She's Like the Moon Chapter 8: Velocity, a bleach fanfic

She's Like the Moon, an xSilverWingsx fanfic

I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me. And after all, you're my wonderwall. –Oasis

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Rukia chewed idly on the tip of her straw, listening to the jumble of noises. Her redheaded friend was peering quietly at her over his menu, his brows furrowed.

"Is there something on my face or do you feel the need to be an ass?" she snapped, letting the straw twirl wildly around when she let it go from her teeth. Ichigo's features relaxed silently at her blunt statement, and he appeared to be focusing this time.

"What are you getting?" he asked.

"…Soup," Rukia said absentmindedly, not having put any thought in the matter. Ichigo moaned and slapped his menu down on the table.

"Hey, eat something with a little protein." He picked up his fork and brandished it at her, as though she refused to eat at all.

"Fish soup then," she mumbled.

Ichigo was unconvinced. "Have just one bite of steak?" he insisted.

"No." Rukia's tone was firm. She wasn't going to let Ichigo treat her to an expensive dinner, especially since she had decided to come at the last second. That was a very rude thing to do, or so her etiquette book said. "The closest thing to steak I'll take is a cheeseburger."

"…Fine then. Don't expect me to take you out again," he warned, but there was an unmistakable note of playfulness in his voice that Rukia didn't fail to detect. "It'll be rice cakes and caviar for Rukia. Miss Rukia Kuchiki."

"Shut it." Rukia's grip tightened on the glass. "I don't like titles; they make me sound like a total bitch."

Ichigo's amber irises widened exponentially with every word she spoke, clearly taken aback by her language. "Does your mother let you talk like that?"

"No," Rukia said. "She grounds me. Not that I have anything to do, really."

"And what am I, a hunk of beef?" Ichigo said, pretending to be insulted. "Look, if your stick-assed parents don't like me, fine. They can hate me, but it's not their choice who you make friends with…" he bit his lip as the waitress rounded the corner.

"Hi hi hi!" she said overenthusiastically. "Can I get you something to nibble on? Steak fingers, shrimp poppers or extreme fajitas?" her nametag read Miki.

"No thanks," Ichigo said. "I'll get a crab cake on pumpernickel with Swiss. And she'll get a…" Rukia was suddenly ravenous as soon as Ichigo made his decision.

"The same," she cut him off. "And some Sprite."

Miki winked. "Back in a jiff."

Silence ensued for a few moments as Rukia chewed on her straw again, watching the television suspended above Ichigo's head. Apparently, the Urahara Store was hosting a coupon contest or something of the like. That idiot Urahara, he was always thinking up some crazy scheme.

"Hm…" Ichigo's eyes were on his wallet. "Damn…"

"What?"

"Yuzu's been in here again. She likes to leave pictures of herself," he said. "But this time she took my student ID from last year…"

"I'm sorry," Rukia said sympathetically as Miki arrived with their drinks. She set them down carefully on the table and sashayed off to the next customer, who had apparently been here before because he was addressing her as 'babycakes'.

"God," Ichigo moaned, "my dad actually bought a car… that's weird. Last month he couldn't use the stove right…"

Byakuya eyed his bedridden wife quietly, poring over her milky face. The serpent like veins in her body seemed slightly darker. Earlier today, she had been blissfully able, bustling about the house and cooking for hours on end. It pained him to see her sleeping yet again, not likely to awake for several days. He worried about Hisana, wanting to see her stomach enlarged with his child. But it was not time for that yet...

Rukia was probably reading or writing in that diary of hers. Byakuya had been more than tempted to peek inside but knew better than to poke in her personal life; it hadn't gotten him anywhere last time.

He stood up and tucked Hisana's blankets under her shoulders, planting a light kiss on her cheek; the lips would make him feel like he was violating her. Over the past few months, he had been deeply happy about the conception of this child, which would most likely be their last. Neither of them were getting any younger, physically or otherwise. Byakuya's priorities were simple: Hisana and the children, work, free time. He didn't usually have much of option C, but it was nice.

