And here you go, an update on the dot! This chapter was fun but tiring to write, but the fantastic review you guys gave me was more than enough to guilt-trip me into writing faster. On a separate note, I received my exam results, which (thanks to God) were very good indeed, and so I am going to Cambridge next year! :D So there – random fact about real life. I had something like thirty reviews last chapter, so I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL!
OH AND THANKS TO PEOPLE WHO TOLD ME ISSHIN WAS KAIEN'S UNCLE. I have fixed it :)
Special thanks to these reviewers: Phantom Claire, Tango Dancer, laughingspider, Kaihaku No Iroke, izuki-chan, The Blood Moon Rises, brialees, Irishmate, ArsinoetheXXVII, warrior-of-water, Read Love and Review, MugetsuIchigo, pinaygurl28, Tsuki no Yukihime, ilovebks, BosRonald, adamxero, tsukuneXmoka, Kireina-Ame, Orange3WhiteSkew, toradorataiga, Hotaru Vie Jaegerjaque, Ru-tama. IF I MISSED SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME TT_TT
I don't own Bleach. Hope you like the chapter!
There is a definite fire in her eyes now.
Gulping, Ichigo recognizes that fire. It is usually the ominous precursor to a pain-filled punishment.
Taichou and fukutaichou bow with smooth grace.
Ichigo sinks into a ready stance, but does not draw Zangetsu.
Rukia draws Sode no Shirayuki with a steely rasp, her fingers lightly playing on its razor-thin edge.
Ichigo clears his throat. "On my count." He is the senior in rank, and so it falls to him to initiate.
Both tense.
"Begin."
(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)
The sun hangs solitary at its pinnacled height, seeming to pause at the summit of its daily path across the skies, pillars of dusty, sun-drenched light warming the otherwise chilled winter air, sharpening light and shadow in the streets of Seireitei. In particular, the clouds seem to be inclined to part ways just enough for the whole of the Kuchiki training lawn to be bathed in liquid gold, stage lights, spotlights, for the brilliant demonstration of skill and power yet to be displayed by the taichou and fukutaichou facing each other across the grass.
Above, hidden behind the sloping edge of the tiled roofs, two figures watch in anticipation. Shiba Kaien is interested in how much his protégé has improved in the span of fifty-more years that separates them. Shiba Isshin, on the other hand, looks on with an expression not unlike a child at the movies with a gigantic tub of popcorn and equipped with very little maturity.
Ichigo's sharp command to begin is followed by a half-breath of utter stillness, a moment when everything hangs in flux, brown eyes locked on violet irises, searching, tensing, ready.
Then the moment of timelessness is past, and the world is thrown into a mess of rushing wind and pattering footsteps as Rukia throws herself forward in a dazzling display of near-perfect shunpo, teeth bared in determination and Sode no Shirayuki extended.
Ichigo blinks, caught off guard at Rukia's sudden aggressiveness. In their previous sparring matches, he had always attacked first. But not this time.
No time to think, baka.
The slim black tip of Sode no Shirayuki is bare inches from the Ichigo's temple when he flings himself backwards in a series of tight backflips, feet skidding through the grass in a curved half-moon as he arrests his retreat.
This is no normal spar, Ichigo has time to think before he is forced to shunpo awkwardly to the side as Rukia flips her sword into a reverse grip and descends silhouetted from the sun.
Muffled catcalling and whistles of appreciation emanate from the roofs.
Rukia's lips are pulled back in a murderous scowl, her hair flying back from her face, a deadly fire burning in her eyes as she flows seamlessly from attack to attack, small feet barely seeming to touch the ground as she darts after Ichigo like a cat on the hunt for a mouse.
Ichigo hasn't even drawn Zangetsu yet.
He hasn't had a chance.
"R-Rukia!" Ichigo calls placatingly as the sharp blade slices him thinly on the cheek – first blood – "Can we talk about this? Why are you so angry?"
