So, wow. Rumors of this fic's demise have been greatly exaggerated. I am thrilled to be back and writing again. I hope there are still people reading, but I can understand if there aren't, haha. My god! Two years! I can't promise an update schedule for the last three chapters, but it should never get this bad again. As the prolonged absence probably intimated, I've had kind of a rough time recently. I want to thank everyone who read, favorited, and reviewed my stories. Those moments were incredible bright patches in an otherwise gloomy time. I also want to thank a few specific people (Note: That doesn't make the rest of you any less awesome!) whose kind and encouraging comments on my work are a big part of why I am writing again. SandboxWriting, cricketchick1990, d'Anima, MatsuMama, Feilyn, Veronica111111, and Sponges Fan; thank you. So very much. At some point or another you've all said just what I needed to hear right when I needed to hear it most.

Disclaimer: Only Bleach I own is NaOCl

Chapter Five: The Secret of its Skeleton

"The memory throws up high and dry..."

For a moment Ichigo wondered if he was dreaming. It was stupid; he never dreamed about the park, but he also never thought he'd see a portal like that again in his life. He stared slack-jawed as Abarai Renji emerged from it. Great. Just when it looked like Ishida really wasn't coming back. Someone worse.

Renji caught sight of him and waved, a gesture Ichigo returned half-heartedly. Watching Renji walk toward him provided something to focus on besides the closing of paper doors. He saw that enough in his nightmares; he didn't need to start re-living those moments in his waking hours, too.

The whole thing was surreal enough to be a dream - a normal dream, not the torment Ichigo's had become. Aside from the shock of Renji being here, he was here and immune to the absurdity of the situation.

"Yo, Ichigo! Guess I'm lucky you're here so I didn't have to look for you, but you really couldn't pick a better place to brood? This is kinda creepy."

"You look like hell, by the way," he added as he unceremoniously dropped onto the bench next to Ichigo. When even that didn't generate a reply, he waved his hand in front of Ichigo's face. "Hey, c'mon. I know you can hear me. D'you think you're being funny or something?"

"Knock it off, I can hear you," Ichigo snapped, smacking Renji's hand away from his face. "I just... I never thought I'd see you again."

"Yeah... well, after this you probly won't." After fumbling about in his sleeve for a moment Renji plucked forth a small item with a brief look of triumph. "I'm mainly here because taichou wanted you to have this."

Ichigo looked at the thing skeptically, refusing to reach for it. He could make out part of its insignia, similar to that on Rukia's shinigami glove. Renji raised an impatient eyebrow, opened his hand so the item was resting on his palm, and thrust it forward again.

"Okay, what's the joke? I'd guess it was gonna explode, but Byakuya doesn't seem like the type to have someone else do his dirty work."

The blank look on Renji's face was replaced by sputtering irritation. His fist closed around the thing, then, reconsidering, he chucked it at Ichigo's chest. "Not Kuchiki-taichou, you dipshit! The hell do you think, that I could stay there after- The hell do you think of me that you'd even -"

"Hey!" Ichigo stopped himself from waving a hand at Renji. It was bad enough any passer by would think he was talking to himself; he was not about to up the ante with wild gesticulation. "I don't think about you. I don't think about any of it except her."

Mentioning Rukia broke the spell. Their eyes met briefly, then darted away. Shoulders slumped, they sat like children sharing a guilty secret. When Renji spoke again his voice was almost gentle.

"I'm in the 13th Division now, Rukia's division. I like to think she'd approve. Ukitake-taichou heads it. You met him, even if you didn't know who he was. He's the one who sent you home. He wanted you to have that." Renji pointed at the insignia, which had come to rest on Ichigo's leg. "It detects Hollows an' lets you out of your body, case you ever need to protect yourself. Or anyone else, I guess. There's uh... another thing, too. Not from Ukitake-taichou. But just lemme work up to that, okay?"

Ichigo nodded and shoved the badge into his pocket. He knew he should be grateful, but instead he was numb to the idea. In his mind the duties of a shinigami were entwined with Rukia. It was impossible to imagine one without the other. Thoughts of her rushed into the void of their silence and threatened to overwhelm him. Keeping Renji talking seemed the best remedy.

"So, what, you just commit treason and get to transfer to the 13th? That doesn't sound like Byakuya to me."