As he shuffled through the mail, Byakuya noticed a letter addressed in a familiar disordered scrawl. There was no return address, but he knew who it was nonetheless. After peeling the envelope open, he unfolded the piece of paper inside.

Father,

I'm sorry for leaving you, Mother and Rukia. I was hurrying into a lifestyle, and that was a mistake. However, there was a reason for it. Renji and I… he's a good person, Dad, and I hope you'll give him a second chance because I love him. I love you, too, and I want you both to be happy even if you hate each other, which you do. Rukia likes him, too, because she's been to see us. I hope you'll come see us too. Right now, Renji and I are moving my stuff in. It's taking a while but… it'll be worth it, I know it. He's the nicest person you'd ever want to meet, even if he isn't high class… actually, that's what attracts me to him. He's musical, and smart too. No offense, but if you weren't so stubborn I'd still be living there. Renji is so nice, and he wants me to visit—I haven't because I'm worried you won't want me there. I know I've already said it but… please, please give him a chance. Give me a chance.

Akamori Shirané Kuchiki

Byakuya's fingers were barely brushing the edges of the paper, but could feel the emotion. Akamori had taken time out of her day to write a letter to them, and for a person like her that was saying something. Maybe he hadn't given his daughter enough credit for her good sense.

Momo knocked softly on the French door that led into Toshiro's house, the other arm folded behind her back in case Mrs. Hitsugaya answered. Her hair was pulled off her face and her white dress was clean and unruffled, so there was no need to be nervous, but it was nighttime and maybe they were busy…

Luckily, it was her best friend who opened the door. A warm wave of relief washed over Momo's body when she saw him. His hair was hanging at wild angles around his face and emerald eyes, which were quizzical. "Mo—"

"Toshiro!" Momo breathed, grabbing his arm. "I was worried about you—oh!" a familiar crimson liquid streaked her fingertips and she pulled them away, shocked. "What happened?" his features had hardened, bringing light to the deep bruise that tore the childish beauty from his face.

"I fell," he said, "it's nothing. You shouldn't be here," he warned, looking back into the house. "School starts in three weeks, there'll be plenty of time to hang out with me then—" he broke off with the sound of approaching footsteps. Behind him stood a pretty woman with straight, orderly black hair and grayish blue eyes. Toshiro had never looked anything like her.

"Oh, Momo!" exclaimed Mrs. Hitsugaya, her blackish hair waving over her shoulders. "It's so nice to see you…"

"Hi," Momo smiled. "How are you?"

By the looks of her, tired and stressed out. "Fine!"

"That's good…"

Toshiro's expression was terribly stony. "Mother, may I speak to Momo alone for a while?"

"…Don't be too long!" his mother said before closing the door softly.

The crickets chirped as Toshiro and Momo stood silently on the porch. He looked irritated; she was hurt by both his appearance and his attitude. On Saturday, they had gone to the movies with Kira, a classmate, and he'd been relatively glad. Now he was bitter and aggravated.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, rounding on him but still deeply worried.

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Go on home, you can call me."

"I want to see you!" Momo insisted, her brown eyes quivering slightly. "I've missed you! You don't come by anymore! You don't even call me."

"I've been busy," Toshiro said, not seeming even slightly embarrassed over the fact that he was in boxers. "It's for your own good that I'm not… Momo…" he looked down as she clutched his arm again, sea green orbs vacant and unyielding.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, "there's nothing wrong with you, Shiro!" she forced her fingers to tighten, even though it upset her. Toshiro, nice as he was, was horribly stubborn.

"You don't understand," he said defiantly, "and even if you did, you wouldn't be listening to me, would you?" his angry expression never faltered as he pulled his bloody arm through Momo's fingers. She let out an infuriated gasp and turned away, the edges of her eyes prickling and her throat closing up.

