Title: Circumspection
Part A: I-V
Summary: He's a single dad, she's the childcare worker. He shouldn't be staring at her like this. [AU]
I.
When he received the call, Kenpachi knew better than to question the snake—immediately slinging his craftsman tool box into the back of his pickup truck, removing his commercial-grade tool belt into the shotgun seat, and booking it back to his home city.
He calculated. It would take him 1743 kilometers to get to the home that he hadn't been to in eons. Roughly 17-18 hours of non-stop driving. There was no way he'd bother to sleep anywhere overnight. No way he'd complain about his legs being sore. He wasn't a pussy. He breathed long, nomadic travels at this point.
Shuffling to remove the hood of his parka, Kenpachi squinted at the current snowstorm. A squall reflective of his turbulent mood. Recalling the news he had just received, Kenpachi felt his Adam's apple swell, silently driving down a large stretch of empty road that went on for ages—though he could hardly see past the few feet in front of him. In his throat, the firm sensation grew to the point of soreness, a large stone lodged so deep that he couldn't quite swallow his own saliva to quell the uncomfortability.
It might not have appeared so with the restrained yet wild look in his eyes, but it was the happiest Kenpachi had felt in a long time.
To hell with this place. To hell with this job and the cold. And to hell with the possibility of his continued employment through a promotion with this fucking company. They couldn't retain a single competent worker to save their lives. He was a freelancer for god's sake and he'd rather keep it that way.
Not that their lack of retention was entirely the company's fault to begin with.
Although they specifically hired contractors and people with the least amount of options or social obligations, this place reeked of a dystopian climate-nightmare. No one in their right mind would ever want to work in the middle of nowhere up north.
The environment was enough to drive any person insane. Let alone the usual bad apples. Sometimes even the money wasn't enough.
Though Kenpachi never worked directly with the young rig boys, acclimatizing to them meant overhearing their exchanges. Their means of entertainment: a good scuffle, petty insults, subpar dick jokes, wild descriptions of body count numbers (which he seriously questioned), dares on who'd go on the next beer runs, and forlorn memories of good lays.
Not that they normally bothered him. Far from it. Heck, if these boys weren't so egotistical by way of their salary grade, than he'd admit to being just like them in his youth.
Now he was just an old cat.
Just by looking at Kenpachi, most knew to give him a wide berth, especially after a disastrous altercation or two. Whispers of him seeping through metallic concrete walls.
Nevertheless, new grunts were always cycling through.
He had to show his metal from time to time, a friendly reminder and quasi-introduction. Sometimes, the older crew's warnings about the maintenance guys' lack of self-awareness, bouts of ego, and hot temper just didn't cut it. Every so often a sad greenhorn needed to be bludgeoned with a fist or iron rail anew.
Kenpachi didn't take kindly to insults. But not because he was actually insulted. He just liked to see what was behind the talk, often taking a liking to the ones who tried to fight back.
Scaring them was one of the few past-times that made him feel content through reflex alone. Barely fights reminding him of the good old days. Thankfully, there wasn't much the supervisors could say or do—opting to give empty statements on policy and decorum with performatively penetrative glances.
Not that he gave a fuck.
They weren't necessarily his superiors to begin with. Heck, he'd had been contracted there longer than most supervisors had been around—they had to concede.
Despite his personality, the company kept him because they needed a guy like Kenpachi. Someone who had a lot of skill, but through chance and irony, also provided stability in the form of his oddly long-standing presence. He knew the barracks, the worksites, and the preventative maintenance programs by sense alone. He knew how to deal with the June and December dates of 24 hours daylight and 24 hours darkness, and knew all about the consistent seasonal repairs that needed to be done in such a tough environment. When the company inevitably offered him a supervising position as a permanent employee for their rig, their inquiry was a bad sign.
Kenpachi was a simple man. He knew how to adjust to eating the same shitty meal every day, how to keep himself entertained (usually by sleeping), and knew how to be by himself more than most. Staying now meant the exact opposite—extra doses of unwanted responsibilities and problems, despite the salary increase. It was fortuitous when he received a call from one of the persons he hated the most.
His divorce attorney.
After three years of radio silence, catching the sneer in Gin Ichimaru's voice was disquieting. Their business was completed after all. Not even a minute into false pleasantries and Kenpachi had already felt the recognizable urge to twist the man's neck anew.
But a message from Gin was never an accident. He was right to answer the minute the slimy suit's name flashed across his phone—dropping his work to find the nearest spot to listen against the harsh storm.
When Gin finished, Kenpachi swore under his breath, a pin dropping.
He had custody of his daughter now.
Driving along, his smartphone paired to his truck, Kenpachi flicked through the sparse numbers of his personal contacts and dialed.
"Hey man—whatever you're calling for, I already told you, we paid last month's rent." Ikkaku's voice groveled out, a line of restrained curiosity hanging in his voice. "What's up?"
"You guys are out of the house by next month." The reply, an order rather than a statement.
"WHAT—"
"My daughter is coming home."
There was a pause before Ikkaku's fumbled out a bemusing reply, they never really knew how to talk about sappy shit. "Hey man…congrats. I know how much the kid means to ya, but—when—how, how are you getting custody? What's changed? It's been what, three or so years, what the fuck?"
"Hn. Negligence."
The news itself was not reassuring. Having known his ex-partner's history, he knew this was a possible outcome. In fact, other than his possessive nature, it was the very reason why he fought so forcefully to have his daughter in the first place. But now that the situation was actually real, actually present, the stone in his throat couldn't seem to budge. Kenpachi blinked rapidly against the pelting of sleet on the windshield. He didn't know how to process what he was being forced to.
And the stupid fuck hadn't told him what kind of negligence had taken place.
Kenpachi tried to ignore the hammering heaviness in his chest, lungs branded with slabs of iron. Suddenly, it was almost unbearably shameful that he couldn't put to image his daughter's face. How did she look like now?
She was basically a scrawny sliver that could easily fit into one of his palms when everything went to shit. Her expression, a pink shriveled raisin.
He remembered fighting for her.
"Huh, shit man…that means you're actually coming back. What about the job?"
