Hi, I'm back! I'm sorry that this is a day or two late, the main reason for this is that this chapter ended up quite long. As in a thousand words longer than usual :) So I hope you'll all forgive me for the slight delay? I've got to thank all of you anyway, this fic is getting close to 100 reviews. ONE HUNDRED. In four chapters! I love love love all of you, who reviewed, favourited, followed.
Special thanks to reviewers: chappi, Kaihaku no Iroke, Pieces of Red, adamxero, warrior-of-water, Read Love and Review, laughinspider, Irishmate, Phantom Claire, Eradona, brialees, MerryKitten, mypupps1, MugetsuIchigo, Tsuki no Yukihime, Guest, Kireina-Ame, Ru-tama, Hotaru Vie Jaegerjaquez, Debido, uzuki-chan, WarriorofAnime, ilovebks.
Oh, one last thing. I ran into a flamer who decided to make highly sexist and inappropriate comments about Rukia. Please, if you don't like it, it's okay with me, I'm not a perfect writer. BUT NO SEXISM IS ALLOWED HERE. Got that, hornet07?
AND Brilliant Art for "Plum Blossoms of a Past Winter" drawn by MugetsuIchigo (THANK YOU!)
heiqi-yihu deviantart com/art/No-Chappy-384731891?ga_submit_new=10%253A1373587700&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1
I don't own, I LOVE YOU ALL, hope you like the chapter!
Before the first rays of wintry sunlight dance and flicker over the tiles of the Kuchiki mansion, when the sky has not quite decided whether it wants to be day or night, light or dark, and settles on a deep, penetrating blue, servants are already scrambling back and forth on their specific duties.
The plum trees in the walled garden creak in the early morning air, yawning into lucidity as the plum blossoms that bloomed in the darkness of night stretch to catch the trickles of sunlight.
The servants are silent in their haste, bustling back and forth from kitchen to dining room, the sliding doors of which are drawn backwards so as to let the light, and the fragrant scent of the plum blossoms, waft over the pinewood floor. All must be in order, all must be perfect before the master wakes.
Breakfast in the Kuchiki household is a formidable affair.
Notwithstanding the fact that nobility take the first meal of the day in a far more reserved way than the children in Rukongai undoubtedly do, and definitely more proper than the rowdy mess halls of the Eleventh Division – where more food ends up thrown than eaten – breakfast for the Kuchiki is an aristocratic event indeed.
The servants are, by now, used to the silently awkward, empty breakfasts between Kuchiki Byakuya-sama and Rukia-sama. Such has it been every morning since the death of Hisana-sama.
The ones that set the table are used to placing two sets of chopsticks and bowls a certain distance apart – quite far. The ones that stand behind the table and serve are used to seeing little or no interaction between the supposed siblings. The ones that clear up afterwards, under orders of the kindly matron of the kitchens, always hang back for a while longer than is discreetly correct, for the servants know that Rukia-sama hardly ever eats more than a bite in the presence of her brother.
This is the way, the early morning routine, of the Kuchiki household.
But today is different.
Today, two guests are eating with the family.
This means chaos, as the servants struggle to adapt. Four sets. More serving girls. An extra pair of servants is dispatched to guide the guests to the dining hall.
Such as it is, the last servant brushes down the front of his pristine white robes and steps carefully to his place beside the sliding doors just as Kuchiki Byakuya sweeps elegantly into the dining hall, bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor, hair immaculate in kenseikan, face expressionless. A thick winter haori drapes over his shoulders to guard against the early morning cold.
All bow on his entry. He barely acknowledges this, lowering himself down in his customary place at the table.
A servant darts soundlessly forward and fills his teacup, curls of opalescent steam rising from the rim.
Barely thirty seconds later, the pit-pat of approaching feet announces the arrival of Rukia-sama, timed perfectly as she does each morning. The servants step back as she appears, shoulder-length hair slightly messy, already in her work clothes and without any extra coat to guard against the chill. Byakuya notices this, and makes to open his mouth, but then shuts it again before anyone sees.
Rukia pauses at the edge of the room, and kneels somewhat awkwardly, shuffling into the room on her knees. Such as is proper. Lesser members of the clan should not stand when their superior is sitting. She settles by her seat, eyeing the extra sets of cutlery nervously, then flicking her gaze to Byakuya's inscrutable face.
"O-Ohayo, Nii-sama." A mouse-squeak of a greeting.
Byakuya dips his head in reply, a movement small enough that most would miss. Rukia quickly looks back down again, fingers twisting together as she realises that he hasn't started eating yet. So she cannot start either.
