shame to spend it locked up in the infirmary." He glided to his desk, extracting a parchment from his robes. "While I'm here though, I did want to discuss a few things. Mainly, I wanted to brief everyone on the training order that was decreed…"
Rukia frowned. "A training order?"
Ukitake nodded. "All divisions will be doing some extensive training in preparation for the Winter War."
"But…it's spring," Kiyone pointed out.
"Yes," Ukitake agreed. "It seems Aizen is a little late for his date…"
Training was beneficial, to be sure, but no amount of exercise would help the average recruit in a war. The real power of the Gotei 13 lay in its thirteen—now ten—captains, and Ichigo. Nobody else could dream of being a match for Aizen.
As if reading her thoughts, Ukitake shrugged. "The training is also to help combat the hollows which use shinigami powers. These are the same hollows that resulted from Aizen's experiments, and there are many still running amok in the world of the living."
Rukia swallowed and nodded.
"And of course, we want to promote comradeship between the divisions," Ukitake said. "Each division will be teamed up under another captain and rotated to expose everyone to different styles of combat."
"We'll be working with the captains?" Rukia asked.
"Yes. Captains and officers are to train with their assigned shinigami, especially those sent on patrols."
Rukia's heart sank.
So Nii-sama practiced with her because he'd been ordered to. Everyone was receiving a good lesson in combat these days, and Captain Kuchiki's little sister was no exception. He would do the same for the rest of his division and whoever else he was assigned to.
Duty. Nothing more, nothing less. She'd been silly to think he would give her extra consideration.
"Oh! But we'll be working with Kyouraku!" Ukitake grinned.
"This'll be great!" Kiyone crowed. "Drinks and training all around!"
Kotsubaki punched his open palm. "We should have an interdivision tournament. One huge Gotei 13 competition!"
"Hey! That was my idea!"
At that point there was nothing more to say. Rukia extricated herself, inching toward the door. "I should get on my patrol," she muttered.
"Of course," Ukitake replied. But as she turned to leave, visible concern passed over his features. "Take care, Rukia."
She left before he could say more.
She'd been naïve to think there wasn't another reason he wanted to practice. She'd been flattered, conflicted, confused at his insistence, because giving her cloaks and helping her train wasn't within the confines of their prescribed interactions. His modus operandi was to walk past without a word. So when Nii-sama did go out of his way to help, Rukia felt torn. It became easy to mistake his cold rationality for personal interest and fool herself into thinking it meant more than it did.
But he was Kuchiki Byakuya. Funny how after Soukyoku she was prone to forgetting that, how even briefly stepping over the perceived boundaries of their relationship redefined everything in her mind. It was absurd—an abomination, really—to demand or even expect the man's consideration. He still passed his eyes over her whenever they passed. She still thanked him for it.
And yet…she would be lying if she didn't feel let down somehow.
Rukia sighed. Nii-sama would surely frown upon such useless sentiments. She considered stopping by Ichigo's place, but the kid was at school and she wasn't feeling it anyway. Instead she pulled out her phone, staring at the cloudy sky reflected on the dark screen.
Fifteen minutes. She settled down on the roof she was on, trying not to think of cloaks or brothers or fleeting embraces as she lay in wait for the next Hollow.
By nightfall, her mood had drastically improved. Most Friday nights were spent out with the guys, but it had to be said that a night on the town was not as lively as it sounded. Compared with nightlife in the human world, Soul Society was dead (no pun intended), but with the rise of karaoke bars and nightclubs in modern day Tokyo it was only natural that Soul Society adopt those same standards of entertainment the way they'd picked up coffee houses and designer sunglasses and muffins slathered with mayonnaise.
Although the bigger influence here was the relaxed standards. It really was nice not having beheadings and Hollow pits anymore…
Until dusk fell though, there was time to kill. She spotted Inoue's magazines where she'd jammed them inconsiderately between some syrupy romance novel and a literally ancient etiquette book. Rabu Rabu and Eighteen Magazine peeked out, and she heaved at the volumes until she felt them give. Her attention hooked on the latter, which had the words "SEX ISSUE" emblazoned in pink across the front.
Rukia frowned. She shoved aside everything else and opened the offending publication. Bombarding her were buxom babes sporting bright bikinis and beach balls and all kinds of skimpy summery accessories.