"Oh, Momo," Toshiro sounded disturbed, "I…"

"I'm leaving!" Momo announced. "Let me know when you want to be Toshiro! Let me know when you stop being a monster!" she practically sprinted down the stairs, her dress stained with blood. Within seconds, she was leaving the property, fully sobbing.

Toshiro stood woodenly on the porch, his eyes closed tightly as to avoid the scene. The sound of a broken bottle from inside stirred him, his chest tightening the way it did when he drank water too quickly.

"Momo," was all he said before he heard it. A loud, air punching noise. Dark, like the moment when you miss a stair on the way upstairs, there is a terrible moment where the air sweeps below you, and you feel woozy, disoriented… a gunshot.

And it had come from inside.

His head snapped up immediately, pieces of hair obscuring his vision with white flashes. Without giving it a second thought he twisted the doorknob open with some difficulty and ran into the foyer… nothing here. The kitchen was next, and that was where he found the scene.

His father, white haired and muscular, held his defenseless mother against the wall. She was alive, and heaving breaths; she was pinned next to a plastery hole in the molding. Toshiro realized that Ryuusuke had shot the wall, just to scare her.

"Bastard," he seethed before lunging at them; he didn't manage to break the grip on his mother but he did knock the gun from his father's hands. Seconds later Toshiro found himself with it, backed up in a corner by Ryuusuke, who had abandoned Hiroko for his son.

"You little shit, want me to give you another bruise, ah?" his hand caught Toshiro's neck, which was easy for him. His son breathed through his nose in a last ditch attempt; one hand free, he nailed his father in the side of the head with the pistol. Infuriated, Ryuusuke tightened his grip from loose to viselike.

"Back off," Toshiro snapped.

"Don't talk to your father like that!" with his free hand Ryuusuke punched him hard on the jaw; Toshiro felt blood spill out out of his mouth, blazing trails down his chin and onto his shirt. He heard Hiroko's worried cries in the corner.

"Shut up, bitch!" Ryuusuke bellowed. It was all a blur then; Toshiro grasping the gun to shoot his father and having it snatched from him. And then Hiroko's scream… after that, nothing.

Rukia laughed at something Ichigo had said, surprised that she had been so able to get into the evening. Maybe it was all that soda. Maybe it was all the soda, but she found herself totally at ease with the usually annoying redhead. Said Ichigo's hair was mussed and he seemed slightly loopy on the sugar that was surprising Rukia with its potency.

"Hey, you didn't eat anything." After looking down at his empty plate and at Rukia's, Ichigo seemed disappointed. "Sometimes I worry that you'll be dead in a casket next time I see you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rukia snapped. "Just because I don't scarf down every morsel that's offered doesn't mean I'm... what you're implying."

"And just what am I implying?" Ichigo smirked and made a grab for Rukia's cheeseburger; but she was just a tad too fast. After reclaiming her meal, Rukia answered Ichigo's seemingly rhetorical question.

"Anorexia," she said dryly. There was a moment of silence in which the clinking of forks and Ichigo's chewing were the only noises.

"Anorexia? Again, stop making me out to be an asshole." Ichigo swallowed, "I don't think we should be pissing each other off so much. Doesn't seem to be progressive." He turned his fork over to skewer a bunch of French fries with it before continuing. "People like you are interesting. Well, sort of."

"Rich people. People with horses and private spas. People who don't work for a living or whatever..." he sipped his eighth Coke indignantly, peering at Rukia with curious amber eyes.

"Being rich isn't great. For your information, we have no horses and my father thinks spas are pointless. Besides, he works very hard, Ichigo..." she thumbed open her cell phone to the beeping message from her sister, who was wondering what the key ingredients in a cake were.

After texting her back with an angry message informing her to look on the internet and then eat until she grew obese, Rukia questioned Ichigo. "Besides, since your dad is a doctor, aren't you pretty rich yourself?"

"...Doctors only look rich to middle income people, like... say, Renji."

Speaking of Renji...

Akamori: Oh, yeah? Hah. I bet you can't make a cake either.

Rukia: ...I make your birthday cake every year. Oh Rukia, hey!