The silence is deafening. Byakuya sips his tea placidly. Rukia tries to stop her stomach from rumbling.
Then the sound of rapidly arriving voices breaks almost rudely into the quiet.
"And be polite, for goodness' sake, bakamono!"
"I can't promise anything, midget."
"Ichigo – no, for the last time, I'm not cold!"
"You're still recovering, I am not letting my fukutaichou get pneumonia on my watch. It's winter here. Take it. It's an order."
"How about you, then? Won't you be cold?"
"I can handle it. Now take the thing."
There is an outraged huff as the two servants leading the pair enter the dining hall, expressions of suppressed amusement on their usually stoic faces. And behind them, bickering loudly, follow Kuchiki Rukia and Kurosaki Ichigo, both also dressed in their shihakushuo.
This Rukia, having apparently just lost the argument, blows a stray strand of her fringe off her face as she draws Ichigo's taichou haori closer around her shoulders. Her short stature combined with his haori gives a startling image of a girl wrapped in a soft white blanket. Ichigo, walking behind, tugs the haori further upwards so that the wind cannot fly into the gap between her neck and the cloth.
Byakuya raises his eyebrows.
The younger Rukia stares openly at this show of protective affection. Her older counterpart seems oblivious to this, not bothering with entering on her knees and striding across the room, plopping down into her cushion to Byakuya's right. Ichigo saunters after her, folding himself down next to her with a relaxed sigh.
"Yo, Byakuya," Ichigo half-yawns, nodding at younger Rukia as well. The servants look scandalized. Younger Rukia is aghast.
"Ohayo, Nii-sama!" Rukia says clearly in what all the servants deem a criminally happy tone. Or perhaps they are just unused to guests being so disrespectful.
"Hn." Byakuya dips his head again, albeit a bit lower. If Rukia is disappointed with his reaction, she does not show it, although her back straightens imperceptibly. Usually, her ni-sama would smile gently, and greet her back. But since that profoundly hurtful encounter in the corridor yesterday, she has already steeled herself mentally against any slight that her brother might show against her.
The younger Rukia remembers her manners, and says quietly, "Ohayo." Rukia gives her a reassuring smile in return, remembering how withdrawn she used to be at this time. The younger girl shifts, encouraged, warming up to a small smile back.
Byakuya is studying his tea intently, trying not to look at Rukia. This new Rukia is so inexpressibly Rukia, and yet the absence of timidity and the newfound gentle confidence reminds him of Hisana. And after that…display of emotion yesterday when he was ill prepared for the waves of painful nostalgia caused by the sudden appearance of this Rukia, Byakuya is determined to get through this breakfast without giving her a single glance. He must not look up.
THWACK.
Byakuya looks up.
Ichigo rubs his sore red knuckles, wincing ruefully and dropping the ladle of congee that he had reached for.
Rukia lowers her chopsticks – held in her hand like the handle of a sword – and admonishes, "Nii-sama hasn't started yet. You know better."
Byakuya is politely astonished. But he has no time to appreciate the censure of that impertinent young man, because Rukia fixes him a corresponding look.
That look is wonderfully crafted. It conveys respect, understanding, a touch of pity, but also I'm-hungry-here-so-start-eating-Nii-sama, and adds a please on the end.
Byakuya coughs, and takes a spoon of porridge.
"Finally," Ichigo sighs in relief, digging in heartily.
Rukia spares him an exasperated look, then also reaches for the ladle, serving a generous dollop into a bowl and handing it to her extremely surprised younger self. The younger Rukia spends a half-second staring blankly at her, before scrambling forward to take the porridge with both hands.
Their hands brush each other for the briefest moment, and she jerks her hands back reflexively, spilling scalding hot porridge onto her fingers. An unbidden gasp of pain escapes her lips even as she buries her hand in a tea towel, wiping off the hot liquid.
Ichigo stops eating, concerned. Byakuya, on the other hand, feels a hot rush of something resembling worry flash through the empty space that used to be his heart, as his ears echo with a long-dead whisper of his wife's frequent cries of pain due to her long illness. He leans forward despite himself, but then the girl looks up from her hand and her pale face is not Hisana. In an eyeblink, Byakuya clamps down on the emotion in his soul with terrifying intensity, dissolving his misplaced worry into anger at his own self, his own weakness.
The anger shows on his face.
"Gomen-Gomenesai!" the young Rukia manages, bowing her head close to the mat. Too late, Byakuya realises that she might have interpreted his anger to be directed at her, and allows his usual façade of indifference wash over his features. But the damage is done. She folds her hurt fingers under her small hand, head lowered.