He'd almost forgotten that Ikkaku was still on the line. It was a stupid question.
"I quit."
Another pause. He could tell dusk was starting to settle, even though the trajectory of the sun wasn't visible in this weather.
"Hey man, don't sweat it. We'll fix up the place for you and your little girl. Yach is gonna have a pair of mean-ass uncles that are going to spoil her like crazy. Anyone mess with her, we'll beat 'em up."
A large smirk pulled across Kenpachi's face, he deflected. "You still working construction?"
"Yay, yay. Self-employed and all that shit. Yumichika's a fucking roofer now too, can you believe it?"
Kenpachi snorted, as Ikakku laughed. There was something odd about imagining a pristine barbie like Yumichika getting their nails dirty while sporting a tan in the sun. Sounded fake.
"Anyways man, once you start working. I'm your man for the job. Who knows, maybe Renji and Yumi would be down whenever they're free. Just like old times."
"Still trying to swindle more work off of me, eh?"
"Hey old fart, when I said just like old times, I wasn't kidding."
He scoffed. "See you around, you fuck."
"Anytime."
II.
Kenpachi felt the urge to put his fist through the wall of the waiting room.
For some reason, he had an inkling that at one point or another, Gin was behind all of this. When he first talked to Child Intervention Services, they spoke of an anonymous concern brought to them. The weight of their words offset by their casual tenor. Odd. Even his dull brain knew that a small complaint wouldn't have tipped them off enough to actually investigate. The bureaucracy and constant regulations were insane when it came to actually getting things done. Did his lawyer secretly have someone stalking and keeping tabs on his ex-wife the whole time?
Kenpachi wouldn't put it past him. Gin looked the inherently conspiratorial type.
Whether by nature or nurture, Kenpachi had always been the kind of man on the opposite side of the tracks. In need of cash, aimless, and dangerous. From a young age, he led a life of relative unruliness which ended up with him in juvy and later on a gang. A few years later, a hazing session with a newbie gone wrong led to a local stabbing.
He still wasn't sure what clicked then. Perhaps it was the wide eyes of the owner's child when he walked out of the barber shop into the street that lone night.
Perhaps not.
The incident hadn't been his doing. But if there existed one thing Kenpachi prized, it was fidelity. Even as a higher ranking member, he didn't snitch and spent time behind bars.
He bettered himself then. Funneling the problem of his unanswerable rage through martial arts in his spare time. He learned from a guy in prison. Had enough time to get very good at it. The legalities and the truth, ended up sorting itself out.
Although internally he had already moved on, Kenpachi chose to stay in the same neighbourhood. Drawn to familiarity more than sentimentality. When he cleaned up his act through trades and made a decent enough living, Kenpachi started to grab the attention of younger guys on the street.
Words got around too fast. He hated how they all knew his name.
The whole enterprise had been an accident really. Boys just kept showing up at his door. He wasn't a mentor. Or whatever bullshit some empathetic ditz once told him when they had been on a couple of dates. He made sure not to fuck that one.
He just despised ineptitude.
They were becoming useless. Or were on the way to becoming worse than he had been at their age. If you were going to scrap, if you were going to fight—even, if you were going to steal—at the very least, do it right.
The world had no use for harmless people.
But his convictions didn't stop him from making stupid decisions. More specifically, in his choice of women.
At the time, they didn't necessarily have a romantic relationship. She was all passion—a part-time stripper and bartender.
He liked to drink. And she liked to ask him to visit.
Thinking of his ex-partner—in all her volatility—felt like a lifetime ago. Deep down, despite his resentment at the time and now, he figured a guy like him needed to stick with a rough one like her. She sensed it too.
The pregnancy had been a surprise.
When she told him, he disappeared for a week. And when he returned, he asked her one favour. Clean it up. Almost instantaneously, he watched over her like a hawk, greedy eyes and terse outbursts, his hands shifting at every movement.
She knew then that something had changed in him. To think that a woman would become so jealous of her own child.
He knew as well as she did that she didn't have the desire to change. One day, after catching her mindlessly drunk and high, Kenpachi exploded.
He had a foreboding sense that someone would suffer.
The divorce was mind-boggling. She used his own past as a claim to set the precedent of abusive behaviour. All lies. This was only a few months after holding his daughter in his arms for the first time. The sensation, a beautiful clarity that almost made him wince.
Despite his previous run-ins with the law—with this one—he had never felt so low.
His attorney, Gin Ichimaru was a sly one.
Their interactions made Kenpachi feel like he was being duped. Spending more hours with him ad nauseum. Though to be fair, she wanted to slip what little amount of assets Kenpachi had right out from under him. His childhood upbringing and his record, a justifying badge to show around.
In the heat of separation, he didn't much care that Gin was in the business of making money. Only that he knew the man to be lethal at his job. Kenpachi could tell just from the white-haired man's voice—he had clawed his way to the top. Dangerous men knew the flags of other dangerous men.
Though there existed a completely dissimilar air about Gin.
Despite the obvious difference in tax-bracket and elevated gravitas, Gin clearly became a divorce lawyer because he liked the power he held. Particularly, the kind which came from using high-negative emotions as an instrument for precise yet perfectly legal chaos. Where Kenpachi was forthright and honest, Gin was loquacious yet mysterious.
Meddling in peoples' lives and utilizing the psychological feelings of hate and bitterness amongst partners were motivations not as deeply embedded within other law streams. True, law was beyond Kenpachi. But he had seen the glint of thrill in Gin's eyes once, rapid pen to paper.
They really were not alike.
What was even more peculiar was the fact that Gin was spoken for. In a word-for-word, "very healthy marriage of nine years." Kenpachi had met Rangiku a handful of times when she came to visit Gin's offices.
Perhaps their only true similarity lied in their tastes concerning the opposite sex—curvaceous and thick-thighed. Even, Kenpachi couldn't deny that she was nice on the eyes.
Interestingly, despite the air of effervescence she put on, she clung to her flame in a way that Kenpachi couldn't quite describe. Though it laid silently on the tip of his tongue.
Not that any of his observations mattered.
Soon there were constant pits in his stomach. He was littered with them.