He gets a vicious roundhouse kick in the gut, which he manages to half deflect, as a response.
"Why–" Swish-cut. "are–" Backhand stab. "you–" Another kick to the face. "doing–" Sweep kick. "this?"
Ichigo drops almost flat to the ground as Sode no Shirayuki blazes a lethal arc above his head. A tuck and roll later, he has shunpo-ed to the other side of the clearing in an attempt to earn some breathing space.
"Draw your sword, Ichigo." Rukia's voice is almost toneless, its softness contrasting with the – disappointed? – slant of her eyes.
Up above, the two men press closer to the tiles. "Stupid idiot," Kaien whispers, a touch of anger flitting across his face.
"How so?" Isshin queries past his delighted grin, scratching his beard with one hand and eyes never leaving the scene of the spar.
"This is a fight for honour. Rukia fights to prove herself to a captain that cares too much. And Ichigo does not deign to even draw his zanpakutuo? An insult upon insults." Kaien shakes his head slowly, in half a mind to beat some sense into Ichigo himself if Rukia should fail to educate him on such matters.
Looking down, the pair can see that Ichigo is still blind as ever to the real reason for Rukia's anger, but has drawn his sword with a hint of reluctance, levering into a ready position in front of him.
"Better," Rukia whispers.
An eyeblink later, their swords meet with a harsh grate of steel against steel, sparks flying as they struggle for purchase on the grass. But a heartbeat of this and they are apart again, glorious shunpo combining with ruthless, pure zanjutsu as taichou and fukutaichou duel on swordsmanship alone, not a hint of shikai release appearing.
In between the flashes of metal on metal, shihakushuo sleeves fluttering in the breeze and the pure white of Rukia's gloves on the hilt of her sword, Ichigo doesn't understand.
He doesn't understand why Rukia suddenly wanted this spar.
He doesn't understand why Rukia is so merciless in her attacks.
And he doesn't understand why Rukia looks so hurt and angry and disappointed all at once.
But what he does realise after another half minute of sparring is that if he puts enough pressure on her with a well-timed slash of Zangetsu, her concentration sharpens enough to wash that empty look from her heart-shaped face for a moment.
And that is enough to make Ichigo begin attacking in earnest, his feet blurring into high-powered shunpo and Zangetsu no longer blocking but springing forward in wide, dangerous arcs.
A small twitch of her mouth shows that Rukia has noticed the difference, as she too throws herself back into battle with increased ferocity.
On the roof, Kaien shifts with renewed attention, a gleam of pride in his eyes as he surveys Rukia's skill.
"So they're finally getting serious, eh?" Isshin drawls, picking his teeth with a blade of grass. "We've really got no right, nephew, in eavesdropping on a lover's clash. I'm never one for gossip."
Kaien snorts loudly, not even bothering with a sarcastic reply.
But it really is a masterpiece unfolding below on the grassy field, as the midday light flies and flickers around the two figures, their shadows skipping about their feet, dust motes like brilliant stars across their hair and clothing. The white silk of Ichigo's haori and Rukia's gloves are almost blindingly bright in the sun, whirling and flipping in endless elegance as they parry, return, thrust.
A short while later, both Isshin and Kaien's sharp, war-honed eyes have picked out enough details to make a good judgement on the fight below them.
Ichigo is dazzlingly fast, shunpo refined to such an expert degree that he seems to be in several places at once. His zanpakutuo, although large and unwieldy to stranger's eyes, is a deadly tool in his hands. It is at once shield and sword, its broad blade twisting and regripping in his deft fingers, and of course, due to its length, capable of frightening reach.
Ichigo himself seems to be holding back just a fraction, not that his lightning-fast attacks and adroit footwork is any indicator. But to shinigami versed in war, there is a distinct lack of intensity in Ichigo's gaze that identifies the fact that this is far below the true level of his skill on the battlefield.
But that is to be expected. He is taichou, after all.