"I'm sorry, it was my fault," Rukia breaks in crisply, giving Byakuya a fleeting, hard look of disappointment. "Are you alright?" She asks the cowed girl.
"Hai…Nee-sama?" The girl is unsure how to address Rukia.
Rukia accepts this new title with a comforting smile, although she inwardly winces at the honorific. Was she really like this five decades ago? It's like I'm a completely different person.
With a rustle of cloth, Byakuya rises gracefully from his place, winter haori brushing the floor about his ankles as he strides with effortless elegance out of the dining hall. He doesn't look back. The servants hurry to bow as his ebony hair disappears around the corner.
The tension in the air relaxes palpably into a breathless sort of relief.
"Always the awfully approachable guy," Ichigo comments offhandedly into the sudden silence, slurping his bowl clean. But his other hand reaches for Rukia's, offering comfort in the sudden stillness. He can tell by the tenseness in her shoulders that Byakuya's coldness affects her more than she is willing to show. So her strokes her delicate fingers while pointedly looking in another direction, wrapping her small hand in his larger one, to show that he is there for her without intruding too much. Her fingers clench in his, momentarily, in grateful response.
Sitting alone across the mat, the other Rukia pulls out her blistered hand from cover and studies it with a detached sort of hopelessness. Abruptly, she looks Rukia in the eye. Her words come in an unpremeditated rush of desperation. "Does it ever get better? Or will it be like this forever?" Her eyes are pleading.
Rukia looks at her for a moment. Then she gently takes her hand out from under Ichigo's, hiding her arm back within the voluminous folds of the white haori that drapes over her shoulders. "Ichigo," she suddenly declares, tone businesslike, "Go somewhere else for a while."
"What?" Ichigo asks in confusion, frowning.
"What I said. I'll see you later, alright?" She softens it with a smile.
Ichigo looks at her, then at the other Rukia, and a modicum of understanding dawns. "Alright," he says equally softly, rising smoothly and placing a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Take care of yourself." There is a double meaning in those words, and also a gentle warning not to reveal too much.
"Hm." Rukia nods, eyes following him until he disappears from sight.
She turns to her other self, who is looking at this exchange with a hidden flare of jealousy, and smiles. "Now," Rukia says, "why don't we go somewhere more private to talk?" She hooks an elbow around the arm of her counterpart and steps out into the winter chill, holding the haori closer around her.
Behind them, the servants wordlessly start clearing up the almost non-eaten breakfast, bar Ichigo's portion, keeping their opinions to themselves.
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Zangetsu stands, a silent sentinel over the sprawled form of Ichigo, the sword buried tip down in the grass next to his head. The ribbon on the hilt trails absently into the tufts of his orange hair, watching over the sleeping captain.
When dismissed by Rukia, Ichigo had collected Zangetsu then wandered into one of the Kuchiki complex's many gardens, searching for a sunny spot. He hadn't had much sleep over the past two nights, a consequence of resting in a hardwood chair and bending his neck protectively over a slumbering Rukia. So after he found a suitable sun-kissed spot of green grass, specifically measured to ensure that the patch would stay in the bright winter sunlight for at least the next two hours, he had promptly dropped onto the soft improvised bed like a puppet with its strings cut, and snored away.
An indeterminate amount of time passes. The encroaching shadows cast by the garden wall gently creep closer to him, almost touching the curled fingers of a hand cast out carelessly to the side.
Then, across the sunlit garden, another shadow appears, this one curious, careful. The shadow tiptoes forward, walking an inch above the grass so that no tremors will alert the young man to his presence. It stops just before the edge of shade touches him, and the man casting the shadow gives a very loud and undignified snort at Ichigo's awkward sleeping position.
Shiba Isshin successfully stifles the sound with the back of one hand, amused hoots of laughter escaping through his fingers.
Stretched out on the grass, Ichigo mumbles in incoherent dreamspeak, a line of drool dripping from a corner of his mouth. "No...Ruki-mmfh.." He rolls over, half of his face buried in his sleeve, a worried line creasing his forehead. The beginnings of a nightmare.
Isshin raises his eyebrows, filing this information in the section labeled potential blackmail material with a grin. The boy is so very interesting. The spar yesterday with his fukutaichou had revealed several key similarities between the boy's fighting style and Isshin's own. There is definitely something more about the boy, and the current captain of the Tenth Division is not the kind to sit around patiently for answers.
