A/N: Next chapter's a biggie~ And from then on, the plot goes and doesn't stop till the end of the arc.

I want to apologize if this chapter doesn't flow well. I'm going through some personal issues that involve romantic relationships not being on the forefront of my brain (read: guys are jerks). Although given the subject matter, that might actually help this chapter lol.

Fun fact, Azami's name (薊), means thistle.

artfrogy, nah, I wouldn't worry about Masa and Kohaku~

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. At all.

Chapter 31: Lessons in propriety

The dinner had been almost pleasant.

Certainly, he thought, as he walked Azami through the streets back to the Nishimori family's manor, there hadn't been anything outwardly wrong with it. They had eaten at one of Seireitei's highest class of restaurants, in a private room. The conversation had been pleasant, a little stilted at first, but eventually becoming something that was at least civil if not entirely warm. Azami made no more cutting retorts or observations on his apparent disinterest, and had actually asked after his sister and when she would be able to meet her. Given the history between Azami and Hisana, he had not expected that to happen anytime soon.

For his part, he had made an effort to be more attentive, and had asked her about family members that he remembered from past meetings and the state of her clan this past seventy years. Azami had not held back the truth that she had fallen in her family's ranks since his marriage to Hisana, but she hadn't said it with the same bitterness that she had earlier. She had, however, expressed interest in his work in the Gotei 13, and seemed oddly interested in the day-to-day affairs of running a Division. It was often easy to forget, as involved as he was with the Gotei 13 and the Sixth, that the majority of Seireitei's noblemen never took up the mantle of a shinigami, even though most of them had the power to do so. Noblewomen least of all. While the Kuchiki and Shihouin Clans were both tied to specific functions in Soul Society's military, and the Ankoujin and now defunct Shiba Clans both produced capable and noteworthy shinigami, most of the nobility preferred not to dirty their hands.

Perhaps it would have seemed fascinating to someone with Azami's background that every Kuchiki heir was expected to enter the Shino Academy, to hopefully achieve bankai and take over as captain of the Sixth, or that he had allowed his sister to continue her shinigami duties despite her elevated status as a noblewoman of the Kuchiki Clan. Whatever the case, he had answered all of her questions about shinigami life, without emphasizing too many of the distasteful aspects.

He was certain that Azami did not want to hear the story of how he had cut the tendons in his own leg and arm to prevent them from being controlled by an Espada, for example, or more recently, that he and his vice-captain had spent two days lost in the slums, surviving off of Twelfth Division rations and sleeping in a hovel.

At the thought of Yuzu, he paused, a small frown appearing on his face as he hesitated between sentences. There it was again, the reason that this night had not been an entirely pleasant evening.

The fact that no matter what he did, no matter what he talked about, no matter how honestly stunning Azami did look in the kimono she had picked out for tonight, sooner or later his thoughts always returned to Kurosaki Yuzu.

He wondered if the Division had finished their dinner already, or if they had chosen to make a long affair of it, as soldiers often did when they were granted a brief reprieve in a tense situation. The men and women of the Sixth were more disciplined than those in some other Divisions—he had seen to that himself—but they were still soldiers at heart. By this time at night, the food would be gone, but they would probably still be in the mess hall trading war stories and gossip from other Divisions…

…He forced the thought from his mind, glancing back at the woman whose arm was threaded through his. She had been asking a question about command, he remembered. That was what had brought that thought on.

"Is something wrong, Byakuya?" Azami asked, noticing him watching her.

He shook his head. "No," he said. "I was only thinking that before I left, I had noticed my officers preparing dinner for the Division."

"Your officers?" asked Azami, frowning. "Do Division officers regularly cook for the rank-and-file, then?"

"No, they do not," said Byakuya. "In fact, the shinigami of the Sixth rarely need to cook for themselves at all. For most of its history, the Kuchiki Clan has hired cooks for the division. Most of the Gotei 13 have some system for food preparation in place—the majority of shinigami do not focus their duties on cooking. But occasionally, officers may do something like this to raise morale. It tends to be low if there is anticipation of a difficult battle."