This was hardly surprising. She'd spent three months in Karakura wearing a uniform that would give Nii-sama an epileptic fit, and a few scantily clad bottoms were hardly a matter of concern. What was surprising was the table of contents. She scanned over the menagerie of suggestively themed articles and one titled 50 Best Places to Kiss a Guy caught her eye.
Wait, fifty? She thought there were, like, five. She racked her brain for the places she'd most likely kiss a guy and came up with lips, cheeks, nose, forehead, and maybe…the top of the head? Where were the other forty-five?
She may have been ten times Ichigo's age, but Rukia's knowledge of sexual matters was sorely limited. It wasn't becoming of a lady to read such base reading materials, and Rukia had no need for fifty tidbits of kissing knowledge. Or maybe she really was a prude. But her curiosity was piqued, and she cautiously turned the page.
You could kiss his neck. That made sense, now that she thought about it. You could kiss his ears, which sounded kind of cute. His collar bones. His shoulders. His chest…and…nipples? She frowned. Working her way down, you could even kiss his—
Knock, knock!
Rukia flung the magazines into her bookshelf so hard it was a wonder they didn't knock over all the other magazines.
"Yes?"
The door slid open and there stood Nii-sama, who opened his mouth to speak before he paused to take note of her face. Either her face was doing the talking or he was still scarred from before, because to Rukia's abject horror his eyes flicked over her for a second…as if to make sure she had everything on.
"Is this an improper time?" he asked.
Rukia turned even redder.
"No, I wasn't…uh…"
Nii-sama stared at her.
"I mean, it's not improper!" she blurted. With the way she was babbling and the way he was staring, he probably thought he'd walked in on her touching herself. Her eyes flicked to the offending material swaying precariously behind her and her stomach bottomed out.
"Do you wish to speak with me?" She adjusted her stance to cover the shelf.
Oddly, it was his turn to look discomfited. He shifted his attention to the window. "I thought I might offer another go."
"Go?"
He looked at her. "Another practice session, like yesterday."
Rukia had to come down from her momentary embarrassment-induced brain freeze to understand what he'd said. When she did, she nearly went sparkly-eyed with spastic joy.
Really? Nii-sama would—
Oh. The training order.
She should've known. His uninspired bored expression made her wonder if he'd just invited her to a paperwork marathon rather than challenge her to a swashbuckling spar. But the captain-general ordered it, and Rukia would not be one to refuse Nii-sama his obligations.
Then the tower crashed and she rocketed toward the door.
"No need to ask—now would be perfect!"
Nii-sama narrowed his eyes as she pushed past him and slammed the door in his face, only stopping to wait for him at the end of the hall. He followed in bemusement, moving past her to lead them outside. She followed, idly observing his broad shoulders before shifting her gaze to her feet.
"I would like to work with zanjutsu again," he said, drawing his blade.
Rukia nodded, drawing her own.
He moved first and she moved with him, catching his blade and shoving him away with as much force as she could muster. He allowed himself to be pushed back and she followed close, hoping to scrape an opening. At first she worried she might do something stupid, considering she'd nearly impaled them with her clumsiness yesterday. Within a moment, though, it became clear that no amount of sword wielding would sever a thread on his uniform.
That didn't mean she wouldn't try.
She attacked with gusto, driving at him the way he'd pushed the offense yesterday. It was her turn to call the shots. He seemed content to lazily evade, his every movement fluid and effortless as he watched her with disturbing intensity. She cut at him hard, trying not to make eye contact as she tried to force him open. He was staring at her with those twilight eyes, his cool gaze fixed and unyielding.
She jumped back and rushed him again, throwing a quick left as she tried to outpace him. His blade caught hers and exposed an opening, so she twirled away and swung her blade down…only to realize it wasn't there.
Rukia looked up. Nii-sama was a few feet away, holding both blades. He hadn't even used one of his blade manipulating tricks. He'd only used her own force against her and spun the weapon out of her grasp.
How embarrassing. Show-off.
"Nice trick," she muttered as he returned her sword.
He gave a mild shrug. "You were open."
Their fingers brushed as Sode no Shirayuki changed hands. Rukia's face heated.
So embarrassing.
She gripped Sode no Shirayuki painfully tight, though it wasn't her grip that had cost her. With a deft twist of his blade, he'd tripped up her hand and nimbly stolen the hilt in that split second of weakness. She'd seen it happen to others, though none of them had been lucky enough to get their swords back.
