Sorry if anything jumps in the storyline. I got really lazy towards the end, which is actually the middle of the chapter.
This chapter is unofficially called "The Emo-ization of Izuru Kira."
Standing before the mirror, Kira combed the long, blond strands of hair out from behind his ear and to the front of his face, where they loomed over the scar he still bore on his left eye. He thought the locks might fall out of place, but they stayed together neatly, somehow. They were longer than he thought they would be, reaching below his lips at the tip, but it was better that way. After standing there for a few minutes, he was still unsure of why he did it, only that it looked right and it made him feel a little bit more at ease.
"Your hair." The first person to notice was Renji, before the morning meeting but after his Captain had left. "Why did you do that?"
Kira didn't want to answer, but knew Renji would persist until he did. "Just . . . felt like a change, that's all."
"Change," Renji sighed, "well, try not to change too much."
Kira looked at his friend through his good eye. "What do you mean?"
"I hate to be the one to point this out," Renji started, "but I'm starting to see part of your Captain in you."
"Why does everything have to go back to him?!" Kira replied quickly. "Maybe it's got nothing to do with him. Maybe I can change on my own."
"Okay, okay," Renji said, taken aback. "Jeez, hope I'm not this uptight when I'm a Vice-Captain."
"'When'?" Kira asked, heart still pounding from his defensive answer but glad to talk about something else. "What do you mean 'when'? I thought you had no desire to become a Vice-Captain."
"Oh, yeah, well I'm up to 14th seat," Renji said in a poor attempt to be modest, "so maybe one of these days I'll get to the top."
"In Squad Eleven?" Kira said, "that's impressive, Abarai-kun. You've always been good at swordfighting, but you went up a lot in a short amount of time. If you really have the ambition . . ."
"Hey, think you could beat me at a swordfight?" Renji said suddenly.
"What?!" Kira hadn't touched his katana aside from training with his Captain since the unfortunate events the previous Tuesday and certainly wasn't ready for anything else. "You're joking, right?"
"No, I mean it, let's see if I can beat you, Mr. Vice-Captain," Renji smiled. Kira didn't.
"No, that's all right," Kira said hastily.
"C'mon, not afraid, are you?" Renji teased.
"Course not," Kira insisted, "it's just a little bit pointless. I . . . should get going," he added quickly before Renji could get another word in. "Goodbye, Abarai-kun."
He ducked quickly out of sight, fine with getting to the meeting early if he didn't have to talk about sword fighting anymore. So Renji didn't know about last week; that could be a good sign. It seemed no one had said anything about it. But the secrecy couldn't possibly last much longer. It would only be a matter of time until the Shinigami was out of sick ward, and then people would ask him what had happened.
He reached the empty meeting room and took his place, watching the doorway for the others to come. There was still a long day ahead of him.
Kira headed back to his room after the meeting to retrieve Wabisuke from the table. He was hesitant to pick it up again, still seeing its blood-stained blade as it fell to the ground each time he glanced at it. But nonetheless he reached for it, knowing that a guilty conscious was better than being unarmed when training with his Captain.
"Yer hair."
Kira wheeled around abruptly and held his hands out behind him to clutch the table as Gin stepped directly in front of him to touch his fair locks. He had been thanking his luck that none of the other Vice-Captains asked him directly about his hair, not even Shuuhei, as he wasn't keen on explaining himself to them, but of course, Gin would not be able to resist this new opportunity to bombard him with questions.
"It's a bit suspicious. What is it yer hidin'?" he inquired slyly, combing Kira's bangs aside so he could gaze into both eyes for any sign of fear. "Or hidin' from?"
"Nothing – no one," Kira murmured, looking back into his Captain's face uncomfortably but unblinkingly.
Gin studied his face for a while until he was satisfied that Kira was not lying and let the hair flop back into place.
"So?" Kira asked boldly. "Do you like it?"
"I do not," Gin answered promptly, and Kira's face fell. "But it's yer own hair, do what'cha want."
Kira thought it might be too much to ask why Gin didn't like it, nor was he sure he was prepared for an honest reply, only choosing to imagine a practical reason.
"Um . . . I want to ask you something, Taichou," he said, a sudden idea coming to him.
"Hmm?"
His head was hurting him and his stomach twisting, as it had all week, guilty with the knowledge of what he had done. He badly wanted to apologize. "Erm, do you know when the Shinigami is getting released from Squad Four?"
Gin seemed as though he was caught off-guard momentarily by the question, but replied steadily. "Nope."
"Oh." He supposed he would have to brave it and go find out himself
Training that afternoon was barely useful. Kira was distracted even more than he had been the entire week, thinking about how best to state his apology. "Sorry that I gored you through and through," didn't sound quite right, and neither did "sorry that they had to scoop your organs back in," and the morbidity of these phrases gave him pause to wonder whether Renji had a point about his Captain influencing him. At one instance, though, he thought he had something, but it was forced out of his mind, replaced with a piercing pain when Shinsou dug sharply and deeply into his shoulder.
"Pay attention," Gin scolded, withdrawing but indifferent to the fact that his assistant was bleeding fiercely.
Kira did all he could to keep from crying as Gin escorted him to Fourth Squad in exasperation.
"I be back fer ya later," Gin said, as soon as the doctor began dressing his wounds. Kira nodded slowly. At least now he was where he wanted to be.
It was at least an hour until the doctor was satisfied with his work and another hour until he was convinced that Kira was well enough to leave if he wanted to. He stood up, arm heavily bandaged, and walked out into the main hall, where he stepped gingerly up to a counter.
"Checking out, Kira Fukutaichou?" asked the young man behind the desk. In front of him were a vast pile of papers and several notebooks, and behind him were rows upon rows of files. Kira read a small label on the file he was holding:Kira, Izuru. He was unsure whether to laugh or to cry at the fact that it was fit to burst.