Rukia is different. Physically, definitely weaker and smaller, Sode no Shirayuki's length and her diminutive stature making her reach laughable compared to Ichigo's. And although fast, she does not reach the godlike speed that Ichigo displays effortlessly.
But she is winning.
Because, while Ichigo lunges, leaps and pounces, Rukia flips, darts and twists. He fights well. But she dances better. Rukia's feet dance in a neverending pattern of back and forth to an unseen rhythm patterned in the heavens, the crisp winter air fluttering about her sandals, lifting her so she barely seems to brush solid ground. And so while Ichigo moves faster, Rukia moves less, Zangetsu coming within a fingerswidth of her skin and shihakushuo as she repeatedly ducks under his guard, sword a deadly lance.
And, leaning forward over the lip of the tiles, Kaien can pick up the unearthly fire that still burns within her violet irises, a telltale sign of her determination where Ichigo has none.
That in itself is a cause for her slowly pressing advantage.
"See that, Uncle?" Kaien murmurs, letting out a long, low whistle of respect and pride as she completes a particularly difficult maneuver, tilting her neck to avoid Zangetsu and landing another thin cut on the inside of Ichigo's wrist.
"Hmm."
So unexpected is this sudden spate of silence from the usually hyperactive Isshin that Kaien tears his eyes from the fight to look at his uncle.
Isshin's eyes are uncharacteristically dark and serious, as he follows every single one of Ichigo's movements, mouth parted in something akin to shock.
"What is it, Uncle?" Kaien asks quickly.
"The brat is interesting." A very short reply.
"How so?"
"Can't you see?" Isshin harrumphs impatiently. "Yoruichi's shunpo. Urahara's zanjutsu. But the brat's hakuda…"
The two rebels' names cause Kaien to flinch backwards. But at Isshin's pointed finger, he brings back his line of sight to Ichigo just as the young man performs a perfect twisting backflip and seamlessly merges it into a midair roundhouse.
Kaien's mouth also is in danger of falling open.
"That's –"
"Yes it is."
"That's your hakuda style, Uncle."
Isshin is quietly pensive, his head propped up on both his hands as he studies the young man with increased intensity. He does not answer immediately.
Isshin suddenly reverts back to grinning.
"What." Kaien asks.
"We are no longer the only spectators, my dear nephew. Better go back to hiding, or else someone will whip your hide~"
Kuchiki Byakuya stands silent and still under the shadowed eaves across the lawn, watching.
Kaien sinks lower, until his spiky head of hair and his eyes are all that are visible over the edge. Isshin, having the advantage of possessing the same rank as Byakuya, is not so worried, lounging back in the sun.
By and by, the battle below shifts. The grass, although a tough variety that has withstood generations of Kuchiki training sessions, is already ripped up in various places. The blur of metal and cloth shows no signs of slowing, and Rukia begins to show signs of changing gear.
With a single, controlled pulse of reiatsu, Rukia pushes Ichigo backwards, clear to the other side of the lawn. It is not meant to injure, merely to give herself some space, and Ichigo quickly finds purchase on the ground.
A second's pause.
Rukia holds out her sealed zanpakutuo, an expression of reverent calm on her face, eyes closed.
Kaien sits up, clutching Nejibana with suddenly tense fingers. "Here we go," he breathes excitedly.
Shifting her weight back, Rukia slowly turns her sword counter-clockwise. The world stills, the winter air seeming to sharpen and relax in paradoxical beauty; there is a gentle sigh as the wind caresses her raven hair, flowing down her blade.
Rukia's snaps her eyes open.
"Mae, Sode no Shirayuki."
The air breathes with her breath, and her zanpakutuo is transformed into a pure vision of white, ribbon streaming gracefully from its hilt, matching her gloves.
Isshin blinks. He quips, "That is one pretty blade–"
A seismic shift in the air as a blast of frigid wind rushes in all directions, slamming into the two men hiding on the roof mercilessly, driving all breath from their lungs.