For some reason, it crossed her mind that Nii-sama was playing with her. Or at least, showing off for some reason.
Her indignation flared. She was not so clumsy as to lose her sword in a mock battle!
"You may want to adjust your grip," he told her lightly. Rukia's temper flared. He didn't need to open his mouth and rub it in—he'd already made it clear he could disarm her in a wink.
Rukia was moving before she realized it. She threw a side slash combined with a low kick in hopes of tripping up her unbeatable opponent. It didn't work. He slid out of the way like he was moonwalking the courtyard and appeared at her side, though he didn't move in to attack. She took the bait, trying fruitlessly to catch him while he continued to evade and set her up again.
She slashed down from above.
He blocked it easily.
She swung in from the side.
He slid out of reach.
"You keep predicting my moves," she growled. It was like he knew where she was going to strike before she made the decision to move.
"Anticipate your opponent," he said simply. "You can read what your opponent will do and act well in time. Your smaller size will enable that."
Her smaller size was what made her suck compared to guys like Ichigo and Renji. This was to be expected when one was surrounded by powerhouse shinigami with ridiculous amounts of reiatsu and testosterone, but it still made her feel lacking by comparison. It made her feel like such a girl.
She launched herself at him, shoving hard to push Senbonzakura out of the way. It was probably her temper fighting at this point, but Rukia didn't care. The man was downright impossible to hit.
He must have noticed her futile shoving because he opened his stupid mouth again. "You will not win a skirmish on strength alone," he said, countering her blade easily with his greater strength. "Don't try to win on physical strength. Your strength is in your increased maneuverability due to your smaller size."
"My smaller size is what makes me weak," she snapped.
Instantly she felt worse for bringing it up. She sealed her lips, hoping he was above responding to her petty upsets. (It would help if Nii-sama stopped making comments about her size, but Rukia wasn't about to tell him that…)
"Size isn't everything," Byakuya said, and Rukia was mortified that he did respond—especially about size. "I should think that would be obvious."
It was. Nii-sama was smaller than Zaraki-taichou and even his own lieutenant, yet he could hold his own against the 11th Division captain and flat out crush Renji hands down. Size didn't matter. Strength didn't matter. It was all about reading your opponent and using their weaknesses to bring them down.
Still, she would have liked having some kind of natural upper hand against so many stronger opponents. Carrot Top wasn't exaggerating when he called her a midget. Although he did deserve a knuckling for calling her that…
They parted, and Rukia doubled over, catching her breath. Nii-sama lowered his blade.
He didn't deserve it. Here he was, sacrificing his time to help her improve, and she was repaying him with her snarky remarks.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, feeling the sharp feelings ebb with guilt. "I don't mean to be so ill-composed."
"You are stressed," he said.
That wasn't an excuse. She didn't think she was stressed, but evidently their practice was throwing some long-held resentments into the open. The thought of Kiyone expounding why Rukia was stagnating…Renji teasing her for falling behind…Taira making assumptions about her position…then Ichigo getting caught in the Winter War. Maybe she was stressed. But if anyone had the right to feel stressed, it was Nii-sama. But he seemed to understand her need for space and didn't press the matter.
After a moment, she straightened.
"Do you wish to continue?" he asked quietly.
Rukia nodded.
He returned to a ready stance. This time he waited for Rukia to move first.
She charged. Even if she couldn't match him, she wanted to make the best of what he was offering. She didn't deserve his help, training order or not; she didn't deserve his second glance, let alone his prolonged attention. But he was giving her both, and that alien behavior combined with the intensity of his gaze made the back of her neck prickle.
She didn't realize she'd tensed so much, but when she swung at him her grip was so tight that the force of it seared painfully from her wrist to her shoulder. She gasped and landed a few feet away, clutching at the strained tendons. Then a flash of reiatsu breezed against her and Rukia froze.
"Breathe, Rukia," he reminded her.
Forgetting to breathe in a fight was like forgetting to hold your breath underwater. Sometimes stress caused less experienced wielders to forget basics like breathing, but even when she'd started, Rukia never had difficulty the basics. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath until he mentioned it.
The reason she stopped breathing was because he was so close.