Slipping one hand into his shihakushuo, Isshin produces a long, fluffy feather. A fluffy feather, of course, is not normally something that one finds hidden on the person of any captain of the Gotei 13. But this is Isshin. And Isshin is not normal.
Sneaking around to the optimum angle so that the sun will not cast his shadow on Ichigo's face, Isshin reaches forward tantalisingly with the feather, aiming for the boy's nose –
Zangetsu's ribbon unfurls with a tight snap and wraps tightly around Isshin's wrist, stopping his motion.
"Ah," Isshin breathes, unperturbed, even though the silk is bound tight enough to be painful. He simply transfers the subject of his childish grin from the sleeping boy to his zanpakutuo, and says clearly in a singsong voice, "I'm not going to hurt him, I promise~" His tone is laughing, but his eyes are honest.
A pause, then the ribbon retracts slowly, leaving a bruised ring on Isshin's wrist, curling somewhat protectively into Ichigo's hair again. Isshin takes this as a signal to go for it. Tongue stuck between his teeth, he maneuvers the fluffy white barbs of the feather to the boy's nose, and starts tickling with superb skill and a certain degree of experience.
"Mmmh," Ichigo complains, flinging his arm in Isshin's direction – Isshin pulls back neatly – and rubbing his nose with the other. His eyelids flutter, before stilling. He gives another, louder snore.
Tickle. Tickletickletickletickle. A line appears between Ichigo's brows as he winces in unconscious annoyance. He shifts again.
Tickle. Tickletickle. Isshin is struggling not to laugh now.
Tickle. Tickle –
Isshin, unable to hold back, snorts loud enough to wake an elephant from a coma.
The sound, carved as if in stone on the tableaus and dreamscapes of Ichigo's mind as "the prelude to pain", "Dad's version of an alarm clock", and, more simply, "CRAP IS COMING", startles the young man to wakefulness instantaneously. Ichigo reacts much like he would if he woke to discover fifty hollows clustered outside his bedroom window.
Ichigo's amber-brown eyes fly open. He springs from his prone position into a remarkably executed double combo of jab to the face and flying 360-degree spin kick to the solar plexus. Isshin flies in a beautiful arc across the garden, blood spurting from his nose. The whole combination is pure reflex, and Ichigo is not truly awake even as his sandaled feet land soundlessly on the grass. "ITAI NANI GA, OYAJ-"
Ichigo jerks himself short as his memory catches up to his surroundings. Zangetsu's ribbon dances in the wind.
Isshin peels himself off the ground for the second time in three days. "Owieeee," he moans, holding the bridge of his nose, "not the nose again…Did I raise you to be this violent towards innocent, harmless beings?" The last bit is a hidden trap.
Ichigo does not miss the underlying assumption, and his heart contracts at its significance. Does he know? He finds Isshin still staring at him under the cover of his hand, and shoots back an irritable, and neutral, "You deserved it."
Wiping his nose petulantly with one hand, Isshin fingers the edge of his haori with a sulky whine. "You made me get blood on my haori!" He clambers to his feet and walks towards Ichigo.
Ichigo eyes him warily, trying to find a way to get out of the impending conversation. "What do you want?" he says cooly. He cannot allow Isshin to garner any more information – the situation is dangerous enough as it is.
A wide, supposedly innocent – not so – smile splits Isshin's face as he says with a sly lilt, "What I really want to know is why you called me – what was it? – Oyaji just now."
Ichigo hits himself internally. Feigning confusion, he scratches his head. "No I didn't."
"Yes you did~!"
"No."
"Yes~!"
"NO. Now go away and stop stalking people while they're sleeping. It's creepy."
"You're so mean!" A pout.
Ichigo rolls his eyes. "Goodbye." He strides forward and hefts Zangetsu onto his shoulder, the blade catching the sunlight as he tries to walk away naturally without seeming like he is running from the conversation.
"Pweeeease? I wanna know more about your mother!" Isshin shouts loudly after him.
Ichigo looks forward to the inviting shadow of the next corridor. Almost at the corner, almost at the corner…
A whisper of cloth behind him.
Ichigo spins, hands grabbing futilely at empty space, as Isshin makes off across the roofs with Zangetsu held aloft like some gigantic metal trophy, giggling in glee.
Rookie mistake, Ichigo berates himself, knowing that but for his lack of guard against his father this wouldn't have happened.
Without even pausing to curse his luck, Ichigo pivots on one foot and throws himself into breakneck shunpo after his father.