Foul words running ahead of his thoughts.
Appetite going to shit.
Just the fact that he was seen as having the potential of physically abusing his daughter, who was a baby, made him vomit in the silence of his home. A bucket haplessly sitting in the corner of his bed during sleepless nights.
And here he was fighting for some kind of custody like any man in his position would have felt obligated to.
But more than that, he wanted to.
There was nothing and no one to stop him from keeping his mind from pacing a mile a minute. With his reactive responses, he had been warned and reprimanded by officials on a handful of occasions. If this were a physical spar, he would have been able to swiftly hold his own. But the power of words and logical pretense made him feel powerless under the weight of institutional bureaucracy and jezebel testimony. Stories twisting him into a person that he had trouble recognizing—and he knew he was a piece of work.
When the verdict passed, Kenpachi remembered storming out of the courtroom. His lawyer in tow. Once the coast was clear, he went into a fit of rage—slamming his forearm against Gin—swearing that he'd kill him if he ever saw his face again.
Sure, Kenpachi had his house and few more of his assets to spare, but he was stuck paying alimony and child support (albeit at a significantly lower rate than he had expected).
But even so, that wasn't the point.
He had no privileges or visitation rights to speak of.
Kenpachi knew he was a brute, but that kind of a monster?
He really should have choked Gin out. Who he was clearly didn't seem to matter anyways. This was the last shred.
He could still recall the stupid leer on the creep's face, as if he were getting off on it all.
Oh don't worry, Mr. Zaraki. You'll be the one to win in the end, just give it some time, ya? My apologies.
At the time, he had sworn Gin was talking out of his ass just to appease him. That his words weren't some sort of twisted prophecy. A premonition. Like he knew something Kenpachi didn't.
Fuck him.
Suddenly, a voice coughed. "Kenpachi Zaraki?"
Pulling out of his thoughts, Kenpachi looked at a black-haired woman with glasses. Her face whitening for a second, as she clenched her clipboard tighter, before regaining her composure. "Zaraki, sir?"
"Yeah. That's me."
Kenpachi made a move to stand as his knees popped. Fuck, he'd been sitting in these stupidly small chairs for too long.
At his full height, the woman squirmed again. Even in bouts of compliance or passivity, he had that raw effect on people. His leather jacket and wild black hair tying his intimidating image to full effect. If he were his younger self, he'd have cussed her out for making him wait for an hour. Thankfully, he had his foresight. Such behaviour wouldn't have been the best impression to give as a soon to be acting-single-father.
The woman adjusted her glasses. "Apologies for the wait, the tests took longer than what we anticipated. Your daughter has been very antsy and unresponsive, a symptom of neglect to be sure." She made a motion towards the halls. "If you can just step this way to my office we can give you a brief summary before you take her home."
Kenpachi grunted, following her lead. He stared impatiently at nothing in particular, at least his child hated tests just like him.
Walking into her office, the woman ushered him to sit. When he saw how much smaller the chair was in comparison to the already small seats in the waiting room, he didn't bother. He leaned against the wall.
"I've forgotten my manners, Mr. Zaraki. My name is Lisa, your middle contact between Child Intervention Services and Children's Services. I hope you don't mind that we contacted you as soon as we were able, we—"
"How is she?" He interrupted. It had been too long and Kenpachi didn't have the patience for this. He needed to know how his daughter was holding up.
Lisa sighed, tapping the keys of her computer.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Zaraki. Your daughter, Yachiru is not one of our best cases. But given the severity, she's actually in a better state than what most children would be in her situation."
"Here is a copy of her safety assessment and test results as disclosed in her file." She passed a folder to him. "While there are signs of physical trauma, they are relatively minor. Mostly her hands."
"Her hands?" Kenpachi couldn't hide his surprise. He haven't expected to hear something so unusual. The minute he heard the words physical trauma, he expected the worst.
"There is a possibility that the trauma is self-inflicted. Likely through stress. But it's also clear that some sort of strong agent was used on her skin. We have a kit ready for you, so you can administer daily treatments." She added. "Don't be too worried, we expect her to heal at a decent pace."
Kenpachi felt his annoyance surface. A built-in mixture of dislike and indignation against her for suggesting she could stop even him from anything, including worrying. He also felt a small uncomfortable kernel against himself.
"There are however, a number of issues that I would say are more pressing."
His ears perked.
"With the results in, we can safely say that your daughter suffers from some developmental issues. She lags in speech patterns. She's three."
He stared at her blankly.
"And this is worse because—?" Clearly he was missing something, awkward speech development sounded characteristic of early-childhood to him.
"Mr. Zaraki, by her age, your daughter shouldn't be babbling and instead should be combining two to three words to form as sentences. The severity of her speech patterns suggests to me that your ex-wife left your daughter alone for the majority of her development. We're not sure if she's had interactions with other people, aside from minimal exchanges with her mother, which were likely in the form of feeding habits."
So she treated her like a pet.
She continued. "This neglect has inspired dissociative behaviours and has left your daughter unable to fully comprehend situations in day to day life. Having guidance from a parent and interacting with them is crucial, especially since children start watching mouth movements in their infant stages to mimic sounds and socio-conversational cues."
Lisa's formal voice laced with sympathy. She could see that Kenpachi wasn't sure how to engage with the conversation other than to look at her to confirm his attention. "We've given you some information regarding speech pathologists, but I would highly recommend against that unless if it is absolutely necessary. Take every opportunity to interact with her the most you can. Read to her. Write with her."
She shifted her glasses. "You're her parent, and right now, introducing a stranger would not be the most optimal approach as she needs to develop bonding behaviours. There are some items on file which you can use as a reference on what would be standard for a girl her age. And don't worry, speech and language delays generally improve overtime."
The irony of it all was not lost on Kenpachi.
He was a stranger himself.
"Lastly, due to your record, I'm afraid that the government's decided to issue you under a form of temporary care. Which means that I will be overseeing the standard of your care through the occasional visitation and developmental test with Yachiru. We'll be checking on the safety of your home, and ensuring that her quality of life, health, development and happiness are increased to a level that we can sign off on. Once that's completed, we'll be out of your hair."