His chest bumped her back and her heart skipped a beat, his reiatsu so close it virtually overlapped her own. He was standing so close that she could feel the warmth of his body radiating behind her, feel his very reiryoku brushing hers. The sheer proximity of this distant, indecipherable man standing so close sent a shiver down her spine.
"Breathe," he murmured again, right beside the shell of her ear.
The way he said it made it harder to breathe.
"Let me see," he said, his dulcet tone reverberating so close she could hear his lips touch as he spoke. His hand snaked down and before she could react, Nii-sama's hand was on hers.
Rukia's breath hitched. She flinched, shocked by the feel of his hand on her own. The touch of his powerful reiatsu combined with his forbidding persona felt nothing short of electric. His fingers wrapped around hers, and Rukia could think of nothing but the strange new sensation of Nii-sama's warm skin ghosting over hers.
Warm. She expected cold, careless, passing without thought. But it was warm, and Rukia found she was paying more attention to the feel of his hands than what he was showing her with those hands.
"You are too tense," he said somewhere above her, his long fingers coaxing hers to loosen. "Support the sword, don't grip it."
She wasn't really listening. She let him mold her however he pleased, unaware of anything but the strange heat of his hands.
Somehow, that touch alone felt more intimate than yesterday's embrace.
Eventually he pulled away and Rukia suddenly felt cold. He left like a breeze, and Rukia stared as he lifted his blade like nothing happened.
"Are you going to move?" he asked.
Rukia nodded dumbly.
She ran at him. Her reiryoku brushed his, and despite the sharp protest her muscles gave off, she was left with only a tingling sensation deep in her stomach that had nothing to do with the cold air around them. Amazing how one thing he did could throw off her focus completely. She hadn't loosened up in the slightest—in fact his outlandish behavior was making her tenser—and when she lashed out, she missed. He knocked her blade away, and this time she really did lose her grip.
Sode no Shirayuki went skidding through the dirt, spinning haphazardly until she clattered against a rock. Rukia stood rooted, staring at the fallen blade as if it had willingly jumped out of her hands. Nii-sama's gaze followed Sode no Shirayuki until she came to a rest. Then he looked at Rukia, a clear question on his face.
"What?" she barked. "I meant to do that."
It was a lie and a terrible one, but it was better than admitting a truth she couldn't admit to herself. The truth that he was affecting her this much, unsettling her like this…turning her brainless and butterfingered by one meaningless touch. Ignoring the burn of his eyes on her back, Rukia loped over and picked up the blade. Immediately she felt Sode no Shirayuki's icy ire at being so blatantly mishandled.
What do you think you are doing?
Practicing.
You threw me in the dirt!
Rukia ignored her protests, raising the blade up once more. Only, Nii-sama wasn't there.
"Rukia…you must relax."
She stiffened.
He was beside her again. This time when he reached for her, Rukia tightened her hands.
On purpose.
He must not have noticed, because once more he tried to coax her fingers to no avail. "Loosen up, Rukia," he murmured, his voice firm but his hands so terribly gentle. "You will err if you do not loosen up."
Rukia nodded, too traumatized by her reaction to pay much heed to his warning. But despite every sensation this confounding situation produced, there was only one question running though her mind.
Why?
Okay, yes, she knew perfectly well why. To adjust her grip. To show her the error of her ways. There was no reason for Nii-sama to hold her hand except to adjust her grip and maybe slap her on the wrist for her inappropriate behavior. She shouldn't have lost her blade, nor intentionally tensed up again. But it didn't explain why they were still standing hand in hand, or why it was Nii-sama who was holding her hand.
She stared at where they met, her gaze roaming from the fingerless tekkou to what little showed of his forearm. Her gaze traveled up until she met his unreadable grey gaze.
Nii-sama stared back.
He dropped her hand and moved away, his scarf fluttering with the sudden movement. She dropped her gaze to the frosty, matted grass, only looking up at the sound of Nii-sama sheathing Senbonzakura.
"That should be enough for today," he said.
Rukia nodded.
He started to walk away.
"Renji invited me for dinner."
He paused, glancing at the outer wall in distaste.
"I see."
She thought he would leave, but he turned full to face her, something like annoyance on his face.
"Oh?" he said. "Where will the two of you be dining?"
"Oh—it won't just be us," Rukia said. "Kotetsu Kiyone, Matsumoto, Hisagi, Kira…we'll be at the new karaoke bar in the entertainment district." She paused. "Do you want to come?"