Byakuya, on the sidelines, is also caught unawares, and grasps his haori tighter to himself as he shields his eyes.
Ichigo winces, upping his reiatsu in response. "Can we talk now, Rukia?" he tries in vain.
Rukia gives him a look that could have caused small children to weep and have a neurotic breakdown on the spot.
Ouch.
Ichigo tries not to flinch, and forces himself to concentrate, shifting his center of gravity lower to the ground. Shikai is a whole new playing field, he should be careful–
Rukia all but disappears into thin air in a blinding flash of white.
Oh crap.
Zangetsu barely manages to catch the roaring edge of the next attack, Ichigo struggling to parry as he, too, enters overdrive and pours his reiatsu into shunpo. His mind whirls into similar frantic thought, assessing his options. He could shove her away with reiatsu, or some low-level hado, but at this range and speed he could send her smashing into any of the walls surrounding the garden, risking serious injury.
Ichigo just can't bring himself to. If it was Renji he was sparring, sure. If it was Byakuya, doubly sure – with him he would have done it already. But to Rukia – no, the image of her slumped in a bloody heap by a wall – just…no.
And so he defends relentlessly, unable to force himself to fight back.
Above, Kaien's trained eyes flit back and forth. Across the lawn, curved, beautiful ridges of delicate ice trace the almost invisible path that Rukia had carved into the grass, explaining her sudden increase in speed. Every shunpo is now calculated, and accelerated, along the frictionless spikes of ice that trail her feet.
She is skating on ice, and he is stumbling on grass.
Ichigo's hands blur in an impossibly fast chain of blocks as he grits his teeth in effort. Rukia remains impassively calm.
Beside Kaien, Isshin twitches. Both men sense that if pushed further, Ichigo would either fall or respond with shikai. Either way, the battle has reached a dangerous climax.
The moment arrives.
Ichigo sweeps his back foot behind him as he flicks Zangetsu's tip forward, changing his grip to a two-handed hold. Isshin leans forward in anticipation.
Rukia flicks a finger at Ichigo's foot, and the smallest ridge of ice springs into existence behind his heel.
Ichigo trips. He falls backwards, trying to regain his balance.
Rukia smiles, a lethal grin.
"Some no mai, Tsukishiro!"
Kaien sucks in a breath. White moon.
An explosion of snow and ice, curled ribbons of glacial air somersaulting into the sky. For an instant, it is impossible to breathe. Isshin grins, Kaien looks on in wonder, Byakuya actually shows emotion.
The snow-frost evaporates, and Rukia steps elegantly towards her trapped quarry, the fingers on one hand gracefully twisted in the direction of the towering column of ice that encases Ichigo's right ankle. One glance from a bystander is suffice to tell that this hand is the only thing keeping the whole structure from collapsing and crushing her captain with it.
Ichigo looks like a rabbit stuck with its foot in a fence and a carrot on its head.
Rukia comes steadily closer. Ichigo chips away at his foot with a muffled sound of fear.
Rukia stops twenty feet from him. Their eyes meet. For a second Ichigo thinks he sees compassion, or mercy in those violet depths, but his silly little dream is quashed a moment later.
"Tsugi no mai," Rukia says, almost in a bored tone, dipping her sword into the ground. Kaien practically glows with excitement.
Ichigo looks like a rabbit stuck in a fence with a farmer armed with a shotgun coming its way.
"Haku–"
A shift in the reiatsu that lines the world, the dimension, the air itself. Ichigo taps his sword with a single finger, and a trail of blue fire – no, water – no, it is fire, shimmers down the blade in a ferocious wave, blasting into the ice and continuing onwards.
Isshin makes a choked noise. The attack was controlled with a finger – an indication of its careful restriction in power. But the overwhelming familiarity that the reiatsu emits…
"Getsuga. Tenshou," Isshin whispers.