"Yes," he answered matter-of-factly. "But, first I wanted to visit . . . erm, a friend."
"What's the name?" asked the receptionist, almost bored.
"I'm . . . not sure," Kira muttered. The receptionist looked up suspiciously.
"Not to question your motives, Fukutaichou, but don't you usually know your friend's names?"
"It's not my friend," Kira said, lowering his voice, "I need to see one of my subordinates, a man, probably a seated officer. He was brought in on Tuesday. Anyone in here matching that description?"
The receptionist opened one of the notebooks before him and started looking through some of the pages.
"No, I'm afraid you're mistaken, Fukutaichou," he replied, running his finger over the lines on the page. "We haven't admitted anyone from Squad Three aside from yourself at anytime this month."
He continued to inspect the reports even after he had said this. Kira waited patiently, expecting him at any moment to pop his head up with apologies that he had, in fact, overlooked something. After all, what he was insisting was impossible. With wounds like that, a shinigami couldn't survive without medical care.
"Oh, here's something," the receptionist said, and Kira listened closely for the room number, working up his courage. "But I doubt it'll help you much. Last Tuesday night, Captain Ichimaru of Third Squad reported a body in the crossroads of Squads Five and Six. Identified as Ninth Seat of Third Squad Ryoko Kare, DOA. Final report submitted by Captain Retsu Unohana."
The last acronym took a few minutes to sink in, and even after he realized what it meant, he was unsure of what to think, what to feel, what to do. He turned and headed for the exit.
"Kira Fukutaichou?" the receptionist called. "Was that what you were looking for?"
Leaving the poor doctor perplexed, Kira burst out the doors of the building and ran straight out into the night, focused solely on his destination. As he reached Squad Three, reached the building, reached the entrance, he pushed open the sliding door to reveal his surprised Captain standing over the desk. Upon seeing Kira's pale complexion, Gin put down the papers he was holding and turned to face him.
"Why . . . why didn't you tell me?" Kira blurted, unsuccessful in keeping his voice even. Ever since he heard the news, he had been telling himself it was to protect me, but it was not enough comfort: he wanted – no –needed to hear it for himself.
Gin was quick to respond, not even pausing to gather what was going on. "Because."
"Because why?" Kira prodded on.
"I got my reasons."
"And what are those reasons?"
"Don'cha trust me?"
"Of course I do!" Kira cried. "You know I do! But for once . . . please, tell me, what's going on? What's in your head? Just once, let me hear it from you! Let me know I'm right."
Gin watched Kira's expression with interest, studied the desperation in his eyes, drew a breath, and answered. "Izuru, ya jus' don' have it in ya ta kill," he said slowly, and Kira felt his heart drop. That was the last answer he was expecting. "Yer still a child, easily shaken up. If ya knew . . . ya wouldn' be able ta cope."
Kira's lip trembled. He could not think of a response. Confirmation at last left him speechless, but his mind surged. So this is what Gin thought of him, a weak child who could not stand the idea that he had taken someone's life. But of course it was true. And that was what hurt most of all.
"I'm weak . . ." he managed to say, slumping down in the chair. "I'm still weak . . . after all this time, after all we've been through . . ."
Gin said nothing, watching as Kira ran both his hands through his hair almost madly.
"What should I do?" he asked, despondent. "Taichou, what can I do?"
Gin still stayed silent.
"Taichou?! Answer me!"
"Hush!" Gin said finally, harshly. "What d'ya want me ta say?" Kira had never seen a more serious look etched across the lines. "It's just the way ya are. Ya got sword skill fine, but ya lack the drive ta finish the damn job. There ain't no helpin' it. Unless ya turn yerself inta a diff'rent person--"
"Can I?" Kira asked suddenly. He remembered what Renji had said that morning. Though Renji had remarked it out of concern that Kira was changing too much, he felt, perhaps, a change was just what he needed.
"Hmm?" Gin said, acting as though he hadn't heard him, but his tone sounded almost encouraging.
"Can you . . . help me change?" he asked.
Gin paused a minute to take it in. "O' course," he answered, a smile breaking out again. "Ya sure, though?"
Kira wished he hadn't asked that. It was his own question as well as his Captain's. No, he was not sure, the desire to change already subsiding. Any other person should feel contented about the idea that they didn't have the ability to kill; but as a Shinigami, it was terrible. He didn't want to be like Squad 11, ruthless and savage, but if it was a traitor he was fighting against, he couldn't be allowed to show them mercy.
"Yes . . . I want . . . to be able . . . to take a life."
"Say it again," Gin pressed, and Kira was too anxious to notice his ominous tone.
"I . . . I need to be able to take a life."
"Again," Gin repeated enthusiastically, taking a brisk stride towards Kira.
"I need to be able to take a life."
"Good," Gin said, taking Kira's arm and pulling him to his feet. "Now we're gettin' somewhere."
"What do I have to do?" Kira asked hopelessly.
"We train more," Gin said simply. In a flash, he drew Shinsou and balanced the blade against Kira's throat. The latter looked up at the ceiling, knowing that Gin would not hurt him, but still felt his heart pick up speed and swallowed hard. He was having second thoughts already: they was already spending most of his day training, and if that hadn't had any effect, why would more? But as he gazed back at his Captain's familiar grin, he understood that the word 'train' did not even begin to describe what he really meant. It would be closer to torture.
"Oh, God," Kira whimpered quietly.
"God," Gin smirked, "has got nothin' ta do with it."
Charlotte's Cure for Writer's Block: Complain for a while about the fact you have writer's block.
I'm having syntax issues.