"Is that so?" asked Azami. "So this would be…a display, then? To win over the hearts of the common men. That's more political than I'd imagined a single Division to be."

"A Division is only as strong as its troops," said Byakuya. "When facing the enemy, weak-hearted men may break. Even strong men may break if they believe there is no hope of victory. The soldiers look to the officers to lead them. If the officers appear concerned, the men will worry—if they appear relaxed, even happy, the Division becomes more confident as a whole."

"You've given this a lot of thought," noted Azami.

"I have a lot of pride in the Sixth," he said.

It was true, although the Division rarely heard him say it. They were his men, all of them, and they had proven themselves admirably in difficult times before. He'd seen men and women of the Sixth stand and rally while lesser shinigami broke. Many of the other Divisions might claim to be stronger, but none of them could match the Sixth for discipline. They would fight to the last if he gave the order. His duty to them was to ensure that he never had to.

He stopped walking when he noticed Azami was smiling at him.

"…What is it?" he asked, turning towards her.

"You," said Azami, still smiling. "I never would have thought it, but you're actually passionate about your job, aren't you? You like being a shinigami."

He paused, considering her words. He'd never before thought about whether or not he liked being a shinigami. It was simply something he did—part of his duty. Byakuya considered what would have happened if the Kuchiki Clan did not have that sort of tradition in place, though, if he had simply gone on as a nobleman, without ever attending the Academy or becoming part of the Gotei 13. Without starting his days in Ukitake-taicho's Division, before going on to become the vice-captain and then captain of the Sixth. Without manifesting Senbonzakura, growing his own abilities, challenging his spirit and gaining bankai.

He supposed he would have been horribly bored.

And he would not have had the chance to meet her. Yuzu. To train her and watch her grow. To watch as she matured from the girl who hid in her siblings' shadow into a capable vice-captain.

He realized as he glanced away from Azami that his thoughts had turned towards her again.

"I suppose that is true," he said. "I do enjoy being a shinigami."

Azami seemed to take his eyes off of her as a sign of something else. She smiled, stepping closer to him as he looked away. "Don't be embarrassed, Byakuya," she said. "I like that side of you. It's a side I've never seen before."

Her hand landed on the side of his face, her touch feather-light. Byakuya tensed, looking back at her. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I believe we've reached our destination," said Azami, glancing at the gates behind her. Byakuya looked. Had they arrived at the Nishimori Manor already? "So I'm saying good night. Thank you for a wonderful evening, Byakuya."

She leaned upward slowly, pushing herself up onto the balls of her feet. Byakuya hesitated, but leaned down slightly, following her lead.

The kiss was chaste, nothing more than a quick meeting of lips.

And the whole time, he thought of a pair of familiar brown eyes.

Yuzu sat on her futon with her back to the wall, listening to the sounds of laughter outside. A small smile appeared on her face before it fell away, her hands resting on her knees. She had gone back to her room early, claiming that she was tired, but with the party outside in full swing, no one had really noticed her retreat. She was happy to have made the Division like this. It made her feel better. And yet, at the same time…

I guess I really should move on, she thought, her fingers falling on the sheathed sword at her side and resting against the side of the blade. Right, Jungetsu-chan?

There was a hesitation, a brief pause, and then words appeared in her mind, the handwriting slightly blurry as if they were coming from the other side of a cracked pane of glass. Since the battle with Kyoka Suigetsu, Jungetsu hadn't truly spoken to her, returning back to talking like this.

If that's what you want, the words said.

Yuzu frowned, her fingers tightening briefly around the sheathed sword. I wasn't aware I had a choice, she replied.

You always have a choice, said Jungetsu. But you always choose to become what is needed. You've done this time and again.

She took a breath, closing her eyes, and found herself standing in the center of a room filled with mirrors. They reflected her from all angles, seven different reflections of herself looking back at her. She saw herself as a child, standing with the faint outline of her mother behind her, saw herself with a warm smile on her face as she stood with her hand on Karin's shoulder. She turned and saw herself as a shinigami vice-captain, standing tall against the backdrop of the Sixth Division's camellia. She turned again and saw herself with an armful of papers, following Byakuya down the hall.