Just great, more people coming to his fucking house.
And not actual fucking custody.
He gritted, skimming through the contents of the folder. "How long will all that be?"
Lisa let out a small, professional smile. "Seven months. You'll just have to sign some papers with us. But we can send that through a fillable e-form." She clicked through a couple more buttons on her computer screen.
"I know, you don't want me to keep you waiting any longer. So if you don't have any other questions, we can get Yachiru for you—"
"What about…her mother?"
The woman paused before stepping outside of the office, making a motion for him to follow her as they walked down the hallways.
"I'm afraid there's not much I can say. When she was found, she clearly had been suffering from substance abuse for a while. If she gives us any other important information about Yachiru, we'll let you know. The only thing I can confirm is that after the safety assessment, she's due to be in jail. I can't say for how long, depends on the intent of the parent."
Ah, so that's why she had her back turned from him. Seeing his reaction would either be too unnecessary or discomforting. Smart.
"Here we are."
Lisa stopped in front of a large two-door entrance, the room clearly bigger than the other offices. It must have been their testing room.
"We've dimmed the lights for her comfort. It seems to be what she's used to."
Kenpachi felt the tell-tale clog in his throat.
Knocking three times, Lisa stiffly opened the door, speaking in hushed tones with the two medical personnel as he walked into the room. The behemoth of a man scanned the area, before seeing a little girl staring listlessly at him, then just as suddenly the wall beside him.
That was his little girl.
Dropping the folder onto the floor, he kneeled down. Half on impulse, half in discomforted awe, his hands hovered above her shoulders for a few seconds, before clutching them softly.
"Yachiru." He breathed.
It was the first time he'd actually said his daughter's name out loud since the news. There was a measure of peace that washed over him when articulating its sound.
All those years, he refrained from saying her name.
Not out of dislike.
The less he spoke about her, the less he actualized her lack of presence.
Kenpachi quickly took in the sight of her, her brown eyes staring into his own. Her pink hair had a glossy sheen, as if freshly cut. She fiddled with the seams of an oversized, black hoodie with the red letters, B O R N, across its front. Kenpachi noticed that she didn't seem too surprised or frightened by his appearance which was unusual. She didn't know him. Not to mention, he looked considerably more terrifying than most.
His face twisted in recognition—maybe that was exactly why she didn't react poorly. Her monsters didn't look quite like him. Hers, the kind without scars on their faces.
They stared in silence for what could have only been a few seconds, but felt like more. He thought he saw interest budding underneath the layers of blankness.
Mechanically, he started doing a casual checkup on her, moving her around. She didn't seem to reject his advances. He tensed gruffly. "She's underweight."
One of the practitioners nodded. "We believe that she may have experienced some fasting periods."
Unsurprising. Pulling her arms out, he opened out her palms, which looked infinitesimally smaller in the large galaxy of his hands. Her dry palms were focalized, wildly scaly with serrated crusts in various directions. Some areas, particularly the distal traverse, looked like a series of holes. Bloodshot with a raw freshness. The lower thumb to palm area looked as if Kenpachi could tap the skin's surface and hear the thump of thick, hardened layers. Flaked skin jutted out of the overall perimeter of her hands, deceptively peelable. Simultaneously thick yet easy to bleed. Kenpachi felt his teeth push into themselves as he glared sharply.
Instinctively, he picked her up. She sat in one of his arms, as he grabbed the folder. A whiff of shea butter and sharp citrus entering his nose. "I'll take that kit from you guys."
The trio of workers nodded, Lisa readily proffering Yachiru's backpack. "Huh, she seems to be totally okay with you holding her. She's made a lot of ruckus for us."
Kenpachi grunted in response, stuffing the folder into the backpack.
"The medical kit will be in there, along with a few of your daughter's belongings. Please feel free to call if you have any questions, Mr. Zaraki."
Kenpachi quickly made his exit, walking down the halls. His gaze never quite leaving Yachiru's. She didn't seem inquisitive in the slightest, staring blankly at nothing in particular. One of her fingers in her mouth.
But when he exited the building into the parking lot, he felt a flinch. An arm around the back of his neck.
"Cold, eh?" He looked at her in question.
It was just his luck that he had to become way more emotive and conversational than he actually was. With a mug like his, it was hard for even Ikkaku and Yumichika to read him. Getting her to understand and speak normally would be an exercise in exaggeration for him.
Besides anger and the occasional boisterous moment, he wasn't a wide-range-of-emotions kind of guy.
Kenpachi grasped her hoodie lightly and repeated. He was not about to pretend to shiver. "Cold?"
He noticed Yachiru's eyes widening slightly as he held her firmly. She barely felt like anything. His perception of her actually being near unsettled him with pangs of paradoxical doubt. She could float away like paper. To his surprise, Yachiru nodded slowly.
"We'll get you something warmer next time. Why give a sweater when it's not even useful. Stupid shits."
When they reached his truck, he was thankful for the little pep-talk he received from Yumichika about buying a car-seat and other preparations. What a broad that one was.
As he strapped her in, he felt Yachiru watch him. A good sign. At least she wasn't staring into nothingness.
Starting the engine, Kenpachi made his way back to their home. Even though he left the guys with a month to prepare before leaving his house, they made sure to crash at Renji's place for a few days so that Yachiru could adjust to Kenpachi and her new surroundings without the presence of too many people.
Kenpachi watched her from the rear-view mirror. Only a few minutes since meeting him and she was already observing what she could out the window. He wondered if she registered what was happening.
"Guess I have to keep talking to you, eh? Fuck—I don't care for the sound of my own voice."
She looked over to him.
He was about to ask her if she remembered him, but refrained. Of course, she didn't. He reworded his thoughts. "Do you know who I am?"
She didn't give any indication that she had heard.
She was spacing out again.
"Hn. We're going to have to fix that."
Driving back home was annoying. Traffic shouldn't have been backed up at this time. He thought he was going to be lucky and miss rush hour. It seemed he still hadn't gotten used to civilization or how much it had grown since.
When they finally reached, Kenpachi knew that he should have let her walk the steps herself, but he needed to savour the moment more than she did. Yachiru bleary-eyed and mute.
