Even if Dad still lived at their house in Karakura, even if Rukia still sat across from him in her pajamas each morning during breakfast and called good night to him across the hall before bed, even then this would still fall under Mom's job description. Absentee father or not, sitting with her as she cries over a boy is absolutely and unequivocally Mom Territory.
Yet here she is with Dad, the best and only option at the moment, the whole story pouring out of her like some long-held secret. He's pulled a chair up beside the bed and is straddling it backward, with his arms resting on the seat back, and Rukia is grateful to see that for once he's not wearing that professorial look of his, the one where he tips his head to the side and his eyes go sort of flat and he arranges his features into something resembling polite interest.
Hugging one of the many decorative pillows from the fancy bed, Rukia tells him about meeting Ichigo at the airport and the way he switched seats on the flight. She tells him how Ichigo helped her with her claustrophobia, distracting her with silly questions, saving her from herself in the same way Dad once had.
"Remember how you told me to imagine the sky?" she asks him, and Dad nods.
"Does it still help?"
"Yeah," Rukia tells him. "It's the only thing that ever does."
He ducks his head, but not before she can see his mouth move, the beginning of a smile.
There's a whole wedding party just outside the door, a new bride and bottles of champagne, and there's a schedule to keep, an order to the day. But as he sits here listening, it's as if he has nowhere else to be. It's as if nothing could possibly be more important than this. Than her. And so Rukia keeps talking.
She tells him about her conversation with Ichigo, about the long hours when there was nothing to do but talk. She tells him about Ichigo's ridiculous research projects and about the movie and how she'd stupidly assumed he was going to a wedding, too.
She doesn't tell him about the kiss at customs.
By the time she gets to the part about losing him at the airport, she's talking so fast she's tripping over the words, and she can't seem to stop. When she tells him about the funeral, how her worst suspicions had all turned out to be true, he reaches out and places a hand on top of hers.
"I should have told you," she says, then wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Actually, I shouldn't have gone at all."
Dad doesn't say anything, and Rukia is grateful.
She's not sure how to put the next part into words, the look in Ichigo's eyes, so dark and solemn, like the gathering of a distant storm. Just beyond the door there's a burst of laughter, followed by scattered clapping. She takes a deep breath.
"I was trying to help," she says quietly. But she knows this isn't entirely true. "I wanted to see him again."
"That's sweet," Dad says, and she shakes her head.
"It's not. I mean, I only knew him for a few hours. It's ridiculous. It makes no sense."
Dad smiles, then reaches up to straighten his crooked bow tie. "That's the way these things work, kiddo," he says. "Love isn't supposed to make sense. It's completely illogical."
Rukia lifts her chin.
"What?"
"Nothing," she says. "It's just that Mom said the exact same thing."
"About Ichigo?"
"No, just in general."
"She's a smart lady, your mom," he says, and the way he says it makes Rukia say the one thing she's spent more than a year trying not to say aloud.
"Then why did you leave her?"
Dad's mouth falls open, and he leans back as if the words were something physical. "Rukia," he begins, his voice low, but she jerks her head back and forth.
"Never mind," she says. "Forget it."
In one motion he's on his feet, and she thinks maybe he's going to leave the room. But instead, he sits beside her on the bed. She rearranges herself so that they're side by side, so that they don't have to look at each other.
"I still love your mom," he says quietly, and Rukia is about to interrupt him, but he pushes ahead before she has a chance. "It's different now, obviously. And there's a lot of guilt in there, too. But she still means a lot to me. You have to know that."
"Then how could you—"
"Leave?"
Rukia nods.
"I had to," he says simply. "But it didn't mean I was leaving you."
"You moved here."
"I know ." he says with a sigh. "But it wasn't about you."
"Right,"she says, feeling a familiar spark of anger inside of her. "It was about you."
She wants him to argue, to fight back, to play the part of the selfish guy having a midlife crisis, the one she's built up in her head for all these days and weeks and months. But instead, he just sits there with his head hanging low, his hands clasped in his lap, looking utterly defeated.
"I fell in love," he says helplessly. His bow tie has fallen to one side again, and Rukia is reminded that it is, after all, his wedding day. He rubs his jaw absently, his eyes on the door. "I don't expect you to understand. I know I screwed up. I know I'm the world's worst father. I know, I know, I know. Trust me, I know."
Rukia remains silent, waiting for him to continue.
"I don't expect you to forgive me. I know we can't go back. But I'd like to start over, if you're willing." He nods toward the other room. "I know everything's different, and that it will take some time, but I'd really like you to be part of my new life, too."
Rukia glances down at her dress. The exhaustion she's been fighting for hours has started to creep in like the tide, like someone's pulling a blanket up over her.
"I liked our old life just fine," she says with a frown.
"I know. But I need you now, too."
"So does Mom."
"I know."
"I just wish…"
"What?"
"That you'd stayed."
"I know," he says for the millionth time. She waits for him to argue that they're better off this way, which is what Mom always says during conversations like these.
But he doesn't.