She saw herself offering a cup of tea to Ryushin, saw herself dressed in the nurse's uniform she had worn at the Kurosaki Clinic. She saw herself smiling with Kohaku, one arm around her friend's shoulders.

In the next mirror she saw Jungetsu, standing in front of her and dressed in white. The spirit's eyes fixed her own.

Mother, counselor, commander, assistant, dutiful granddaughter, healer, friend, said the spirit, tracing the lines on the other side of the glass. You, like me, have the uncanny ability to see into people's hearts. And you've chosen to be what they required. To reflect their wishes.

Who do you want to be, Yuzu?

The mirrors faded, and then she was sitting in her room again, her hand on her sword as she watched the moonlight come in through her window. It was cloudy outside, but the clouds had parted just enough to let a silver beam through, casting shadows against her room's wooden floor.

I am the moon reflected in the water, Jungetsu said. I am that which cannot be grasped, because your heart is that which cannot be grasped. You've spent all your life looking into the water, chasing your reflection.

You've never considered the moon.

Yuzu inhaled deeply, staring down at Jungetsu. At herself.

A mirror that reflected the desires of others. If she directed that mirror at herself, what would she see?

I wonder…said Jungetsu, in answer to her unspoken question.

She didn't even know what her own desires were at this point. Or rather, she did, but she didn't know what to do with them, or what she wanted from them. Easier, she thought, to just let this pass.

To continue being…what everyone wanted her to be…

But was that what she wanted, this time? Could she do it again? Or would this one break her?

What good with a broken mirror be to anyone?

Jungetsu suddenly stiffened, sitting up straight and looking up at her. Yuzu's eyes widened at her zanpakuto spirit's sudden change of mood. Jungetsu-chan? she asked.

It's nothing, said Jungetsu, waving her hand to write the words. Do not consider such things.

A shattered mirror is no good to anyone.

Before she could question her zanpakuto spirit any further, she felt Jungetsu retreat from her, the spirit slipping deep into the inner world and breaking the tenuous connection between them. She found herself truly alone in her room, her hand on the sword. Yuzu stared at the opposite wall, eyes wide. Jungetsu had been…almost angry. Yuzu tried to recall if she had ever seen her zanpakuto spirit angry before.

Jungetsu-chan? she asked. What did you mean by that, Jungetsu-chan?

There was no answer. After a while, she sighed, removing her hand slowly from the blade.

The light in Masaryu's room had long since gone out, the only light coming in from a lantern hung outside his window. Masa lay with Kohaku's back to his chest, one arm wrapped around her waist as he listened to the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the roof above them. The occasional footstep sounded outside—it must have been time for a change of shifts in those that had been left behind to patrol. One of the advantages of his rank was that he was exempt from ordinary patrol duties. None of the shinigami currently patrolling the halls would bother him unless there was an emergency.

For now, however, the night was calm, and he busied himself with exploring the scar he had found on Kohaku's abdomen, a single ridge of raised skin a few inches from her navel. He traced the line with his thumb, his fingers stilling when she caught his hand with her own, telling him that she was awake.

"What happened there?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"A mugging," said Kohaku, releasing his hand. "Or an attempted one, at least. Kin chased them off, but I got stabbed. I was just a kid then. Thankfully, it wasn't a deep cut."

Masa nodded, and did not attempt to touch the scar again. He draped his arm across her waist as she shifted, moving to pillow her head on her arm. Her eyes fell on the sliver of light coming in from beneath the door, and he felt her tense slightly as a pair of shadows crossed it—shinigami back from a patrol. Masa said nothing, waiting to see if she would speak. Neither of them talked about the elephant in the room—what had just happened, what it meant, and what they would do now.