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Rukia walks briskly through the halls of the Kuchiki household, white haori dragging on the pristine wooden floors behind her like some regal cape, one hand pulling her younger self after her. Her feet lead her naturally to a hidden alcove tucked halfway between her room and the kitchens that overlooks a flower garden particularly favoured by her Nii-sama. Curtains of light cascade past the wooden beams cradling this small hideaway, warming the small space with bright luminance.
"Here we are," Rukia announces, "this will do." She folds herself without preamble into the alcove, settling into a comfortable curl. The other Rukia blinks, unsure what to do. The space is small. Rukia smiles encouragingly, and pats the seat next to her. The girl finally does sit, albeit hesitatingly.
"First things first," Rukia says, reaching for the other girl's hand and holding it firm when she inevitably pulls back. "This," she continues, "is healing kido – you've seen it before." A soft green glow appears, embracing their joined hands in suffused warmth. The burned skin begins to recede to shiny pink, and the younger girl sighs with relief as the pain starts to ebb away.
As she concentrates on maintaining the kido, Rukia debates how much to actually reveal to her younger self. Even vague information may ultimately turn out to be dangerous. Of course, she is pretty certain that Urahara would offer a partial solution whenever he manages to reconnect the portal – he undoubtedly would have some sort of contingency plan – but nevertheless, it would be good idea to watch what she said.
Rukia decides to start simple. "This is my favourite spot in my home, you know," she begins conversationally.
The other Rukia raises her eyes from her healing hand, and returns softly, "Nee-sama…you...see this place as a home?"
There we go. Rukia chooses her words carefully. "Well, not at first. I first picked this place as a hideaway. It was small – like me. I could hide, for a while, from, well…" She gestured at the world in general.
The younger Rukia accepts her now healed hand back with a grateful dip of her head. She bites her lip, unsure how to reply.
"But after a while," Rukia suddenly continues, a new gleam in her eyes, "it became more."
The other girl looks up, searching, hopeful.
"This place is the center of the Kuchiki complex. As things changed, it also became the center of my home."
"So it does get better." The younger girl's tone is tentative, hardly daring to hope.
"It does." Rukia tilts her face to the light, drawing Ichigo's haori closer to her, reveling in its pure softness. "This will become Nii-sama's favourite garden, you know." She used to watch him prune the flowers, hidden in her alcove.
The mention of their brother draws a new shadow over the young girl's face. She seems to withdraw again into herself. By and by, she says in a dead sort of way, "He's cold all the time. And emotionless." A spark of a new emotion leaps into her face as she clenches her hands. "I can't…I'm…angry."
Rukia's expression is soft. "I…we…learn to forgive. People help, along the way." She strokes Ichigo's haori absently.
"Like Kaien-dono." A true smile breaks out on her counterpart's face, an innocent smile of the only bright light in her life.
Rukia swallows past the painful lump in her throat, and hides the horrible knowledge that the light is soon to be crushed away in the back of her mind. On a night of rain mixed with blood. She shivers.
The other Rukia notices her change in mood, and her face falls as she, too, hugs her knees closer.
Rukia looks at her, and tries to shake off her foreboding. "Are you cold?" she asks. "Ichigo's haori is big enough to share, you know."
A shake of the head. But Rukia throws a corner of the haori over her anyway, and the two Rukias huddle together in the pale sunlight. "And don't call me '-sama'," she adds, "I dislike formality just as much as you do. And I'm not so narcissistic as to refer to myself with such an honorific."
This garners a small smile. "Thank you for doing this, Nee-san," the other Rukia suddenly says. "I know you won't tell me much – you can't – but it's…helped, a bit, knowing that there's a light at the end of the tunnel."
"There is. You will be happy." Rukia's tone is firm.
They sit in silence for a while. Rukia snuggles further into Ichigo's haori, noting how it smells like him. Warm. Comforting. Constant.
"I envy you, you know." The other Rukia breaks the quiet.
"How so?"
"You have people that love you."
Rukia tilts her head. "How do you know? You haven't met any of them."
The younger Rukia sighs, rolling her eyes in a reminder of her hidden side of sarcasm. "I've met Ichigo-taichou. That's enough."
Something in her tone makes Rukia narrow her eyes, a smile twisting the side of her mouth. "What do you mean?"
"I've seen the way he looks at you."
"What?! NO!" Rukia gasps in denial. "Ichigo doesn't –"
"Yes he does. When you were hurt, the first night you came here, I ran into him carrying you to your room." The other Rukia's tone is flat, but there is an undercurrent of humour. "His face – in simple terms, I've seen less devotion from couples decades married. He held you like you were the most precious thing in the two dimensions."