But beside him, Kaien has scrambled to his feet as the blue arc of reiatsu cuts the tower of ice in two and slams into the surprised form of Kuchiki Rukia, taking her off her feet and throwing her across the lawn.
Byakuya starts forward despite himself. Kaien makes ready to leap down into the courtyard.
Ichigo beats them to it. "Rukia!" The choked exclamation is rife with terror, and remorse, and shame, and pained devotion. The young man is suddenly next to her, the true brilliancy of his shunpo revealed in that one step.
His hands shake as he desperately reaches towards her shoulder, whathaveIdone, Ishouldhavekeptherinherroom…
Rukia shoves him back off of her, eyes blazing, with inordinate strength for someone her size. Ichigo stumbles, landing hard on his backside.
"I AM SICK OF THIS, ICHIGO!" Rukia has finally found her tongue. All traces of supernatural calm are gone from her face. "I AM YOUR FUKUTAICHOU, NOT A WEAK HELPLESS GIRL WHO NEEDS TO BE SHELTERED, AND YOU LIED ABOUT TALKING WITH KAIEN-DONO, YOU-YOU-"
A string of insults painful enough to make Ichigo cringe internally explodes across the clearing, stopping Byakuya in his tracks. Kaien winces.
Ouch, Ichigo thinks, cowering under her immense anger.
But Rukia is not done. "I am your SHINIGAMI PARTNER, you idiot excuse for a CAPTAIN, and you treat me like a FRAGILE WAIF–"She strides towards him, leaving Sode no Shirayuki in the grass.
Her hands are in kido-ready position.
A firework-display of red flame and rising smoke. Ichigo sprawls, face in the dirt.
Hado 31, Shakkaho. No incantation.
"I have MASTERY of shikai, near-mastery of kido, MERE MONTHS FROM BANKAI–"
White-hot lightning, fired like a stream of hellfire from one small finger, hitting Ichigo square in the backside, eliciting a yowl of pain.
Hado 4, Byakurai. No incantation, either.
"– and do I deserve some RESPECT, BAKAMONO!" Rukia screams at him. But her voice breaks, and her violet gaze is swimming in wetness, now. She stops, taking a deep, calming breath. Her hands tremble, and she lowers them.
Ichigo rolls over, groaning, to his hands and knees. He lifts his head, just as the first betraying tear rolls down the curve of her cheek. This stuns him like a punch to the chest. He wets his lips with a tongue dry as sand.
"Rukia." Ichigo is contrite, apologetic, pleading. "Rukia." He doesn't know what else to say. But a sudden heat on his right side turns his attention away. He gasps.
His taichou haori is burning.
Ichigo shrugs it off and smothers it into the grass, spreading it out afterwards to reveal a ragged gash, still smoldering, all along the hemline.
A wound to his mark as taichou.
But that doesn't matter now. Ichigo lets the haori go, turning to face Rukia again. She has a hand over her mouth as she stares at the ruined cloth. He opens his mouth–
And Rukia takes the pained look in his eyes as anger, as her fukutaichou's badge gleams iridescent in the sun, perfect while his haori is blackened by her doing.
Her face closes, and she turns and runs.
"No, Rukia!" Ichigo calls after her in vain – but she is already gone.
Ichigo puts his head down to the grass, hands fisted in his hair. He berates himself in silence - quietly, coldly, fiercely.
The spectators retreat discreetly. Ichigo is left curled into a ball on the empty training grounds, hating himself.
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Rukia sits on the wooden edge of the covered verandah overlooking the plum trees, bare feet playing in the sparse, wintry grass. Her short hair veils the look in her eyes as her fingers grip the loose sides of her shihakshuo, left hand unconsciously looking to rest on the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki.
But her small fingers brush naught but cloth. She had left her sword, her training partner, on the sparring lawn. Along with Ichigo.