She waited until the last of the footsteps had faded away before relaxing again, her eyes moving away from the door and sweeping across the floor of the room. Masa wondered what she saw there. It wasn't a room that would have been out of place as any other shinigami's quarters in the Gotei 13. It was larger than most rooms, true, but that was because of his rank, and held few decorations but a wooden sword rack carved with an intricate dragon, a small bookshelf, and a calligraphy scroll with a quote from a famous swordsman. The low writing desk was placed against one wall, with a pair of floor cushions next to it. The notebooks he had brought in to read were neatly stacked on top of it. Everything in the room was in its place, with the exception of the various shihakusho pieces strewn across the floor. Even Kohaku's zanpakuto, Ayatori, lay neatly beside the futon, within arm's reach in case there was an alarm in the middle of the night.

For a third seat, his quarters were tasteful, with an elegant simplicity. For the future head of one of the most powerful families in Soul Society, they would be considered austere.

He wondered if that was what held her attention, or if it was something else.

"Why don't you live in your manor?" she asked, after a moment. "All the other nobles do. Kuchiki-taicho goes back there every night, and Kuchiki-fukutaicho used to back before she got married. But you've always stayed at the barracks."

He pressed his lips softly against the back of her shoulder, using the motion to give him time to consider his response. It wasn't a question he'd been asked before. His father and grandfather seemed to take his decision to live at the barracks without much question, and since he was still only second-in-line for the clan, the elders didn't worry themselves with what he did. Karin and Yuzu had probably wondered, but they, like his father and grandfather, took his decision at face value, without questioning him.

He wasn't honestly too sure why he had done it himself, only that it was what he had wanted to do.

"…The Fifth," he said, after thinking about it for a while. "When I first joined, it was still getting back off the ground. Everyone lived at the barracks, including the captain. As a Twentieth Seat, I didn't think it was right to be the only one that did not. As a Third Seat, I feel that this is the best place to be, in case I'm needed."

"But even at the Academy," said Kohaku. "You lived in the dorms with the rest of us. In those tiny, cramped rooms."

The Academy. Masa remembered that. His room had been on the fourth floor, between Class 2's Nozawa and Class 1's Ienagi. The rooms had been small, true, barely enough room for a futon and a writing desk, especially when compared to his chambers at the Ankoujin Manor, and the men's dormitory was always loud, even in the dead of night during supposed quiet hours. But he found that he hadn't disliked those days, especially after making his peace with the Kurosaki twins.

"The Manor is…stifling," he told Kohaku, mumbling the words into her skin. "Even on the best days."

"Stifling?" asked Kohaku, threading her fingers through his. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes. How could he explain? He hadn't been born to be the heir. Despite the fact that his uncle had no wife or children of his own at the moment of his birth, Masa had been born into the world as a child of the family's second son. No one had expected anything from him that he hadn't already given them. He had grown up expecting to become a shinigami and serve in the Gotei 13, or to advise the cousin who would rule. If life had continued like that, none of the elders would have cared what he did, as long as he didn't disgrace the family. He would, in a sense, have been free. But then his uncle had been disowned, and all of those responsibilities had been thrust on him. He wanted to inherit the family—had fought tooth and nail at the Academy to be considered worthy of that honor—but he wouldn't deny that in many ways, he liked being here too. His position in the Gotei 13 was simple, his position in the Fifth Division was what he had been brought up to be prepared for. As third seat to his cousin he was advisor, confidant, but not in command.

But he couldn't convey all those thoughts in so few moments, so instead he simply said, "Expectations," and left it at that. He felt Kohaku shudder as he mouthed the word against her skin, her grip on his hand tightening for an instant. She ran her thumb over the back of his knuckles, pulling the hand closer to her.

"What happened here…" she said. "Will your family…?"

"…mind?" Masa finished. "Perhaps if we were…indiscreet. But otherwise, I don't think they will. I'm unattached, and a son still has more leeway in this sort of thing than a daughter."

Kohaku snorted. "I think that's freaking unfair," she said.

"It is," said Masa. "But the nobility is not known for its fairness." He paused. "…Ironically."

"And if this happens again?" asked Kohaku.

Masa paused. "Will it?" he asked.

"What?" asked Kohaku.