After the divorce, Kenpachi made sure to sell his old home, buying a new place in a not-quite opposite part of the city. He never thought too much of the impulse. Ikkaku, Yumichika and Renji following him around either way in their youth.
Kenpachi kept Yachiru clutched to his chest while he opened the door and mouthed a half-assed tour, dropping her bag at the front haphazardly.
"See there to the left-side is the living room, dining and the kitchen. Straight ahead you have the entertainment room that opens up to the porch and backyard. Bathroom and stairs are to your right. There are two bedrooms on the main floor, two upstairs."
Her body twisted around as if to get a better look at everything, her hand in her mouth. As they went up the stairs, he slowly pulled her arm down. There would be no sucking of fingers and babying here, especially with those hands.
"This is my room and down the hall is yours."
Kenpachi grunted as he placed her on top of the bed in her room, kneeling down to take off her shoes. He figured she'd be tired and want to sleep.
The boys really did try to make the place special for her, albeit sparsely. A new collection of kiddie blocks in the corner from Yumichika sat unopened. And by the door, a new chalkboard read, "Welcome Back, Yachiru" in barely legible scrawl. On top of the message, a smiley face that looked zanier than anything else peered back. Likely Ikakku.
"Well girl, this is your room."
He patted her head, while she looked at him.
Innocuously it came to him: her round face and bright eyes emphasized her cuteness. He'd have pinched her cheeks if it wasn't for the fact that it'd probably scare her.
Knowing him, he'd do both at some point. "You know who I am?"
He could tell that this time she was listening as she swung her two feet near the edge of the bed, small toes hitting his chest occasionally. Eventually, Yachiru shook her head negatively in response.
"C'mon, say it." He urged.
She looked puzzled then, like she had never been asked to repeat anything before. He copied her gesture back to her, shaking his head.
"Answer back. Say no, you don't know me."
Her eyebrows furrowed, opening her mouth without any sounds.
He enunciated. "No."
"No."
She responded.
Kenpachi's face lit up, his daughter's voice wispy and girlish. He cracked a half-smile then, a fast learner. "Good. That's going to be the most important word in your life."
He liked the sensation of her kicking him softly.
Yes, he could get used to this.
"I may not look it, but I'm your dad."
She stared into his dark eyes. Searching and genuine. Her expression was innocently unnerving. Most people couldn't keep eye contact with him for too long, this was a change. "I'm sure the workers told you about me."
She stared blankly as he made a move to stand.
"Alright then, go rest."
He ruffled her hair and closed the door.
With time to himself, the whole ordeal crashed upon him. Everything riveting and tiring.
Trudging down the stairs, Kenpachi shrugged off his leather jacket and went to grab her backpack to read her file. They hadn't eaten dinner, but he figured she wanted to sleep since she was almost gone in the truck. Kenpachi ate straight from a can of tuna while standing in the kitchen, rummaging through Yachiru's file on the marble countertops.
There were a lot more papers and various forms than he expected. He didn't know where to start as he wasn't much of a reader. Flickering through, he pulled a clipped document at random: speech development suggestions. He raised his brows, he had to count the amount of words to her vocabulary? And make sure they were at least 200 words to 1000 by three months? Fucking hell. Most of the shit made sense: make her get used to being addressed by her name, get her used to using pronouns (I, me, my, mine), make sure she could describe textures and sizes, and basically, make sure she was understandable most of the time, no babbling.
The first part was tedious, that probably meant reading to her a lot. And aside from construction, plumbing, and vehicle manuals, he didn't have any proper materials of the sort to be useful. Sitting still and reading was not his strong suit.
Kenpachi took the folder and her backpack to his room. Might as well read everything and get the pain over in one shot. He'd have to take a look at her medical kit too.
Lying on his bed, he read until the words started to jumble and float together in his brain. It was all drivel. He yawned loudly for the fifteenth time.
Precipitously, he felt someone watching him.
He looked across to see Yachiru standing by his door mumbling.
"You're bored aren't you?"
The girl uttered non-committal noises, making a beeline to her backpack, pulling at her hoodie softly.
"Ah shit." She must have been too hot wearing that thing in bed. Kenpachi ignored his tired bones as he went to her, helping her into a new t-shirt she had pulled out from the backpack. She looked up at him expectantly.
He joked. "You scared of the house or you just like me?"
Yachiru held onto the sleeve of his t-shirt, pointing at the backpack.
Right. There was still a lot of go through.
Rummaging through the bag, Kenpachi pulled out the medical kit, a few articles of clothing, some crayons, a colouring book, and a brand new toothbrush. She snatched the toothbrush and started twisting the plastic unsuccessfully.
"Right, right." He sighed, leading her to the bathroom. "Let's go."
There seemed to be more and more items to buy in Kenpachi's mental checklist in the last hour. A stool in the bathroom for Yachiru being one of them. Brushing their teeth together, Kenpachi held her in his arms, pleased to see that her motor skills seemed to be okay, while she forcefully leaned into him. When she was ready to spit, he leaned down. Something inside of her caused her to fearfully jolt, her froth accidentally staining his white shirt.
He mulled at his first hour of being a parent—he forgot to make sure she was dressed properly, probably should have made her eat earlier, and didn't tell her to brush her teeth from the get go. At least she was aware of some things.
"I'm really bad at this, huh?"
When he made for the direction of her room, she pulled at his shirt vigorously.
She wanted to stay with him.
Kenpachi felt bewildered, too tired to correct her in speaking her request out loud. "Okay, if you say so."
Back in his room, he decided to apply the medical cream. A thick and clumpy compound on her hands. It smelt nauseating, bitter and earthy. When she joined him on the bed, Yachiru kept obsessing over her palms, making a move to put a finger into her mouth.
He grasped her arm. "No. None of that."
She needed something to distract her.
Leaning against the headboard, he pulled out his phone, motioning her to come closer. "Yachiru, here." He tapped the pillow beside him. "I don't have any books, but let's see what we can read on here. It'll be boring."
She itched forward.
In passing, Kenpachi wondered if she was lonely. Or if she truly knew that she was, considering the fact that being alone was the only thing she probably ever really experienced.