Rukia shuts her eyes with a sigh. Perhaps she deserves the solitude. Since the beginning, she could always read Ichigo like an open book. But not this time. Rukia can still remember his face as he looked up at her, the first time she found herself doubting what lay in his warm brown gaze.
She had run. She was frightened of what was, or could be, there in Ichigo's eyes. Was it anger? Hatred? If not that, then what?
A rustle of wind opens her eyes again. There are many more plum blossoms now, adorning the bare branches of the trees in the garden. One silvery pink petal drifts down and lands on her nose. She goes cross-eyed looking down at it.
A hand, well-callused under years of training, reaches into her field of vision and plucks the petal off her nose. She knows that hand. Rukia turns to scowl at Ichigo – she hasn't forgiven him yet –
And looks into the not chocolate brown, but sea-green eyes of Shiba Kaien.
"Yo, Kuchiki," he says mildly, a smile playing around his lips.
Her heart flutters, the world spins. The edges of her vision darken. But strong hands are on her shoulders, supporting her until she breathes again, and stares openly at this long-awaited ghost.
"I was going to honour my promise to Kurosaki, you know, about waiting until you seek me out, but then you looked like you needed to talk to someone, hmm?" Kaien says, folding his long limbs into a relaxed slouch next to her diminutive form.
Rukia continues staring, trying to impress his image, his eyes, his hair into her memory, breathing in the way he talks, and tries to make a sound. Kaien smiles and waits for her to master herself.
"H-Hi," she squeaks, eventually, an echo of their past introduction.
Kaien frowns in a mock-scolding sort of way – she cringes – but then he shrugs, reaching out and tapping a fingernail on her fukutaichou badge. "I can't pull rank on you anymore, Kuchiki." He tilts his head.
"K-Kaien-dono…" The name itself is rusty from disuse.
Clicking his tongue, Kaien admonishes, "Now, now Kuchiki, you were admirably eloquent just now when you were scolding your taichou, and now you stammer when talking to a fukutaichou?" He is gentle, cajoling.
"No, Kaien-dono."
"Better. Now try for some variance in vocabulary."
Rukia smiles despite herself.
He smiles back, and holds it as he asks his next question. "I gathered from Kurosaki that…something…happened between us in the future."
She clams up, arms trying to hug herself, eyes glazed over from a forbidden memory. She nods once, a jerk of her head.
Kaien sighs deeply. Better to get it over with, instead of leaving it hanging there. He begins to speak, but Rukia beats him to it.
"Where…is the other Rukia?" she asks, staring away from him and at the opposite wall.
"She's training on an all-day trip with Miyako." Kaien can tell that Rukia is trying to change the subject. He knows her well enough to read the signs.
Kaien sits up, and injects a bit of command into his tone. "Rukia. Look at me." She slowly, slowly swivels, trembling incessantly, until she meets his eyes. "Did something bad happen to me?" he asks, painfully direct.
Rukia's breath cuts off in a strangled choke. She twitches, and tries to look away.
Kaien stops her. "No, don't do that. I'll take that as a yes." He takes a deep breath before he decides to plunge off the final proverbial cliff. "I'm not stupid, Kuchiki. Did I…die?"
Rukia tears her gaze from him and buries her face into her knees, covering her ears.
It seems to Kaien like a wave of cold ice has tipped over his head. So he does die, then. And soon – Kurosaki had specified an old wound for Rukia. Does he leave Miyako? Is it a good death? Was he honourable to the end?
But he cannot ask any more, not with Rukia rocking back and forth in that tight little bundle that she has made herself into. Kaien does not know, nor does he understand, the rush of images that run through her head – that arrancar using his face, the rain mixing with blood on leaves.
Strong arms encircle Rukia, trying to comfort. Instead, she gets a terrifying flashback to the moment her sword buried into his robes, into his flesh, and the rain coming down and the blood over her hands and the smell of it, washing over her in waves of guilt and horror and misery and pain, and his voice telling her it was okay, and his voice getting weaker and softer and why were his hands falling and denial and myfaultmyfaultmyfault with every one of her heartbeats that thudded in the sudden stillness when his stopped…
Rukia shoves Kaien back much as she did to Ichigo, reeling.