He tugged at her hand until she shifted, turning over so that he could look her in the eye with their clasped hands between them. His expression was serious now, and she stared up at him, her own eyes wide. "Will this happen again, Kohaku?"

She hesitated, sucking in a breath. Her eyes moved suddenly off to the side, avoiding his. "I—I don't know—," she said. "I've—I've liked you—but this—you were there and I was—" She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head against his chest. "—I just don't know. God, I'm sorry, Masa."

He exhaled, trying to contain what felt like disappointment. Given the circumstances, he knew he shouldn't have expected anything else. He kissed her forehead, and tried to not think about what they would be to each other in the morning, when the rest of the Division returned. "Go to sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, we can take things as they come."

She opened her eyes. "You want me to stay here?" she asked, sounding surprised. "After I said that?"

"I'd like you to," said Masa, closing his eyes. He suddenly felt more tired now than he had been. "But if you want to leave, the door is open. Good night, Kohaku."

There was a pause, and then he felt Kohaku relax, slowly settling in next to him.

In the end, she left at dawn, and she left through the window.

Friday nights were a tradition for Ukitake Juushiro and Kyoraku Shunsui. Barring any illness on Ukitake's part, or any disaster or emergency in Soul Society, it was a night when the two of them would usually get together to share a few drinks and discuss the current situation in their Divisions. It had been a tradition for the two of them almost since their Academy days, so many years ago.

They always went to the same place to drink, an upscale bar that catered mostly to officers, and always reserved the same private room, so the officers of their respective Divisions always knew just where to find them. It wasn't a surprise, then, that quite a few drinking nights had been interrupted by shinigami coming in to request one or the other's presence, by messengers, even by family members from their respective clans. More than once, Ukitake had found himself smiling as an irate Ise Nanao dragged Kyoraku back to the Division by his collar, all while giving Ukitake "her deepest apologies".

So interruptions weren't a new thing. However, Ukitake mused that Kuchiki Byakuya was the last person he would have expected to walk through that door and take a seat at the table.

"Byakuya," said Ukitake, staring at the other captain. "What—?"

Byakuya said nothing, already pouring himself a cup. Kyoraku blinked at him from the other side of the table, watching him. The two of them exchanged glances, and Ukitake took the time to study his former student. Byakuya looked…tense. Or perhaps tense was not the right word. While he still maintained a stoic exterior, it was clear that something was very wrong underneath it.

If Ukitake was willing to guess, he would have said that Byakuya was…desperate. Which was not an emotion he had seen in his former student in a while.

Not, perhaps, since Hisana died.

Kyoraku recovered first, leaning forward and pouring the Kuchiki head another cup. He grinned, looking over at Byakuya from beneath his hat. "There, drink up," he said. "There's plenty to go around."

Byakuya took a sip without looking at Kyoraku. He didn't look like he was noticing anything at all. Like he wasn't even here.

Ukitake thought of what he knew of the reckless personality Byakuya had once displayed, the personality that he was fully aware was still there, hidden underneath over a hundred years of training.

There was no way this could possibly end well.

TO BE CONTINUED

Omake

"So, wait," said Kohaku, staring at Yuzu. The two of them were seated on the floor of Yuzu's room, the vice-captain having related the story of the rainy night in Inuzuri to her. "You were both…"

"W-Well, yes," said Yuzu, blushing. "But there was a curtain!"

"That doesn't change anything," said Kohaku, frowning. "The curtain didn't go all the way to the fire, did it? So, to get your clothes from over the fire, you would have still have been seen from the other side of the curtain!"

"I—I guess, but I trusted Kuchiki-taicho not to peek," said Yuzu.

"Yeah, yeah," said Kohaku, waving her hand dismissively. "He's the gentleman-type, alright. But what about you?"

Yuzu flushed a bright red suddenly, turning away from Kohaku and coughing into her sleeve. Kohaku's eyes widened.

"Yuzu!" she said. "You didn't—mmpht!"

"Shhh!" said Yuzu, surging forward and covering Kohaku's mouth with both hands.