Musical Accompaniment: "Wonderwall" by Oasis
To find the words, lips move and tongue slides against teeth,
But you do not make a sound,
Because her lips are moving against yours, her tongue sliding,
But she cannot find your words either.
"Good morning," I greet her brightly, procrastinating by looking for my hat. I left it in Yoruichi's room last night when I checked her in—against her will—to the 4th Division.
Yoruichi does not reply, but I can feel her eyes probing the back of my skull waiting for me to say something honest. Apparently, she doesn't think I find anything 'good' about this particular morning.
Locating my hat under in her overnight bag—which I packed against her will—I grin victoriously, snapping it into its correct shape with a flourish.
"If you put that hat on your head, I will hurt you, Kisuke," Yoruichi warns me tonelessly. "You will be the one in need of medical attention."
I turn over my shoulder, chagrinned and annoyed. "Why?" I argue mulishly, obviously pouting. "I thought you liked my hat. I was sure you found it mysterious and sexy."
Yoruichi smirks, brow raised in challenge. "Sometimes, I like your hat, but I like your eyes better. I can't see them when you hide under your hat." Then, she yawns hugely like her warm words are nothing to fuss over.
Her absurd comments, delivered rarely and with admirable nonchalance, never cease to throw me no matter how long I've known her or how much of her I've touched. She moves me even now, tethering my limbs to her fingertips with imaginary puppet strings. A magic I treasure above her innumerable talents.
Shuffling to her side unconsciously, I sit on the edge of her bed, just watching her, studying a face I've spent my life memorizing. I catalog her expressions like one might photographs in an album, saving them for days I need to remember why I walk forward.
Yoruichi is a wild thing, free jumping from my world, chasing me and running on ahead. And I am contrary for her, simultaneously praying she remains forever free and wishing to chain her to me indefinitely.
In all the ways that matter, she is the core of me.
"I like your eyes too," I tell her absently, truth and reflex. She knows I do, and I am just repeating words I have said a million times.
Yoruichi smiles halfheartedly, replying, "What's not to like? They're stunning. Full of—what do you always say?—Ah, yes. Freedom." She shakes her head, rolling those stunning gold eyes.
"You don't see yourself the way I do," I remind her impassively. "Pardon the pathetic pun, but you're a mad cat; so I'm inclined to think my opinion trumps yours."
Pulling my hat from my lax grip at lightning speed, Yoruichi swats me with it. "So says the mad hatter," she laughs victoriously.
"Another terrible pun. But better than mine," I admit, laughing and rubbing my temple where she hit me.
Regrouping, turning to the most important concern—in the world—I ask, "How do you feel?"
Yoruichi smiles hugely, a staggering expression of profound awe which I catalog under 'Do not forget that one. Ever.'
She informs me animatedly, "I feel like… like I could fly. Like I'm the luckiest woman in the world—not 'person' obviously. You have me, so you're the luckiest man in the world. But that aside, Kisuke, this is it, you know? I've—we've—always been living so fast, and I thought I knew where we were going. But I was wrong." Yoruichi brings her hand, still holding my hat, to her abdomen, staring through the striped fabric and the white sheet covering her like she can see right past them. Right through her skin into the future growing inside her. "This is where we've been going all along."
Then, Yoruichi looks up at me, staring into my eyes forcefully, and it's one of those moments I feel her heart intimately, her vision of the world settling over mine. Owning me. A flash of empathy when I can see myself as she sees me, and to her I am beautiful and worthy. She loves me as I am. And I'm ignited, left burning, in pain but so warm.
Then, her smile freezes suddenly, eyes widening and brows wrinkling, bravely attempting to mask crushing disappointment. Failing to hide it. "You're not… you don't feel the way that I do, do you?" Yoruichi asks as the fervent light in her eyes fades. Then, she turns away, barely wincing. "Never mind. Please don't answer that."
Agitated, I grope for words, grabbing her hand, maybe grabbing for my hat but I'm not sure, whispering urgently, "Don't ever say that. Please don't 'never mind' me. You know I hate it when you shut me out."