And then the arms come back, holding her close so she can hear his heart, still beating. "It's not your fault, Kuchiki." The voice is gruff, awkward, but sure. "No matter what you think, it's not your fault."
Her tears are making his front wet. "But it was," she whispers.
Kaien hears. "No, it wasn't," he says emphatically. "You have a taichou that cares for you. You managed to get a seated position. Shinigami don't have that unless they serve the Gotei well. How many times today to I have to tell you that I'm not stupid? I can tell it wasn't your fault, no matter what happened."
Somehow, hearing that said from his lips is like a cathartic release. Many others – brother, friend, captain – had told her the same thing before. But hearing it from Kaien-dono is different.
And now she is shoved back into a sitting position, and Kaien smoothes down the front of his shihakushuo with an embarrassed look. Rukia looks mortified.
"I'm sorry," she gasps, bowing her head. Nobody can tell whether she is apologizing for the close contact or for the self-imposed guilt at his death.
"And that's the Kuchiki I'm used to seeing." Kaien smiles, "For a moment in that sparring match I thought that the girl I knew had became a concentrated version of her kickbutt-ness." This elicits a weak laugh from Rukia. "But here you are, as much like yourself as I expected. I'm happy to see you, Kuchiki."
Rukia can meet his eyes again, albeit waveringly. "I'm happy to see you too, Kaien-dono." The pain is not all gone, not close to it, but it has eased slightly. Kaien can do that. She had forgotten.
Kaien shifted closer to her, crossing his legs comfortably. "So," he begins teasingly, "Mastery of shikai, eh?"
Rukia blushes crimson. "Um," she tries, "well, I have been using shikai for half a century now, so…"
"Mai, is your command word, eh? So how many 'dances' does Sode-chan have?" Kaien brushes past her humility.
"Three," Rukia mumbles with just a hint of pride.
"And you beat your captain with just one of them." Kaien is teasing again, but in a nice way. He knows how to get her out of her shell. He was always like that.
"He was holding back. Severely. And I was angry." A shudder of guilt passes through her, and she very nearly retreats back into her mask again.
Kaien stretches. "Well," he yawns, "it sure looked like you whopped his backside good. He deserved that, if he didn't respect his subordinates. A captain like that does not deserve his title."
The sudden attack on Ichigo's honour brings Rukia sharply back to attention. Kaien gives her an innocent look – he was defending her actions, after all. But she is on the defensive, for her captain's sake. "Ichigo isn't like that. He does respect his subordinates."
"You said – very loudly, by the way – that he doesn't," Kaien points out.
Rukia opens her mouth – and then shuts it again. She glares then, the first full glare that she had managed since their meeting. "You're manipulating again," she accused, poking him in the shoulder.
Kaien smirks, looking smug. He is a bit too smug, though, expecting that this Rukia is as timid as the one he knows. He is wrong, obviously.
He gets a smarting punch in the gut.
He doesn't know whether it is the fact that it empties him of all breath or the look of contrite horror on Rukia's face that sets him off laughing. But laugh he does.
"I pity Kurosaki," he finally comments, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
Rukia stews silently where she is, picking at sparse bits of grass in her lap.
"He is a good captain," Kaien says finally. She looks up at this. "And I'm sure he will – and has – done a fine good job of taking my place." Rukia narrows her eyes. Kaien holds up his hands in surrender. "I mean, he's going to take good care of midgets named Kuchiki."
Rukia doesn't reply. Kaien lets it sink in on its own. They sit in a comfortable sort of silence, the half-century gap between them dissolving to almost – almost – nothing. The sun continues to move on its predetermined track in the heavens. They talk about lighter things, things that have nothing to do with his death or her life after. It is easier, that way. Pretending that it is a normal off day from shinigami duties, ignoring what is unsaid. The future, the past.