Rukia's eyes widen, as she fights the blush working its way up her cheeks. "I – I –" she struggles to answer.
"And you're blind to it. He dotes on you, you know. I heard you had a fight yesterday over his overprotectiveness. Have you ever wondered why he does that? I'm willing to bet it's not a lack of respect, it's an excess of worry." The other Rukia ploughs on relentlessly.
Rukia is silent as she ponders this new perspective. Her mind flies unbidden to the memory of Ichigo's eyes yesterday, just before she ran from him after ruining his haori. She had thought that the brown irises held anger. Was it something else? His eyes were burning with intensity, to be sure. But it wasn't with hate…
"Why are you telling me this?" Rukia asks abruptly, fixing the other girl with a glare. She had thought everything regarding Ichigo was at peace in her heart, but now a rolling tumult of emotions dances in her chest. Why did she ruin her peace? She is almost angry.
The younger Rukia smiles a sad smile. "Because you have the chance to be happy, and I am not. Why aren't you taking this chance?" she asks back.
Rukia opens her mouth to answer hotly, but no words come out, so she shuts it again with a hmpf and stares into the distance, reviewing Ichigo in her mind. She remembers the feeling of his hand on her shoulder. How in her company he bends his head protectively over hers, and smiles softly. Even when he scowls, how the anger never reaches his eyes. How indescribably annoying he is when she hurts herself in some minor way and he babbles incessantly about her safety, holding her small hands in his own.
Ichigo…
Something unknown in her heart flickers in return.
"See it now?" the other Rukia says, looking away to hide the sad envy in her eyes.
"I – I do. I think." Rukia tries. Maybe. She sighs deeply, fingering the burnt edge of the haori pensively. Come to think of it, he hadn't even gotten angry with her for shouting at him yesterday. And she can remember drifting off to sleep with his fingers stroking through her hair, a gentle smile on his face that he thinks she's too sleepy to see…
Rukia's blush deepens. "Thank you," she says slowly, "for telling me."
"Hmm." The other Rukia plays with her fingers, an echo of sadness on her face.
To Rukia, Ichigo seems in a whole different light, now. There is a lot to think about. The sunlight drifts, golden, from the rafters.
Then the peace is shattered by an enraged yell from right overhead, as the pounding of feet drum the tiles of the roof above. This is accompanied by a series of hooting giggles that are pitched to a disturbingly high frequency. Alarmed, both girls look up sharply.
Then the source of the insane laughing makes itself apparent as the edge of a captain's haori traces the edge of the eaves, and Isshin shunpo-s around the corner to the next roof.
"Is that Zangetsu?" Rukia asks disbelievingly.
The question answers itself, for with a furious yell, the sword-trophy's owner appears, haori-less, darting after the thief with an exasperated shake of fists and hair.
"ZANGETSU!" Ichigo roars, sprinting after Isshin as the giggling man decides to turn the courtyard into a circular racetrack, "BURN THE HAKUCHI!"
A beat later, Isshin laughs back, "Your zanpakutuo likes me! He'll burn Byakuya, but not I, haha~!" The white ribbon at the end of the sword smacks him upside the head. "Ow. Okay, he doesn't like me, but he still won't burn me!"
Ichigo growls, and blurs so fast that he is nearly invisible to the naked eye as Isshin and he play cat and mouse over the courtyard.
Isshin continues, "And you sword is named Zangetsu, eh? No wonder my Engetsu likes him, hee hee hee~"
"GIVE. HIM. BACK, KONNO –"
And with a rush of torqued air, both captains are in the distant skies, their shouts resounding back to the two stunned girls.
"They're always so mature, those two," Rukia says into the silence.
The other Rukia makes a noncommittal sound.
Something bright dawns on Rukia's face. "Hey," she says, "I can't show you Sode no Shirayuki's shikai, but I can show you something she can do. Come with me."
And she pulls her younger self up, tugging the startled girl behind her.
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The sunlight streams between the supporting pillars a long corridor, slicing the wooden floor into alternate shards of gold and shadow, the winter cold somehow at odds with the slowly drifting air, sharp and gentle simultaneously. The floating wind rustles past a bedraggled mop of orange hair, glancing off the long, thin edge of a zanpakutuo returned to its owner.
Ichigo traipses down the hallway, the familiar weight of Zangetsu on his back somehow heavier than before. The bands of shadow cast from each pillar run past his tired face, gleaming silhouetted across the length of his blade.