"No." He didn't even consider it.
"Okay," she said, vaguely disappointed. "If you change your mind…we'll be at the Soul Blues…"
Nii-sama nodded and started toward the house, but when Rukia didn't follow, he stopped and looked back.
She smiled. It was an affected smile, cautious—not the sparkling gaze of adoration she'd given him yesterday.
"Thank you, Nii-sama. Really…I appreciate it."
She trotted off in the opposite direction.
Rukia told him 'dinner'. What she meant to say was 'getting wasted'.
Scratch whatever she'd said about Soul Society nightlife being boring. It was exactly like the real world or maybe worse, since gods of death didn't suffer the same effects as their human counterparts and could go to greater lengths of bingeing. Ichigo was underage and didn't go round to these sorts of establishments yet, but Rukia had been around long enough to know that things got wild whenever alcohol involved. She should've expected the same here.
Still, she thought the respected shinigami of Soul Society would be more respectable. Lieutenant Sasakibe was plainly hammered, making embarrassing remarks to half the female population. Captain Kyouraku was doing his usual. Kira and Hisagi were gathered around the karaoke pit, and Iba and Madarame were on top of the pool table dueling with the pool cues.
So this is how the pillars of the Gotei 13 behave on their nights off, Rukia mused. It would've been nice if Izuru knew how to sing, but Rukia found she wasn't averse to enjoying the death god's version of pub crawling. An activity which Nii-sama apparently had little interest in.
She knew he'd decline, but she wanted to at least extend the invite. He probably thought she was an idiot, because only silly imoutos invited their noble brothers to go to some common bar for a drink.
Now she felt sillier for glancing at the doorway every few minutes with some distant, vague hope that maybe he would come. Yet at the same time, she hoped he didn't. What would she even say? Fancy meeting you here, Nii-sama! Care to join us for drinks and karaoke?
In all honesty, he'd probably solve the awkward problem himself. He'd just bring some paperwork and get a head start on tomorrow's reports.
"You made it!" Renji exclaimed, clapping her shoulder with one hand while a half empty bottle tipped dangerously in the other. "About time, Shorty Pants!"
Rukia smirked. "Nice to see you too, Mr. Funny Tattooed Eyebrows."
Veins cracked. "I hate it when you call me that."
"You love it when I call you that." She took a seat and turned to the bartender, a young man with tightly cropped brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses who looked vaguely familiar. "Hello!" she said. "Umeshu with green tea please."
"Of course, Kuchiki-sama."
Her brow twitched, but she said nothing. Renji leaned heavily on the counter beside her, and despite the bottle tipping in his hand he ordered another. "Imo-jouchu for me, thanks."
They were served their drinks, and Rukia took a sip—a delicious, slightly fruity concoction of plum wine and tea. No sooner had the liquid touched her tongue than the boisterous blonde she'd been expecting came tumbling in with two other girls in tow.
"Fancy meeting you here, Rukia!" Kiyone exclaimed. "Care to join us for drinks and karaoke?"
Rukia smiled. "I'm not sure about karaoke, as Kira and Hisagi seem to have staked a claim, but I'd love to on the drinks."
"Great! I'm surprised you're here, though. I thought you'd be busy with another dinner."
"The dinners are over." Rukia rolled her eyes. "Thankfully."
"Good. I was beginning to think you abandoned us."
"Kiyone, there were two dinners."
"That's two too many."
Renji propped his elbows up on the counter. "Like you should be talking," he told Kiyone. "Every time Ichigo and I stop by to drag Rukia along with us, you have your stupid muffin dates."
"We had one!" Kiyone barked.
"That's one too many," Renji drawled.
"Well I'm here now, and there's no dinner or muffins or anything but booze, so let's not fight over me," Rukia said.
Kiyone hiccuped. "Right. So! I stopped by the 12th Division today and I'm proud to say that I found the perfect solution for all our boy troubles."
Rukia smirked. "And what might that be?"
Kiyone ushered Renji away, twittering something about top secret missions. Once he was a good two feet away, she extricated a small metal object from her sleeve.
"The ultimate—hic!—weapon."