Rukia blows a strand of loose hair from her face. What had Ichigo said earlier? That her dad had the guts not to stick around. She wonders now if that could possibly be true. It's hard to imagine what their life would be like if he'd only just come home like he was supposed to that Christmas. Would things have been better that way? Or would they have been like Ichigo's family, the weight of their unhappiness heavy as a blanket over each of them, stifling and oppressive and so very silent?
"Dad?" she says, and her voice is very small. "I'm glad you're happy."
He's unable to hide his surprise. "You are?"
"Of course."
They're quiet for a moment, and then he looks at her again. "Know what would make me even happier?"
She raises her eyebrows expectantly.
"If you'd come visit us sometime."
"Us?"
He grins. "Yeah."
There's a knock on the door, and they both look over.
"Come in," Dad says, and Rangiku appears. Rukia's amused to see that she's swaying ever so slightly in her heels, an empty glass of champagne in one hand.
"Thirty-minute warning," she announces, waving her watch in their direction.
Dad glances over at Rukia, then gives her shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I think we're all sorted in here anyway," he says, and as she rises to follow him out, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, puffy eyes and all.
"I think I might need a little—"
"Agreed," Rangiku says, taking her by the arm. She motions to the other women, who set down their glasses and scurry over to the bathroom as one.
It takes only twenty minutes for them to perform their second miracle of the day, and when they're finished Rukia feels like a different person entirely from the one who limped back from the funeral an hour ago. The rest of the bridesmaids stay behind in the bathroom, turning their attention back to their own ensembles, and when Rukia emerges on her own she's surprised to find only Dad in the suite.
"You look great," " he says, and she smiles.
-x-
Later, toward the end of the cocktail hour, the doors to the ballroom are thrown open, and Rukia pauses just inside, her eyes wide. Everything is silver and white, with lavender flowers arranged in oversized glass vases on the tables. There are ribbons on the backs of the chairs, and a four-tiered cake topped with a tiny bride and groom. The crystals on the chandeliers seem to catch the light from the silverware, from the gleaming plates and the tiny glowing candles and the brassy instruments of the band, which will sit propped in their stands until later, when it's time for the dancing to begin. Even the photographer, who has walked in just ahead of Rukia, lowers her camera to look around with an air of approval.
Dad and and his wife are still upstairs, waiting to make their grand entrance, and Rukia has spent the entire cocktail hour answering questions and making small talk.
An older man asks about her flight over.
"I missed it, actually," she tells him. "By four minutes. But I caught the next one."
"What bad luck,"
Rukia smiles. "It wasn't so bad."
When it's almost time to sit down for dinner, she searches the name cards to find out where she's been placed.
Inside the ballroom, the guests have started to take their seats, tucking purses under chairs and admiring the floral arrangements. The band is keying up, the occasional stray note escaping from keying up, the occasional stray note escaping from the trumpet, and the waiters are circulating with bottles of wine. When the motion of the room has slowed, the band leader adjusts the mike and clears his throat.
"Ladies and gentleman," he says, and already the rest of the people at her table are turning toward the entrance to the room. "I'm pleased to be the first to present Mr. and Mrs. Kuchiki!"
A great cheer goes up and there are a series of bright flashes as everyone attempts to capture the moment on camera. Rukia swivels in her seat and rests her chin on the back of the chair as Dad and his wife appear in the doorway, their hands clasped together, both of them smiling like movie stars, like royalty, like the little couple on top of the cake.
Later, after the cake has been cut and Dad has managed to duck his wife's attempts to get even for the white frosting he smeared on her nose, there's more dancing. By the time coffee is served they're all slumped at the table together, their cheeks flushed and their feet sore.
Across the table, rangiku raises her glass and then taps it gently with her spoon, and amid the more frantic clinking that follows, Dad leans in for yet another kiss, separating only after realizing there's a waiter hovering just behind them, waiting to take their plates.
Once her own place setting is cleared, Rukia
pushes back her chair and leans forward to pick up
her purse. "I think I might go get some fresh air." Rukia announces.
"Are you feeling all right?" she asks,
"I'm fine," Rukia says quickly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Dad leans back in his chair with a knowing smile. "Say hello to your mom for me."
"What?"
He nods at her purse. "Tell her I said hi."
Rukia grins sheepishly, surprised to have been figured out so easily.
"Yup, I've still got it," he says. "The parental sixth sense."
"You're not as smart as you think you are," Rukia teases him.
As she walks away, Rukia can already hear Dad beginning to regale his tablemates with stories of her childhood, all the many times he came to the rescue, all the instances when he was a step ahead. She turns around once, and when he sees her he pauses—his hands raised in midair, as if demonstrating the size of a fish or the length of a field, or some other token fable from the past—and gives her a wink.
She makes her way through the revolving doors and takes a deep breath once she steps outside, welcoming the cool air and the insistent breeze.
Rukia moves off to the side and finds a place to sit down. The moment she does, she realizes her head is pounding and her feet are throbbing. Everything about her feels heavy, and once again she tries to remember the last time she slept. When she squints at her watch, attempting to calculate what time it is back home and how long she's been awake, the numbers blur in her head and refuse to cooperate.