Rukia weaves the grass in her lap, trying to keep her thoughts straight as she tries to stay awake. The spar with Ichigo had taken more out of her than she showed openly, considering that she had lost a significant amount of blood barely twenty-four hours ago.
She had missed Kaien-dono.
He had a way of making her stop her habit of hiding within herself when she was unsure. And when she made a mistake, he either pointed it out straightforwardly to her face, or positioned her gently to figure it out herself – like he just did with Ichigo. It was such a relief to talk to him again, to see him laugh and laugh with him, to pretend for a little while that he is still alive and she would see him again the next day, and he wouldn't turn back into a ghost.
Rukia tries not to think about that.
But she can't not think about that, not when he speaks and she can hear his voice. So she grows quieter and quieter as the hours pass, the storm once again brewing in her heart, thundering and whirling. The tears are coming again, prickling in the back of her eyes so she can't make our Kaien-dono's face properly. And she can't sob into his shoulder – he's married, and it doesn't make sense to sob about someone next to that someone. And she is really, really tired. And she misses Sode no Shirayuki. And she misses…yeah.
Just as she thinks she can't take it any longer, different hands are scooping her up into strong arms, and she blearily wonders why the sky is getting dark. The arms hold her tight, and her face rubs against a haori that smells like grass and lightning, soft enough and warm enough to cry properly into. So she does, very quietly, hoping no one sees. The arms just hold her tighter, and someone strokes her hair.
"Worn out." Kaien half-smiles at Ichigo as he, too, rises.
"Aa. She shouldn't have sparred today. It was my fault." A vague sense of deep guilt and anger at self.
"Are you offended that I broke my promise?" Kaien asks.
"It's better to get it over with. She needed that, thank you." There is no accusation in Ichigo's voice.
Kaien accepts this. "Take care of her, will you?" he says, looking Ichigo straight in the eye.
Ichigo nods deeply. "Of course. I will." It is a pure statement of fact, ironclad, determined.
The two men bid farewell to each other on equal terms.
And then Rukia is being carried away, swaying sleepily in Ichigo's arms, sniffing once in a while against the white of his haori. Here is the person that she can sob into, the one she can rely on not to turn into a ghost.
The door to her room is suddenly there, and she mumbles something into his chest.
"Hmm?" Ichigo asks, bending his head over her.
"I'm – sniff – sorry."
Ichigo's laugh rumbles by her ear from above and through his chest. "No, I'm sorry, Rukia," he says softly. For many things.
Another mumble that sounds vaguely like an insult.
Ichigo laughs again.
He tucks her in carefully, and asks whether she would like him to stay. She nods faintly, and so he draws the chair next to her bed again.
The sky turns dusky, then inky twilight, then dark sable.
Ichigo is dozing, when a soft call wakes him.
"Ichigo."
"Yeah, midget?"
"Can't we save Kaien-dono? We could change things so easily."
He picks his words with care. "You know the answer to that."
"I know. But I want to."
A sigh. "Aizen was defeated by a thread. I met you by a thread."
A sniff.
"I know, Rukia. Go to sleep." The last bit is almost a command again, but somehow still tender.
"…Okay."
I am totally shattered right now. That was one difficult chapter to write. Angst comes from the soul, you know – the writer's! I hope you guys really liked it, and that the change in the way Kaien and Rukia interacted was believable considering that Rukia is so much more experienced and older now. And I hope it was COMPLETELY clear that Kaien and Rukia did NOT have a romantic relationship.
Please review! It really, really cheers me up and I need that after going through that writing process :)
Replies to guest reviews:
Guest: Thank you so much for reviewing! Please sign with a name so I can thank you properly next time :D
ej: Thanks, I fixed it. :)
Pieces of Red: Cool name, by the way. Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it so much and I hope you liked this chapter too!