"Oh," she mocks me bitterly, "You hate that. Well, you, son of a bitch, I sort of don't give a fuck what you hate at the moment. And don't bother denying what I see in your eyes. You're afraid of our son!" Yoruichi points to her belly, accusing me and acknowledging this son of ours at the same time. "I can feel your fear. Goddamn it, you are such an idiot, and you're… and I… Just uh!"
While she flounders with fury, squirming a bit on the narrow bed, I sigh, "And you sort of hate me right now, yeah?"
Yoruichi nods fiercely, averting her gaze because she feels vulnerable and can't stand showing weakness. Even to me. "Why do you do this to us? Why can't you just let the damn Hougyoku go? You're not responsible for everything! Sorry to kill your ego, but the world doesn't revolve around you, so stop thinking every fucking thing is your fault. To hell everyone else, I forgive you. Why can't you forgive yourself?"
I consider her words, searching for answers to her legitimate questions. But it's hopeless, just no good. If Yoruichi does not know why, how am I supposed to know? I'm not the expert on the subject of 'me.' She is.
Shrugging in defeat, I hedge, blasé, "What a filthy vocabulary, Hime. I love it when you talk dirty to me." Trying to tease some life into her eyes.
Yoruichi almost succeeds in suppressing a grin, just a tiny one but still. It's there. "Figures you'd love it, Rukon brat. Filth is your natural state."
The habitual insult flies over me, too old to bother. Switching tact and poised to face the inevitable, I ask tentatively, "So, a boy, eh? I disagree."
"What a surprise," Yoruichi snorts, exasperated. "You would find a way to disagree with two plus two equals four just to piss me off."
"You wound me, Hime," I groan, "I'd never argue mathematical certainty—not even for your benefit. However, this is different. That kid living in your uterus is a girl not a boy. I would bet your life on it, and that's really saying something."
"Our kid. Not that kid. Don't disassociate yourself from him. It's rude," Yoruichi mutters, adding, "And don't call me 'Hime,' Rukon brat."
"But I have a thing for princesses," I argue thoughtfully, reaching out to run my fingers through her hair, and Yoruichi leans into my hand instinctively even though she is still mad at me. "Hence, my conviction that I have a daughter not a son. Another princess to add to my impressive collection."
Absently, I consider Benihime's reaction to this news. Her smugness is nearly unbearable; she likes the idea of another princess. My own princess by blood, thus making me defacto Shihouin nobility. What rubbish.
And yet, an undeniably elegant solution like a division problem with no remainder. Blood and princesses: the story of my life.
Yoruichi reaches out to touch me too, fingers smooth and confident, gentle but strong, striking at the heart of the matter, "Quit being stupid. Be brilliant. Be the man I know you are because I need you. We need you."
Because I cannot help myself, her pull fierce and inexorable, I lean down to kiss her. Yoruichi tastes like god feels, and I lose myself in her, alternately firm and yielding against her lips, my world revolving around the velvet of her tongue.
But Yoruichi breaks away, stronger than I am because I never feel right when I can't taste her. She holds my face between her hands like I'm something vital, breathing, "To me, you are the most important person in the world, but it's not my world anymore. It's hers, our princess. Please believe that you deserve us. Her. Please don't be afraid."
But I am afraid. I'm afraid of the mistakes I've made, all the harm I've done to my daughter's world. What will I do when I hold her? How can I face her when she asks me why? Can I touch her without ruining her?
Because my intentions have always been good but my results have always been bad.
Almost too low to be heard, I whisper, "I've been running with you my whole life. Always away from things and headed toward vague somewhere. And now, it's like… and you…"
Taking pity on me, Yoruichi murmurs, "Sh," releasing me and placing my godforsaken hat on my head, pushing it down over my eyes.
But we both know what she's doing.
Yoruichi doesn't want to see the persistent fear in my eyes.
And she doesn't want me to see the echoed pain in hers.
So, so on this, I think.
~Mare