He threw away the feeling of guilt. It wouldn't due to cry over spilt milk.
Scrolling through whatever nonsense he could find, Kenpachi read out loud with the occasional drowsy comment, Yachiru blinking and peering. This new ritual passing for some time.
When he felt a head dive into his shoulder, a clammy hand smacking his face, he cursed. Whatever was in his mouth tasted disgusting.
But there Yachiru was, sleeping with a gloomy smile.
As if not to break her, he slowly engulfed his arms around her and dozed off.
His little girl was finally home.
III.
Like any other single parent, Kenpachi had work. In his case, it meant going back to the rhythm of freelance jobs and contractual projects that he already succeeded in securing for the upcoming year. A guy of his age and frankness gave an instant aura of expertise.
Not that there was any doubt. But he was glad he still had it.
Work meant finding a suitable daycare for Yachiru.
The other week when Yumichika came to visit, he had made a comment in passing about a place nearby with open applications. And thankfully the location wasn't too inconvenient.
The single father figured he'd have to make an appearance.
What he hadn't expected to find was a woman who took his application with such an eagerness that it made him suspicious. Compared to the others, who eyed him cagily from a distance as they entertained a number of runts, her lack of unease as to his presence threw him off. Family men didn't look like him.
He watched her flick through the pages as she ambled away to speak to a few care-workers in hushed tones. Wide amber eyes with long lashes occasionally glanced at Yachiru, a radiant orange framing the woman's face.
And not that he wasn't being discreet. He was merely seeing the obvious. But the woman's body was shapely, tempestuously soft-looking, and voluptuous.
After so long in the bush, her youthful beauty was almost caustic. Her excessive femininity causing him to salivate unintentionally.
Suddenly, he saw her make an abrupt pout with shifty eyes as she talked to an older woman. A seeming disagreement, before returning to the pair. His brows furrowed. Did he overhear something about their capacity being full?
As if he didn't witness her change in demeanor, she gave a chirpy, innocent response. "Well Mr. Zaraki, you're in luck! You've got our last slot, we'd love to accept your application for Yachiru!"
The woman directed another beam to the little girl, who stayed close to Kenpachi while observing her surroundings. Yachiru, who was still starting to come out of her shell in the privacy of her own home, shifted behind Kenpachi's tall legs—though to his surprise, he caught the glimpse of a shy yet inquisitive expression. Then a squint of a smile.
"Awe, aren't you a sweet one!"
That was unusual.
So Yachiru liked the lady with the big boobs. He'd keep a mental note on that.
The black-haired man kneaded his daughter's shoulder softly, restraining an urge to chuckle when he saw the other staff workers' faces pale ten shades over. Ah, so he wasn't wrong in what he heard, they didn't want him there.
He grinned. "Good. When can she start?"
"Well, there are still a number of forms you'll have to sign off in order to properly register. If you can bring them by next week then we can start her program the week after next." She was still beaming as she looked him straight in the eye, craning her neck quite a bit.
She was too close, what was wrong with this chick? "How does that sound, Mr. Zaraki?"
All of it was a drag. "Fine."
"Perfect! Let me just go to the office and bring the registration forms."
When she returned with a pile and placed them in his hands, Kenpachi's eyes almost bulged out of his skull. They were more forms here than what he got from Child Services! The nerve of all these evil pieces of paper.
The woman could only giggle apologetically at his dubious face. Another thought coming to her, when Yachiru started to shuffle her knees in boredom. "Are there are other things I should take note of about your daughter? Or any questions?"
Kenpachi still found it odd to talk about Yachiru as if she couldn't overhear. But it wasn't like he was used to having to talk about someone quite so frequently either. Regardless, certain concerns needed to be addressed before Lisa's first visit. "She's a bit behind in her speech development. Make sure to read to her. Get her to read out loud."
He wasn't about to offer up anything else that wasn't necessary.
The woman didn't seem to notice his reserve, and continued on without skipping a beat. "That sounds perfectly fine! We'll make sure to have her reading and mouthing off to daddy in no time." She joked, eyeing Yachiru as if to bond with her in childish conspiracy, something moving in the pit of his stomach. "Isn't that right, Yachiru?"
The little girl was spacing out again, eyes glazed. If the woman noticed, she pretended not to.
He figured it was time to make their exit.
As Kenpachi was about announce their leave and instruct Yachiru to say goodbye, the woman waved her arms in bubbly clumsiness and apology.
"Oh my goodness! I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Orihime Inoue. Please feel free to call on me if you need anything, Mr. Zaraki."
She extended a dainty hand to shake his own. Despite her seeming mishap, the woman's actions and clear lack of fear stupefied him. If anything, what she assumed to be an affront on her part was rather something that negated her clumsiness. The act, a form of arbitrary openness that simultaneously deterred yet refreshed him.
He shook her hand, her breasts subtly moving in tune as she smiled brightly.
She was such a young thing.
IV.
Accompanying Yachiru by the outdoor playground, Orihime tickled her softly, the little girl emitting a loud bawl of laughter before running away to climb and tumble down a slide. Her winter onesie protected her from the elements, snowfall coagulating into thin slush.
Thinking back on when she first met Yachiru, Orihime couldn't understand why she insisted that they take on the girl. As an assistant care-worker, she wasn't in any position to make such decisions. But neither were the ones that were present when the odd pair came in.
"Yachiru! One last round and then we're going to read, okay?"
"No!" The little girl shook her head.
She could be so disagreeable sometimes. At least, at this age she was still cute.
"We have to get your word count up!" Orihime shouted verbatim. Words from Kenpachi she had heard him say to his daughter more than once.
No.
She knew why she accepted their application.
They still had an opening and there was nothing wrong with their submission. She had accepted them on principle. When she had first seen the pair, Orihime knew that the others would have felt unsettled by the sight. There was hardly a resemblance between father and daughter. Moreover, there was drastic difference.
Not the obvious being Yachiru's pink hair and her father's tousled black mane.
But that wasn't the only reason she accepted their application.