Stupid, moronic excuse for a father…
It is the unfortunate law of the world that Kurosaki Ichigo – youngest captain in the history of the Gotei, certified genius is terms of shinigami training, and a demon on the battlefield – can cut down a hundred hollows in Karakura town on a regular patrol in less than five minutes and not even be out of breath, but when he is faced with a giggling madman by the name of Shiba Isshin, comes out of most encounters feeling like, well, that he had just served as Rukia's punching bag for an extended training session.
Ichigo runs a hand through his hair, stifling a yawn. It had taken quite a while to catch up with Isshin and wrestle the blade from him without actually causing his father serious harm. Holding back was the main reason it had taken so long. Ichigo snorts quietly to himself. He should just have beat the crap out of him. Would have saved a lot of time.
And I wouldn't have had to leave Rukia alone for so long.
But the image of his father's suddenly serious half-smile lingers in Ichigo's mind. When Ichigo had finally succeeded in regaining Zangetsu, Isshin had looked at him with a weird expression of pride on his face and told him something.
"Well, I know for certain reasons you can't answer my questions. But I daresay I would be proud if you turned out like this."
Ichigo had narrowed his eyes and was about to fire back a rude reply when Isshin had flipped his face back into happy-go-lucky mode and zoomed off. But Ichigo wasn't fooled. His father had meant that. He had respected Ichigo's inability to tell him his true identity, and accepted it.
Ichigo sighs. Sometimes (very, very rarely), when his dad isn't trying to wreck the house, or wake up half the street with his crazed excitement, he can be a good father.
Rukia's reiatsu signature is right up ahead, in one of the gardens. A surprisingly large reiatsu signature, actually. She must be training.
Ichigo turns the corner, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Rukia, why are you train–"
He stops. The words die in his throat.
Ice. The entire garden is covered with a thin sheer layer of purest white ice, sunlight dazzlingly bright on the glorious, shining surface, reflecting the cerulean sky and the drifting clouds like a pathway, a mirror to the heavens, or the sky trapped in a world under your feet. The winter air is several degrees colder than elsewhere, frigid in its clear, sharp embrace, but not cruel. No, it is submissive.
The wind itself is submissive to the dancing, twirling vision that is Kuchiki Rukia, laughing on the ice. Her other, younger self is perched on a drift of snow at the edge of the garden. Rukia glides across the frost as if uplifted on some unknown concerto of the heavens, notes of a silent tune known to no one alighting on her flying hair, her smiling violet eyes, the very tip of the extended Sode no Shirayuki, and the music that is her laughing voice, cajoling the younger girl to join her on the disc of untainted white. A flurry of glacial frost trips glitteringly around her.
To Ichigo, at that moment, she is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.
It takes him a long, long moment to tear his eyes away from her and shut his slightly gaping mouth.
His haori lies abandoned in a heap on the wooden step. Ichigo walks silently to it, laying Zangetsu down carefully and dusting the haori off. He shrugs it on, and sits down on the step with a small sigh, propping his head on his hands. He is content to watch, for a while.
Rukia is gesturing towards her younger self, beckoning her to the ice. "Come on! It's not that difficult," she laughs. The other Rukia looks a bit nervous. "Right," Rukia announces, skidding over to her and driving Sode no Shirayuki upright in the ice, "take my hand." Rukia reaches for her hands with her own small ones, and pulls the girl into the center of the ring.
The other Rukia yelps as her sandaled feet slide on the smooth surface, but Rukia manages to catch her before they fall. But a few shaky steps later, the younger Rukia catches on to some hidden technique she shares with her older self, and begins to maneuver remarkably well on the ice, if not with the exact grace and poise that Rukia possesses.
"There you go!" Rukia exclaims in a satisfied tone. "Knew you could do it." The other Rukia smiles happily back.
Ichigo suddenly realises that both Rukias are whispering with their heads close to each other, and…giggling. While looking furtively in his direction. A spike of alarm builds in his chest. Over the years, he has tended to label the particular expression of suppressed glee that both girls show now as the preamble to torture, usually Chappy-related. And directed at his head.
"Um, Rukia?" he begins, slowly, warily getting to his feet.
The two Rukias break apart from their whispers, and Rukia flashes him a shark's grin. "Yes, Ichigo?" she says in too coy a voice, gliding over to Sode no Shirayuki.
The spike of alarm is positively throbbing now.
Ichigo tries to step onto the ice, and wobbles dangerously on his first step. He makes sure his feet are steady before he looks up.