Rukia: Renji, get off my sister's cell phone

Renji: Shh, she's coming back

Renji: Byeejgjerigjerijgikde

She looked back up at Ichigo, whose thin mouth was wide in a full on smirk. "Was that Akamori?"

Rukia frowned. "Why does it matter?"

"Never mind then. Have fun fighting about cake… or whatever it is…"

How did he know?

Ichigo grimaced. "Damn! It's eleven thirty."

If Rukia didn't know any better, she would've thought her heart had stopped.

"Don't get your Chappy underwear in a knot. I'm sure he's asleep." He seemed completely unruffled.

Rukia was nearly hyperventilating. Hisana had probably noticed Rukia gone, and then told Byakuya straightaway. Rukia had always known she would die and early death but had never anticipate it at the hands of her father. "We've got to go! What if he wakes up and finds me gone? He will probably find his biggest shotgun and come looking for me! If anything or anyone gets in his way, he'll obliterate them! We're all gonna DIE!"

After a second, there was no sound and everyone in the restaurant either had his or her eyes on Rukia or the deeply frowning Ichigo.

"Hehe… hi…" Rukia went a violent shade of pink and cowered away from the curious people, some of which had taken out their cameras to snap a picture of her. Rukia thought she saw Ichigo's fist tighten, but she was probably just imagining it.

When Ichigo whipped out his hand and caught her arm, however, her suspicions were destroyed. "We're leaving." He slapped a crinkly twenty-dollar bill down on the table and led her woodenly out of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo… if I ruined…" she felt horribly guilty for ending the dinner that way.

"Some of those guys who were looking at you… are guys from school. Let's just say they're bad news, so it's not your fault." As soon as he reached the BMW, he slid into the drivers' seat with surprising panache.

As soon as they were rolling down the quiet night road, he spoke again. "Why didn't you check the time earlier? We were there for five straight hours."

She glared at him. "Why didn't you check the time earlier? You're the one who took me out in the first place, and that's only because you would've honked the house down with that car of yours."

Ichigo let out a soft chuckle and Rukia jumped. It was so rare that she ever heard him laugh… "Relax a little. I'm sure old man Kuchiki was in for a joke anyway."

"…I still think he's going to kill everyone," she mumbled.

"…You think too much," he mumbled, imitating her voice badly.

"You think too little."

"Munchkin."

"Dandelion head." This was just getting stupid.

Surprisingly, he admitted defeat. "Touché, rich brat."

"Mother!" Rukia was surprised to see Hisana up and moving around, but was disheartened by her grave expression.

"Good evening, Rukia," she said, attempting to be placid, but the shakiness in her voice was inevitable. "Have a seat." Without asking where her daughter had been, the older woman pointed to a wingback wooden chair across from Byakuya, who held the cordless phone with pale fingers.

Rukia plopped down in the chair. "What's going on?"

"…Hiroko is dead," Byakuya said icily, slamming the phone down rashly. Rukia's system was overcome with a vacant shock of panic that had come to reclaim its spot within her. Her favorite aunt? The sweet lady who loved her and her family so much?

"What?" she choked. "How?"

"Ryuusuke. Ryuusuke shot her," Hisana said blankly, "About an hour ago."

Rukia's head was spinning so hard… "Wh… where's Toshiro?"

"He's being treated in a small clinic near the Urahara Store," Byakuya stated, and Rukia's mind flashed to Ichigo. Coming home to that on your birthday? "In the morning he will come to live with us."

"Uncle Ryuusuke…" she said, remembering the smiling man who'd taught her how to ride a bike. "He's too nice…"

"You know nothing," Byakuya said immediately, "of the instances which he beat and raped his son?" his eyes were flinty and lethal to Rukia's innocent blue ones that had spent the evening looking over the face of her newest friend. She was horrified of the second word, and having it used in the same context as Toshiro… it didn't seem real.