When she was advised by her co-workers not to bother with their application, a kernel in her gut felt offended. Yes, Mr. Zaraki was a towering man that clearly reeked of single fatherhood—meaning they were either extremely kind or extremely brusque than most—and that the telltale signs pointed to the latter. And yes, he was one of those older men who had really young children later on in life (whatever that connotation meant). But to be so mistrustful?
She didn't think she'd have the gall to defy their advice, but when she saw the look on Yachiru's face, something concretized inside of her to go against their expectations.
Orihime had made up for it later with the supervisor, who eventually agreed with her choice regardless. She was only following protocol to the best of her abilities after all. Never reject a customer.
The decision turned out to be fine. She was their direct contact anyways and she liked maintaining this particular relationship. Her co-workers had nothing to worry about.
Even if they insisted that the man looked like a criminal whenever he strolled in, Orihime could see that he was very much the opposite with Yachiru. If anything, Orihime noticed that he was really considerate—if not, publically reserved with his daughter. Almost like she was a part of his imagination, one he was careful not to break.
Others might not have been able to see their bond. But she did.
She knew what it was like to have an unconventional family. The man was knackered in scars, an especially lethal one across his face, but she had seen worse stuff in her childhood. In a way, the unconventional was familiar to her. Her thoughts lingering on her deceased-brother and replacement father, Sora. He had done so much for her. For them.
Her co-workers might have disliked her decision to one up them, but that didn't faze her. One day, she'd be able to make her own choices in her own daycare free from scrutiny. It also helped that Orihime was hardly the kind of person one could dislike for too long.
When she softly maintained that they not gossip about the man around his daughter, so as not to hurt the girl, at least they felt some shame to her obvious truth.
Besides, Mr. Zaraki was only as gruff and disinterested as most men in a daycare would be. His only concern being his offspring.
"Okay, that's enough, Yachiru! We're off to read. Let get inside." Orihime moved to carry the girl, who flailed around like a wet fish trying to escape her grasp. She could be so cantankerous! But at least she was laughing.
Orihime had seen such a change in her and it had only been two months.
Struggling to hold a wiggling Yachiru, Orihime stumbled inside while twisting the knob, using her hips to open the door. If there was one problem, it was the fact that the girl's favorite word was "no" and that she disliked being carried. But she noticed a painful happiness to the little girl's rebellious yet guarded nature, so she could never truly be upset.
At least Orihime got an arm workout in.
Yachiru's heels plopped onto the floor with the ease, while her care-worker caught her breath. "Your daddy is going to be here soon, let's at least give reading one last go before the weekend."
Usually, Mr. Zaraki picked her up much earlier. But he had texted Orihime beforehand that he was going to have some project keeping him for a few more hours this evening.
She didn't mind. It wasn't exam season just yet and it wasn't like she was dating anyone. Not to mention, her roommate and best friend, Tatsuki wasn't around this week. So she had no one to keep her company anyways.
Urging the little girl into the preschool room, which was empty at this hour, Orihime asked. "So, what will it be? Are we going to sit on the yellow chairs or the floor?"
"Floors!" Yachiru ran to the over-sized pillows in the corner of the room, collapsing over them. The red and blue styrofoam puzzle mats made squishy sounds.
"Okay now, okay now. We still need a book." Orihime laughed, picking one herself. She figured Yachiru would take too long to choose one before becoming disinterested altogether.
Yachiru shook her head. "No."
"No, what? You don't want to read?"
Yachiru bopped her head repeatedly into a large red cushion, half-giggling to herself. "No, no, no."
"Well then, how come you don't want us to read together?" She tried a different tactic. Performing a fake frown, as if to say you don't want to read with me and that's going to hurt my feelings.
"Becaaause, I'm gonna reading with daddy anyways." The little girl's voice sounded as if she were stating the obvious and that Orihime was just being silly. Orihime pictured the brutish man opening a book and giggled to herself. Even though she knew he was adamant about his daughter's word count, him opening anything meant to be read just seemed too unreal.
"Right. You mean you're going to read with daddy. And I don't believe that for a second. He's going to be so tired when he picks you up, he's probably going to fall right asleep." She replied, patting the floor next to her. "You're not getting away from this."
The little girl made a noncommittal huff, her hair lifting upwards against the static of the pillows.
Getting the right outcome was all about making something sound like a good deal or a compromise in the child's favour. "C'mon, how about this, I'll let you flip the pages? It's about knights and dragons!"
Yachiru's eyes glimmered before slowly nodding. Yet instead of sitting next to Orihime, she chose to sit on her lap.
The girl had a habit of not listening in the best way, a sneaky one.
Being the naturally affectionate person she was, Orihime felt her heart beat. It took everything out of her not to give a slight peck on Yachiru's forehead as the little girl began flipping the pages as Orihime started to read.
Yachiru always liked anything that had to do with fighting. And the orange-haired woman knew that the proclivity came from the girl's father.
One time when Orihime had waved them goodbye—during a particularly rough day, when the little girl wasn't her best moods—she observed the two in the parking lot. Beside his pickup truck, the man had kneeled down by a sulking Yachiru, lifting his open palms to her. Orihime couldn't hear anything from inside the daycare, but it was clear he was trying to cheer his daughter up in his own way. His size and attitude, potent and gargantuan.
Then Yachiru had made a small fist and punched his palms. This continued on for some time, with Kenpachi moving to fix her posture every so often. From right hand to left hand and back again, until their session culminated with an ecstatic high-five. Yachiru had really put effort into her last ones.
At first Orihime worried over the possibility of Yachiru getting violent with some of the other kids. But the girl's socially cautious nature in groups left her unable to express herself to most of the people at the facility. It was why the Yachiru hadn't made any friends just yet. And why, Orihime usually found Yachiru so restless on days when the care-worker started work later in the day after taking her classes on campus, during Tuesdays and Thursdays. Yachiru moodily gravitated to her more than she could articulate at her late appearances during those days.
The thought of the girl fidgety and alone saddened her, but Orihime was only a part-time worker. She still needed to make ends meet through the ordeal of education, tuition, rent, transportation, and bills.
Orihime often wondered why she wasn't actually as tired as she probably should have been. She was ashamed to think that it was because her social life suffered. Her free time used for resting and completing other tertiary tasks from home.