Renji shrugged. "It was mostly Ukitake-taichou takin' pity on me, arranging that. He wanted to save her, too, y'know." Renji stared down at his fidgeting hands, speaking more than himself than to Ichigo. "Last time I saw Kuchiki-taichou was in his office when I was telling him I was going to the 13th. He didn't say anything. Was like he was looking right through me. Not a word. Not even when I told him I forgave him for... for Rukia..."

"Wait, you forgave him!" Ichigo wasn't sure where the anger came from. The very concept of forgiveness felt foreign. He really hadn't thought of Byakuya once in all this time, only Rukia. Only that she was gone.

Renji looked up, surprised, then smiled. "'Course. It's what she woulda wanted. Rukia never held a grudge against anybody but herself."

Ichigo remembered the way Renji had spoken about Rukia, how he had described their childhood together. There had been an animated warmth in his voice, almost buried under the fear that he would lose her forever. It was strange and bittersweet to hear the warmth now without the fear.

"You think about that a lot, huh? What she'd want?"

Renji leaned back against the bench, gazing up to the sky. He folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He glanced sidelong at Ichigo, weighing whether or not to say anything more. "I have to, y'know? By the end, I think we were okay again. When she was being held at the Sixth she was giving me shit for making fuku-taichou and it felt like old times. But she never knew I was willing to fight for her. She died without ever knowing how much I-"

He stopped abruptly, pausing long enough that Ichigo wondered if he was going to continue. Regret and the words he hadn't spoken echoed between them.

Renji's next words were quick and emotionless, a way to brace himself against the baring of his heart. "So I try to live for her. Live how I think would make her proud or happy. That's all I can do."

Nothing he could say seemed adequate, so Ichigo nodded in acknowledgement. There was a stubborn set to Renji's mouth, matched by straight back and flinty eyes. It took a certain hardness to endure like he had. To grieve, but not to be consumed by grief. Ichigo envied him. Maybe even resented him.

"Renji."

"Yeah?"

"What happens to shinigami when they die?"

Renji shifted forward again and resumed fidgeting, tapping his knuckles together. Ichigo waited. "I really don't wanna talk about it."

"Tough shit. You came here to talk to me. You had to know I'd ask."

"I don't really know. I mean, I know what people think. But I don't know if I believe it."

"Well, then what do people think?" Ichigo refused to let it go. He had to know. There had to be a way to reconcile what had happened and what he believed was happening.

"They say..." Renji took a deep breath. "They say that when shinigami die they're reborn into the living world."

"That makes sense," Ichigo said, remembering Rukia talking about the Quincy and balance between worlds. Maybe she hadn't mentioned shinigami specifically, but it all fit together.

"Ichigo, no one knows. I mean it. It's all bullshit. You don't know until you die and then you're sure as hell not coming back and telling anyone. It's just a lot of people talking and thinking and none of it means a damn thing."

Ichigo was slow to put the pieces together. Understanding settled deep in the pit of his stomach. "What aren't you telling me?"

The shinigami avoided Ichigo's eyes. He shook his head and tried again. "No one knows for sure, so none of it-"

"You suck at lying. If you thought there was any chance at all she was here you'd be trying to find her."

Renji rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. He respected Ichigo too much to lie. He hated himself for sharing the burden of knowledge with him. "The Sokyokou. It's supposed to destroy the soul completely. Punishment beyond simple execution."

The Sokyokou... The first place I saw them, saw her butterflies. Ichigo perched on the brink of incredible revelation. He had walked along a precipice over despair, but perhaps there was something more. Answers, understanding. He plunged over the edge.

"Look, she can't be gone. Not like that. Because she's... I think she's trying to tell me something. I keep seeing them. The hell butterflies. Just like when she ... died. I mean, not... not as many, not all at once, but they're the same. I tried to catch the first one and it just - I don't try to catch them anymore. But I see them, and..." Ichigo trailed off as he realized the intense look on Renji's face was not understanding, but concern.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Renji said, very quietly.

"You, you have to. You were there! You must have seen them. There were thousands! Hundreds of thousands! They... they-"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Slowly, more impact on each word. "I was there. Nothing like that happened. It was fast. She... burned. And then she was gone. The Sokyokou sealed again. That's all. There were never any -"

"I know what I saw! It was real! You can't tell me it wasn't!"

"Ichigo..." Renji bit his lip and placed a hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Don't touch me!" Ichigo jerked his shoulder out from Renji's grip. He wanted to hate the shinigami for pitying him, but he knew that was unfair. Renji knew better than anyone what he was going through; it was not pity, but empathy. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to bear. "Leave me alone. Just go." Renji paused, conflicted between reaching for the boy again or complying with his demand.