In her hand was a small silver box-shaped item with a black circle on the front, the perfect size to be carried unnoticed in the sleeve of a shihakusho. Rukia stared at it for a moment before she could manage words.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Kiyone repeated incredulously. "Oh? You do realize this is the answer to all our fangirl dreams? The method by which we shall obtain our photos and you shall obtain your Chappy?"
"All your fangirl dreams," Rukia corrected. "And I told you, I am not aiding you in your mission. I only want Chappy, and I am only doing what is required for Chappy. My part revolves around one single…target."
"Bah, suit yourself," Kiyone muttered, too drunk to find the energy to argue. "At least you've come to see the sights!"
Rukia smiled. "I'm not here to scope out boys either."
"That's too bad," Ise Nanao said ominously from behind.
Rukia turned to find the entire SWA in various stages of targeting, capturing, photographing, or attempting to photograph their targets. Either this outing had been organized by the SWA or they were doing a damn good job of pulling off their mission in broad nightlight as they raided the drunken pub to get the material they needed. Matsumoto was their greatest asset, charming men into removing all but their loincloths. Unfortunately for them, she usually accomplished the last bit herself.
Evidently this was one of those nights, because Kiyone hiccuped loudly before addressing the entire establishment.
"Gentlemen, it is time for a pants-off dance-off."
It was a good thing Nii-sama didn't come.
The bar burst into an uproar. "We say you ladies should have a pants-off dance-off!" Iba shouted, while guys from the Men's Association wrestled for the cameras in hopes of turning the photographic weapons on their accosters.
"Now be good, boys!" Matsumoto chirped, face flushed as she juggled sake and a Chappy-shaped camera. She held up the camera and smiled her most dazzling smile, making half the bar swoon. "This is for the Shinigami Women's Association. Men and your loincloths, beware!"
Ise nearly had a stroke. "How many times do I have to say this? No nudes! I don't want to have to censor the art we put up! And—wait—stop it Matsumoto—we're in public!"
Matsumoto paid her no mind as she reached for waistbands of a very drunk Kira and Hisagi.
Rukia ignored the fleeting sense of déjà vu and what was quickly turning into a rival association bar brawl. She slid off her stool, spotting the giant sushi conveyor belt. She settled down at the counter, waiting to snag the next round of kappamaki.
Out of nowhere, Ise sat down beside her. "Hello, Kuchiki-san. I am glad you decided to help us after all." It seemed she'd given up trying to stop Matsumoto because she ordered an espresso stout while Matsumoto continued snapping pictures behind them.
"This is a difficult mission, but I am pleased that you decided to accept," Ise continued. "I understand it is a great sacrifice on your part, so on the behalf of fans everywhere, thank you and good luck. Your sacrifice will not be in vain."
Was Rukia going to die on this mission to photograph Nii-sama? She didn't need to act so serious…
"We look forward to seeing the photos of our beloved Kuchiki-taichou."
Was that a menacing little fangirl glint behind Ise's glasses?
Rukia shuddered as Ise sidled off to the next table. The SWA could be so scary. No wonder men were always running away.
Worse, though, was the reminder. Nii-sama, for Chappy. Nii-sama, for the fangirls. His handsome face popped into her head, and his pale, pretty lips quirked down in disapproval.
Rukia…I cannot believe you would betray your poor Nii-sama to these fangirl demons and step on my virtue with this shameless behavior. FML.
Okay, so Nii-sama wouldn't actually say that, but the fear of him finding out was too great to ignore. Her only viable comeback was: You owe me. But Rukia didn't want to think about that either lest she be reminded, so she ignored the thought in favor of watching sushi roll by.
She nursed her drink and without thinking she glanced at her hands. She remembered the feel of his hand on hers, strong and too warm as he adjusted her own. Distraught, Rukia glanced away just in time to watch the kappamaki drift out of reach.
Damn it.
Having nothing to do but wait for its return, or look like an idiot chasing the sushi around the rotating bar, she dropped her gaze to her hands again.
It was easier when he acted like she wasn't there. Even if she desired his acknowledgement more than anything in the world, it was better when he didn't acknowledge her at all. At least then everything was defined and their relationship made sense and she wasn't forced to question his motives or doubt her own beliefs.
As much as she could explain away practice sessions or desert cloaks or even blushing when explaining that cloak to Ichigo…she couldn't explain this. After hearing about the training order she'd felt some peace of mind, knowing nothing had shifted in the delicate balance of their relationship. Then, as soon as she'd found solace in that fact, Nii-sama went and did something else to confuse her.