"It's sick," Hisana said, "filthy. He needs to rot in hell for this." Her jaw was rigid but her violet orbs were sad. Rukia knew that she and Ryuusuke, despite their differences, had been good friends. "Rukia."

"…Yes?" the younger child was still reeling over the death of her father's sister.

"Clear Akamori's room of boxes and get some bed sheets from the linen closet." Even in a crisis, Hisana was incredibly precise.

"Yes, ma'am…" the short girl left her seat and began the long walk through the marble foyer, her eyebrows furrowed in distress. What… why had Ryuusuke done that? Shot his wife… and nearly killed his son… the crimes were too terrible for her brain to harbor, so she let them flit off into the confines of it for now, wanting to focus on readying a bedroom for her cousin. She lifted some navy blue sheets from the top shelf and made up the bed, generously shoving many pillows on it.

Akamori had many keepsakes; in other words, she was a pack rat and the room was littered with boxes. Rukia made do by kicking most of them out into the hall, but with one particularly huge one, she just went with closet stuffing. At last, the hodgepodge of her sister's belongings was concealed—mostly.

Rukia then moved to her room and collapsed on her oddly soft bed, shoving her face into the fluffy confines of Chappy. With a jolt she recognized the smell: Ichigo. Yay! She missed him when she was away. They were friends because she got the fact that he could be messed up and weird sometimes.

Hey, Rukia was like that herself.

"You think he got your letter?" Renji asked, biting into a jelly covered bagel and sitting down across from his girlfriend.

"Unless I have a stalker in the post office." She herself was eating a cup of bran cereal, a much healthier breakfast—well; it would be breakfast if they hadn't woken up at three o'clock. "Anyway, did you have fun yesterday?"

"Yeah," Renji scarfed down his bagel and opened the paper. "Nobody died."

"Yay," Akamori rolled her eyes. "And this applies to me… how?" she looked at her meal and didn't eat. Renji said nothing as she stood up quietly and swung an arm around his neck. "Hey," she said lightly into his ear. "All you all right?" his body temperature felt a hundred degrees hotter when her arms snaked around to the front of him and rested on his chest.

He went crimson. "I'm fine." Dropping his gaze back to the paper, Akamori sidled into his seat behind him, her legs wrapped around his torso tightly. "For a girl from a rich family, you sure don't act standoffish…" she smelled soft and citrusy.

"What do you mean?" her sunset colored eyes were gazing smolderingly into his dark amber ones, searching for something.

"It's just that I…" Renji sighed.

"Do you remember how I met you?" she said mesmerizingly, her impossibly long jet-black lashes tickling his neck.

Renji was one of many men seated at the bar on Monday, his eyes tired and his body even worse. It had been a long day at the office, what with Mr. Kuchiki haranguing him about those stupid term reports. The bartender slid a beer across the table and he drank tirelessly… Renji was twenty-six and he didn't know why his life had barely begun. He lived in a small three-room apartment, working a crappy job as 'Event Logger', so it was his responsibility to be aware about the company's inner workings. Whatever.

The evening wore on, but it was horrifyingly slow. Renji drank beer after beer and listened to the toothless old man next to him drone on about his grandson and his disloyalty; the redheaded man realized it would be a stretch to call it listening. Letting the words drift by was more like it… he sighed and stood up silently, swaying a little. Maybe he'd walk home.

"Gonna finish that?" said a silken voice. Renji turned to see an incredibly curvy young woman. Her inky hair curled wildly down around her creamy complexion, and paired with her big glowing orange eyes it made for a dramatic appearance. She had an attractive, regal face and a perfect nose. On her bodacious frame was a long wine-red dress with cap sleeves and a lot of lace.

It took a minute for him to come back to earth, and even longer for him to realize she was referring his beer. "Oh, yeah…" seeing her expression, he went on, "I mean, no…" Renji patted the seat next to him and stared at her as she took a seat, pressing her lips together.

"I'm so sick of this." Now the girl wore an irritated expression.

"You work for an asshole too?" Renji raised an eyebrow with an unabashed smile. The girl sent back a blatant grin herself and sipped the beer like a pro.