"Leave!" Ichigo shouted, animosity provoked by the shinigami's hesitation. He had lashed out at Renji, but he knew the true cause of his anger. He despised himself for doubting, for questioning the reality he knew in his soul. For the sudden sharp memory of fingers closing over black wings, hands opening again, holding nothing. No no no. It was real. It has to be real.

Renji threw up his arms in surrender, rising from the bench. "Okay! Shit, fine, I'm going. Just take this first." He pulled something small and white from his sleeve and handed it to Ichigo. "It's the other reason I came here. I thought you should have it. You're an asshole, but I still think you should have it. It was... It was in her backpack when we took her back to Soul Society."

It was a piece of paper, folded many times. Ichigo brushed its surface with his thumb. He had no idea what it could be, but it had been Rukia's. His anger had been misdirected in the first place. Sustaining it was impossible now that he was holding something of hers, and that he owed his possession of it to Renji. Ichigo unfolded it slowly, opening one crease at a time. It was absurd to be afraid of a piece of paper, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't imagine Renji would bring him something inane like old homework. He closed his eyes before turning the final two halves into a whole.

Opening his eyes again was like an electric shock. The air was gone from his lungs and he was choking. He held his composure for a moment, then a tremor in his hands betrayed him.

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. It was too soon. I didn't mean to-"

"Thank you." Ichigo didn't look up from the paper. He still didn't look up as its contents were hidden again, obscured in layers as he carefully re-folded it along the same creases. He held it lightly between his thumb and forefinger and stood.

"Thank you," he repeated. Ichigo avoided Renji's eyes and turned away before the shinigami could say anything more. He walked in a daze. The only things he saw clearly were the little square of white in his hands, held alternately too tight for fear of dropping it then too loosely for fear of crumpling it, and the blur of autumn leaves across his peripheral vision. Sometimes the dizzying swirl of rust and gold would overflow his entire field of view, save that small patch of white.

Ichigo was almost surprised that he found his way home. He entered his bedroom through the window. It was becoming a habit. It was also becoming habit to assure himself in his mind that he did it only to avoid seeing to his family, not because it was what she had done.

After the whirl of autumn colors encroaching into his vision his room seemed stark and spare by comparison. The perspective of the room itself felt wrong, all the lines severe but warped. Ichigo grabbed at the back of his chair twice before his hand closed around the frame and pulled it out from his desk. Once he was sitting he set the paper down on top of his desk. Looking at it the second time wasn't any easier.

His eyes were burning and the image blurred, but no tears fell. It was a decent likeness for such a lousy picture. Ichigo would have recognized himself even without the spiky orange lines of hair. The head was lopsided, and the frown was certainly exaggerated, but for Rukia it was a goddamn masterpiece. There were faint smudges over most of the drawing, places where she had erased lines and started again countless times.

It must have taken her a long time to draw this. It was an idle thought, but it opened a floodgate of emotion. Ichigo felt like he was choking again, drowning in water that wasn't there. Rukia had spent a long time on that picture. She knew she would have to leave, and she had wanted to remember him. The depths closing over his head were not water, but self-loathing.

Ichigo would have described himself as a person who knew well the value of time. Losing his mother made every memory, every second spent with her, all the more precious. It was a hard lesson for a young boy. It was even harder watching Karin and Yuzu grow up and realizing they had almost no memory of their mother. Ichigo thought he had learned from that experience. He saw now that he was wrong.

He and Rukia had had so little time together. Just under two months between the moment their hands touched, her sword plunging into his heart, and the moment she turned away from him in the rain, giving herself over to judgment to save his life. Not more than five minutes together again on the bridge outside her cell. An instant at the execution grounds, long enough to hear her call his name, close enough to touch her, but he didn't. So little time together and Ichigo was ashamed he didn't have a better sense of it.

Less than two months to choose from, and he still had no idea when Rukia might have drawn that picture. When had she decided she needed an image of him, a tangible memento of their brief, shared life? How long had it taken her to capture his face to her satisfaction? How many surreptitious glances did she cast his way as she worked? Ichigo would never know. He had missed every one.

The memory throws up high and dry

A crowd of twisted things;

A twisted branch upon the beach

Eaten smooth, and polished

As if the world gave up

The secret of its skeleton,

Stiff and white.

- Thomas Stearns Eliot; "Rhapsody on a Windy Night"