"This place must be infinitely boring if you're more interested in your nails than the karaoke set."
Rukia looked up. Matsumoto was above her, staring down at her idly as she nursed her drink. Apparently she'd finished her business with Hisagi and Kira and was looking for more victims. Luckily Rukia wasn't in that category.
"Matsumoto-fukutaichou…"
Matsumoto shook her head, smiling. "Formalities in a bar? Cute, but don't be so formal."
"Ah…my apologies, Matsumoto-san."
"Like I said, don't be so formal."
Matsumoto plopped brazenly onto the barstool beside Rukia, ordering a glass of shochu and water despite the bottle in her hand. She took a swig of that bottle before turning a slightly glazed gaze onto Rukia. "So, what's eating you?"
"Nothing."
Either she was being painfully obvious or Matsumoto was more intuitive than she looked, because she eyed Rukia before casually picking at the label on her bottle.
"You looked really interested in your hands a moment ago," Matsumoto said leadingly, "despite the fact that we're in the loudest karaoke bar in town. Are you sure it's nothing?"
Rukia sighed. She couldn't explain that she'd been wondering why her face felt warm instead of her hands when Nii-sama had held them earlier. She tucked her hands under the counter, afraid they would somehow give her away. "I was just thinking about things," she muttered.
Matsumoto tilted her head. "Let me see your hands."
Rukia's heart lurched. But there was no way Matsumoto could know her thoughts short of being a psychic, and to refuse her that simple request would only look suspicious. Hesitantly, Rukia slid out her hands and held them up for examination. Matsumoto turned them over, observing her palms.
"A long life line, good health," Matsumoto said, tutting her approval. "You're going to have six kids and a good husband and a pet rabbit and a happy little family—well, maybe not little, haha—but all in all it looks good. You're cautious in your relationships so you like to take things slow…meaning you test the waters first, so to speak. You have a single marriage line and the crease is especially deep, so you'll have an intimate physical and spiritual union with whoever it is you'll end up marrying."
Rukia stared at her. "You know how to palm read?"
Matsumoto shook her head, smiling in a way that meant it wasn't a compliment. "Just one of those things you pick up when you have nothing else to do." She glanced down at Rukia's palm and tapped her chin anxiously. "Your love life looks tumultuous though. It's broken."
"What's broken?"
"Your heart line."
That made no sense. She wasn't sure how that meshed with what Matsumoto just said about having a great relationship, but then she didn't understand this pseudoscience at all, so she kept her mouth shut.
"A broken heart line means emotional trauma," Matsumoto explained. "You're probably going to feel hurt or lost along the way."
Rukia almost rolled her eyes. "Well, that sounds peachy."
"You're rational," Matsumoto continued, tracing higher with one elegant finger. "You follow your head at the expense of your feelings, but…" She smiled wistfully. "You don't always have to hold your head above your heart."
There was something about the way Matsumoto spoke that revealed something of her own heart, and though Rukia didn't know what it was, she didn't feel privy to this woman's innermost hurts. She looked away.
Then Matsumoto hooked Rukia's chin with a single finger and dragged her forward again, beaming that infectious smile. "Neh, don't look so worried! If you persevere, things will work out. Drinky drink?"
Her gaze flicked to the shochu Matsumoto was offering. "Thank you, but I'll pass."
Matsumoto shrugged, then tipped back and imbibed. With the amount of alcohol she consumed it was a wonder she wasn't on the floor, but she chugged on, proving her godlike tolerance and convincing Rukia that she could floor half the men in the bar before she was brought to one knee. Rukia made note to inform Kiyone that she'd won another bet, and after the long swig Matsumoto banged the bottle onto the sticky bar top with a heavy thud.
"In Rukongai, the future was all we had," Matsumoto said dully, picking at her perfect fingernails. "No past, no present, no life or even death. We only had what we held in our hands…which was nothing except the hope for a better future. And if you were lucky, a dried persimmon." She looked up and smiled. "I'm sure you thought the same."
They never discussed their common past, but tonight Rukia understood. They experienced the same filthy streets, the same torn rags, the same harsh existence surviving in the slums. Their only hope had been in the palms of their hands—the desperate, singular hope for a future.