There's another message from Mom on her phone, and Rukia's heart leaps at the sight of it. It feels like they've been apart for much longer than a day, and though she has no idea what time it is at home, Rukia dials and closes her eyes as she listens to the hollow sound of the ringing.
"There you are," Mom says when she picks up. "That was some game of phone tag."
"Mom," Rukia mumbles, resting her forehead in her hand. "Seriously."
"I've been dying to talk to you," Mom says. "How are you? How's it all going?"
Rukia takes a deep breath, then wipes her nose. "Mom, I'm really sorry about what I said to you earlier. Before I left."
"It's okay," she says after a half beat of silence. "I know you didn't mean it."
"I didn't."
"And listen, I've been thinking…."
"Yeah?"
"I shouldn't have made you go. You're old enough to make these kinds of decisions on your own now. It was wrong of me to insist."
"No, I'm glad you did. It's been surprisingly… okay."
Mom lets out a low whistle. "Really? I would've bet money that you'd be calling me demanding to come home on an earlier flight."
"Me, too," Rukia says. "But it's not so bad."
"Tell me everything."
"I will," she says, stifling a yawn. "But it's been a really long day."
"Have you and your dad been getting along?"
"It was touch-and go earlier, but now we're fine. Maybe even good."
"Why, what happened earlier?"
"It's another long story. I sort of ducked out for a while."
"You left?"
"I had to."
"I bet your father loved that. Where'd you go?"
Rukia closes her eyes. "I met this guy on the plane."
Mom laughs. "Now we're talking."
"I went to go find him, but it was sort of a disaster, and now I'll never see him again."
There's silence on the other end, and then
Mom's voice comes back a bit softer. "You never know," she says.
"This is a little bit different."
"Well, I can't wait to hear all about it when you get back."
"Which is tomorrow."
"Right," she says. "I will meet you at the baggage claim."
"Like a lost sock."
"Oh, honey," Mom jokes. "You're more like a whole suitcase. And you're not lost."
Rukia's voice is very small. "What if I am?"
"Then it's just a matter of time before you get found."
The phone beeps twice, and she holds it away from her ear for a moment. "I'm about to run out of batteries," she says when she brings it back.
"You or your phone?"
"Both. So what are you doing without me tonight?"
"Well, someone special wants to take me to some silly baseball game."
Rukia sits up straighter. "Mom, he's gonna ask you to marry him."
"What? No."
"Yeah, he totally is. I bet he'll even put it up on the scoreboard or something."
Mom groans. "No way. He'd never do that."
"Yeah, he would," Rukia says, laughing. "That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do."
They're both giggling now, neither of them able to complete a sentence between fits of laughter, and Rukia gives herself over to it, blinking back tears. It feels wonderful, this letting go; after a day like this, she's grateful for any excuse to laugh.
"Is there anything cheesier?" Mom asks finally, catching her breath.
"Definitely not," Rukia says, then pauses. "But Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you should say yes."
"What?" Mom says, her voice a few octaves too high. "What happened? You go to one wedding and all of a sudden you're Cupid?"
"He loves you," Rukia says simply. "And you love him."
"It's a little bit more complicated than that."
"It's not, actually. All you have to do is say yes."
"And then live happily ever after?"
Rukia smiles. "Something like that."
The phone beeps again, this time more urgently.
"We're almost out of time," she says, and Mom laughs again, but this time, there's something weary about it.
"Is that a hint?"
"If it will help convince you to do the right thing."
"When did you get so grown-up?"
Rukia shrugs. "You and Dad must have done a good job."
"I love you," Mom says quietly.
"I love you, too," Rukia says, and then, almost as if they'd planned it, the line goes dead. She sits there like that for another minute or so, and then lowers the phone and stares out at the row of stone houses across the road.
As she watches, a light goes on in one of the upstairs windows, and she can see a man tucking his son into bed, pulling up the covers and then leaning to kiss him on the forehead. Just before leaving the room, the man moves his hand to the wall to flick the light switch, and the room goes dark again. Rukia thinks of Ichigo's story and wonders if this boy might need a night-light, too, or whether the good -night kiss from his father is enough to send him off into sleep, a sleep without bad dreams or nightmares, without monsters or ghosts.
She's still watching the darkened window, gazing at the little house in a row of many, past the glowing streetlamps and the rain-dusted mailboxes, past the horseshoe of a driveway leading up to the hotel, when her own sort of ghost appears.
She's as surprised to see him as he must have been when she showed up at the church earlier, and something about his sudden and unexpected arrival throws her off-balance, sets her stomach churning, takes what little composure she has left and shatters it completely. He approaches slowly, his dark suit nearly lost to the surrounding shadows until he steps into the pool of light cast by the hotel lanterns.
"Hi," he says when he's close enough, and for the second time this evening, Rukia begins to cry
A/N:
To Guest:
First, Its just a fanfiction dear, and besides I have the right to do whatever I want and Love ANY anime couple I want too.. but I'm not taking it too seriously because like you said Kubo Sensei might put up IchiHime instead and dont want to be miserable if that happens..
and I dont get it why should I be ashamed of myself?
To Keira14: I kinda missed you, what's happening to you now?