"No, I live with one," she said matter of factly, drumming her fingers on the table and hitting Renji with a scent. It was like an orange or a pineapple, or something, mixed with lavender. Her words processed when he finished inhaling.

"You're married?" Renji asked in disbelief, his eyebrows going up high. "You look too young."

"That's because I am, I'm talking about my father." She grimaced and sat down the now empty beer glass with a resounding 'clang'. "He's a hardass, he bugs me about everything." Her eyes stopped on Renji. "Is your boss like that?"

"Yeah." Renji rolled his eyes.

"It's like he cares, but he doesn't."

"Exactly." He sympathized oddly with her. "What's your name, anyway?"

"In Japanese, it means 'red forest'. Try to figure it out." The girl blinked slowly and ran a delicate hand through her dark tresses.

"Moriaka?" Renji shrugged.

"You have it backward," she gave a shrewd laugh and waved down the bartender for another drink. "Akamori, it is. Weird, isn't it?" when she turned her eyes skyward, Renji was reminded oddly of a certain man.

"You look like someone I know," he frowned.

"Who would that be?" Akamori questioned, sipping her martini and fiddling with the toothpick.

"My boss," Renji said truthfully, popping the olive in his mouth after she flicked it onto the table. He'd always had a thing for green food.

"The asshole." She raised a black eyebrow and held the toothpick like a cigarette, as if she were going to stab him with it at any given moment. "Well, I guess the way people look gives away nothing, then. I personally find myself horribly attractive."

"I saw that coming," Renji agreed, and he had a sudden fleeting thought. "Hey, you wanna go eat somewhere? I'm starved."

"They have food here," Akamori countered, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"That's bar food," he reminded, "and I have a car."

"That's good," she said sarcastically, smiling all the while. "And I was worried I'd have to live at the bar." Renji didn't want to admit it to her, but he really liked this girl. She was witty, sympathetic, deliciously cynical and gorgeous to boot.

"Let's get… wait, are you here with someone?" he said, the breath catching in his chest as she jumped down from her chair.

"I was. I made him leave because he was smashed," she said, the corner of her mouth curling up. "I said that he should have a nice, long drive home. And I hope he did."

Deviant, is she? "Let's go."

"I remember," he said with a smirk. "I also later that night, after I went out with you."

"It was cliché," Akamori agreed softly, leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw and tightening her grip on his chest exponentially with each one. "But I did enjoy it."

Akamori's cell phone buzzed irritably within her pocket. She punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and turned over, wishing it would shut the hell up. Finally, she answered it.

"Hello?" she said blearily.

"Akamori?" said the voice of the man with whom she'd spent most of the evening. "You forgot your jacket in my car." Damn.

"Oh… well, leave it…"

"Where do you live? I'll drop it off," Renji offered, already on the four-way intersection between Karakura's four neighborhoods: Yukio, for poor people—Omi, for middle class people—Kimikan for middle-upper class (the Kurosaki's)—and Shimomura, for the millionaires and above.

"…Third road," she said, and Renji's jaw dropped visibly. "You live… in… Shimomura?!" he nearly shouted.

"Yes." She sounded incredibly stressed. "3832 Amane Boulevard. It's the biggest house, you can't miss it," Akamori explained, and even as he turned Renji was reeling. The address sounded familiar… but didn't they all? He was confused, but as he drove onto Amane everything began to click in his mind.

The way her cheeks hollowed when she was ticked off. Her asshole father. The stuffed wallet she'd dug through at dinner. Her expensive looking cell phone.

Without even knowing it, Renji Abarai had been screwing around with the boss's daughter.

...

Finally, a normal length chap! Sorry about the wait for this, I was just so busy. Anyway, I hope you liked this—seccaberry wrote the Rukia dialogue for the dinner scene… I had to be Ichigo… -sweatdrop- anyway! Thanks to shuusuke for going back to review each chapter. And thank you to all who have reviewed this! Keep them coming!