It surprised her that it was in this smoky, noise-polluted bar where the biggest battle of the century raged behind them that she found the one person who understood. This woman who was gossip queen and slacker and 10th Division's resident alcoholic, who would undo buttons to grab Ichigo's attention and who probably knew a lot more than five places to kiss a guy. This woman understood what it was like to feel unanchored in the confusing welter of your own emotions…to be confused by an indecipherable man who could pick you up and save your life, then walk away forever without any explanation.
This woman knew exactly how Rukia felt.
She bowed her head, unable to put into words her sudden, overwhelming gratitude. "I just…thank you, Matsumoto-fukutaichou."
Matsumoto smiled. "Tch, don't mention it. And stop being so formal."
She gave Rukia a parting grin and wandered back to where the party was.
She'd never believed in any redeeming qualities in the art of chiromancy, the idea that one's fate was written in the palm of their hand. Six kids and a pet rabbit sounded like a load of baloney, and marriage? Rukia didn't even have a candidate. But it struck her that she'd just had the most oddly profound conversation she never realized Matsumoto was capable of, and despite Rukia's rationalizing mind…it couldn't hurt to look for a deeper meaning in something so mundane.
It saved one person from the despairs of Rukongai, at least.
Rukia stared fixedly at her hand, not even trying to make sense of whatever Matsumoto had seen. There wasn't anything in those tiny creases that might offer some advice. The only thing she could see was Nii-sama. Distant, indecipherable Nii-sama who never really looked at her, who shouldn't have acknowledged her, who by one simple touch turned her life upside down and right back up again.
Slowly, Rukia closed her hand.
Matsumoto was wrong. Rukia didn't have a love life. When she wanted a love life, she settled down with a copy of Rabu Rabu or one of those Shakespearean dramas Ichigo lent her. It kept her heart closed and mind occupied and prevented her from doing stupid things with stupid people who didn't deserve her stupid affections.
Sympathy, friendship, love…such feelings aren't necessary for shinigami.
Yet despite that rule of thumb, that law that shinigami were to abide by, she was reminded of a man who'd held up his own hand to tell her that protecting those feelings was, in fact, the true duty of a shinigami.
People fight for two different reasons. To protect one's life, and to protect one's pride. That's Ukitake-taichou's policy. But you know what, Kuchiki? I think, in the end, those two types of people are fighting for the same thing.
What was that?
It's heart.
Rukia hadn't been impressed, being quick to scoff at his beliefs and call them corny, to which the man answered with no small amount of fuming and kicking things and general insulted-male drama. Then he proceeded to explain himself: That the heart of a shinigami was not within the chest of a spirit, but rather in the hands of those souls who worked as one.
That had confused her even more.
Where do you think the heart lies? he'd asked.
Funny. She'd been told that gods of death didn't have need for a heart.
Kaien just laughed and mussed her hair like always.
You see, I think the 'heart' lies right here, he'd said, holding up his fist while Rukia glanced at her own two hands in confusion. Every time you and I communicate, the 'heart' is born. The 'heart' doesn't exist within one's body. Every time you think, every time you act…the 'heart' is born right there.
Rukia looked at her hand. Not the creases that lined her palm, but her hand as a whole. All she could think of was Nii-sama's hand gently trapping her own.
Hands…hearts…and somewhere, a broken line.
Rukia shifted abruptly, sitting on her hands. She resolved not to look at, think about, philosophize on, or foretell futures from hands any longer. She'd been distracted lately, first by Nii-sama's avoidance and then his unexplained proximity, and then by hands and hands and more hands and hearts, and hearts exposed where they shouldn't be…and hearts where they shouldn't be at all.
She didn't want to think about this. She wanted to drink her wine and get her Chappy and eat cucumber sushi and maybe drink some more to drown her muddled worries, then pass out somewhere where Nii-sama wouldn't be forced to drag her to bed, where he wouldn't be forced to look at her or acknowledge her or touch her like she meant something. She quelled the thought, and hungry, Rukia lifted her gaze to where sushi continued to pass.
Except now she watched the kappamaki roll by while she sat pinning her hands under her ass.
…Damn it.
If only Kaien were still alive, because right now she felt more lost than she had in half a century. All she knew was that if Nii-sama's sudden avoidance hadn't confused her enough, the way he touched her confused her even more, and Rukia was caught in a tangle of feelings she couldn't even begin to understand.