His eyes widen.
Oh crap.
A wave of snow appears out of nowhere – from the general direction of Sode no Shirayuki – and swamps Ichigo in fluffy crystals, burying him completely in a muffled whump.
A moment later, Ichigo's snow-topped head pops out of the pile, a thunderous scowl on his face.
The two Rukias almost fall over each other in their laughter. The younger one wipes a tear from her eye, and the older is struggling to breathe. The younger Rukia gasps, "His FACE!"
"I KNOW!" Rukia wheezes, holding her ribs. "What I would give for a camera!"
"What's a camera?"
Ichigo makes a menacing sort of growl.
Both girls pause, and look at him.
Then a clump of snow falls off Ichigo's orange hair and into his right eye, giving his face a lopsided look.
The two girls erupt into gales of renewed mirth, their voices like wind chimes in the winter air. So completely distracted by their hilarity that they forget to watch the snowed-in Ichigo, they are surprised when they discover that he is not shouting at them.
Swiveling in his direction, they narrow their eyes in tandem as they realise that he has disappeared into the drift, only the tops of his shoulders visible as he scrabbles in the snow.
"What is he doing?" the other Rukia asks, a smile still on her face.
"Does that look like what I think it looks like?" Rukia asks back, eyes widening.
Yes, it does. The front of the pile looks like the beginnings of a snow fort, now.
Both girls back away.
Ichigo pops back out of the snow, frostdust in his hair and a wicked grin on his face. "Take this," he says shortly, and flings his hands forward.
A gigantic tsunami of snow rushes forward, propelled by Ichigo's reiatsu into a sloppy monstrosity, looming over the petite figures of the two Rukias.
"KYAAHHHHHH!"
Chaos ensues.
Five seconds into the fight, Ichigo yells, "No zanpakutuos!"
"No reiatsu!" Rukia yells back.
"DONE!" all shout in agreement.
Due to a seemingly endless amount of snow, the snowball fight splatters the roofs and the walls of the garden with a pure white imitation of modern minimalistic art. Shunpo was decidedly not barred, and soon the entire garden is carved into furrowed trenches, markers of a furious war of ice and snow.
This wears on, until Rukia is tired of Ichigo gaining the advantage due to his superior shunpo skills, and orders a mass glomp attack. She then lifts a massive snowball almost larger than herself, tottering under its weight, and drops it on Ichigo's head.
The two Rukias celebrate their victory.
Ichigo moans under the snow. "I hate you, midget."
The two Rukias celebrate their victory enthusiastically.
Then a distant sound of the double gates opening, and shutting. The three revelers abruptly find that the sky is darker than it was before.
"Brother's home," the younger Rukia says softly, brushing down her uniform with hands red from cold. "I've got to go. He can't see me all wet like this."
Rukia understands.
"Thank you, Nee-san," the younger Rukia says earnestly, smiling for real. And she disappears into the darkening hallways.
Rukia turns to Ichigo, who vaguely resembles an ostrich with his head buried in snow, not sand. She laughs, again, and crouches next to the pile. "Baka," she says gently, sticking her small, gloved hands into the pile and brushing the snow off his hair.
A hand shoots out from the within the drift and smushes a handful of snow into her startled face.
"OI!" she yells, scrubbing at her face with a sleeve. "That got into my mouth!"
Ichigo rolls onto his back, laughing breathlessly.
She deals him a kick without any real venom, and marches off to stand in the center of the iced garden. A sweeping gesture of Sode no Shirayuki later, the snow is cleared and the garden is a flat plane of frozen ice again.
Ichigo flips to his side, propping his head sideways to look at her.
Rukia holds out her hand.
Ichigo tilts his head.
"Will you dance with me, Ichigo?"
Now, does that count as a cliffie? A bit of a cliffie? Haha, I hope you all liked that. Yes, some dancing is in store! Hehehehe :) Oh, and I also hope you guys didn't mind the cheese. Cheese is good, in measured amounts :)
Please review, please! It makes me so happy, and a happy writer writes faster :D
Replies to guest reviews:
chappi: Thank you so much! I'm happy you liked it! Hope you liked this chapter :)
Pieces of Red: Thank you! Hehe, all the melodrama and cheese does the reader good :) Whew, good to hear that the Kaien bit was good. Hope you stay on for further chapters!
Guest: You now hold the record for the shortest review ever – four letters, no punctuation. You still deserve my thanks :)
BY THE WAY IF I MISSED YOU OUT WHEN REPLYING TO REVIEWS PLEASE TELL ME! :)