Even though she really did have all the certifications needed to start her own daycare business—with even more qualifications she completed on her own time— she really wanted to prove to Sora that someone like them could get a post-secondary education. And hence, she was finishing her business degree.
Somewhere out there, she knew her older brother was watching her. She still felt the sense of urgency that came with wanting to make him proud. The profound intimacy never quite dying off.
As Orihime continued reading, Yachiru's head felt heavier and heavier, until she heard the signs of her eventual slumber.
Supporting the child in her arms, Orihime placed her on one of the closer pillows and left to grab a small blanket in the nap room, a co-worker smiling as Orihime went back to her charge. The winter season brought about darkness much too quickly in the day, but Orihime couldn't help but admire how ephemeral the little girl looked in the moonlight.
Securing the edges of the blanket around her like a cocoon, Orihime softly moved a hand away from the girl's face, their shell-like texture bothering her.
It was the one thing she always felt discouraged to bring up with the girl's father, even though she always meant to.
For some time, Orihime watched Yachiru sleep, occasionally scrolling through her phone beneath the little girl's snores until she heard the main door emit its musical chime.
Making her way to the entrance, her eyes widened, Kenpachi trudging in with nothing but a white muscle shirt and a red and black flannel. She couldn't help herself as she blurted. "Oh goodness! Aren't you cold?"
Kenpachi grunted as he shoved the snow off his boots.
"Colder up north. The weather's a breeze here."
He didn't acknowledge her directly, preferring to do a once over for Yachiru. He refused to get used to the woman's pleasantries.
"Oh right—gosh, I can't imagine what'd be like to work in the Arctic." Orihime supplied dumbly. She remembered reading about his work history.
Upon closer speculation, Orihime could see that the man was covered in construction compound and the remains of drywall. "Yachiru's fast asleep in one of our preschool rooms, Mr. Zaraki."
Her comment caught his attention, Orhime suddenly flustered as the man looked at her head on, fully acknowledging her presence. It wasn't as if they hadn't conversed before, but she randomly noted that someone had always been around then. The back of her mind admitted that there was something different about seeing a man like him enter at this time of hour, the lights illuminating his particular authority and muscle.
Mind you, there wasn't really a reason to act any different. He was still the same, Mr. Zaraki. Blunt and direct. Yet she wasn't sure why it always felt like she had to be the one to encourage eye contact.
"I think you'll have to carry her. I'm afraid she doesn't quite like it when I hold her for too long" Orihime smiled, a friendly if not unconscious reflex. "Even in sleep she says no."
She noticed a wetness in his eyes as he made a motion with his head, indicating for her to show him where to go. "Good."
Was that the sublimation of a laugh?
Whatever the case, Orihime could hear his mild amusement and that put her at ease as she led him to the preschool room. She stayed by the door as Kenpachi made to remove the blanket and cradle Yachiru. The width of his slender hands and long digits were bigger than most. Probably the biggest she had ever seen in all honesty. Looking as gentle as a man like him could possibly be, Orihime didn't bother hiding her obvious yet reflexively soft delectation as he held his daughter.
After properly adjusting his arms, the man froze for a few seconds, suddenly remembering Orihime's presence. He always had an odd way of being calm yet on guard at the same time. For her part, she pretended not to notice. As they stalked back to the front of the daycare, the man shouldered the door to leave with a snoring Yachiru, clicking his key fob. Some dry remains from his work left themselves on the floor tiles.
Orihime edged closer to the entrance, the wind distilling the would-be quiet. The full moon at its peak brightness.
"Seems like things are picking up for you." Orihime half-whispered, wrapping her arms together. "Anytime your projects are running late, just let me know, Mr. Zaraki."
She shivered, her mouth rippling as a cold gust escaped indoors, his lip tightening.
Under the scrutiny of his tired frame, she felt as if he was holding back from saying something.
He nodded a sharp thanks before leaving.
V.
Orihime now knew why she was drawn to Yachiru so much. The girl was clearly overcoming some form of childhood trauma, much like she had in hers. They bore too much of a similarity. Her instincts intrinsically knew the connection between them before her own conscience did.
The incident outside today proved everything.
This time Orihime wouldn't hold back in asking the questions she needed to from Mr. Zaraki.
All day she had been preparing for this moment. Emotions swinging from trepidation to resolve. Ready to inquire about his daughter.
Yet his overt exasperation when she asked him to step into the office, left her a lot more anxious than she expected. The man didn't bother hiding his annoyance and she wasn't used to having it directed at her. She knew his indifference more than anything else.
With his size, the whole room shrank.
Mr. Zaraki's performative veneer of a laid-back stare was just the worst. The kind that both killed and undressed. In his presence, she instantly forget the internal script she had intended to say. The questions she managed to concoct and repeat in her head (including its variables) in the last four hours now lost under his oppressive aura.
So this is what they mean about single-father's being difficult. Easily perturbed by a disturbance within routine.
Orihime fidgeted underneath the desk. Straightening her emerald dress, her long layered necklaces jingled against her movements.
"You done yet?"
In this proximity, Orihime could see his scar in detail—a definitive crag at the start of his forehead down to his lower mandible.
He was an intimidating man to say in the least. It wouldn't due to have him think she was stupid, she couldn't deny that a part of her desired his respect.
Orihime brushed her fingers through her hair, counting to three under her breath before starting. "As you know, I am Yachiru's primary attendant at this daycare. And I've been meaning to tell you that I have some concerns about your daughter."
He shifted, his annoyance inching closer to a suspicious antagonism. If she needed to declare some illuminating observation about himself, she should have spoken months earlier. "If you think I'm going to let you insinuate shit on how I take care of my daughter, you are sorely mistaken."
Orihime gulped inaudibly before standing her ground. "Mr. Zaraki, although you've never stated it outright, you and I both know that Yachiru is dealing with certain developmental delays. And you've been very frank and concerned about the subject in your own way. It's enough for me to believe that you're a competent father. This isn't about that."
She wasn't an idiot. Orihime saw the duo's situation for what it was. The way Yachiru clung to her father's leg in a similar way she had gripped onto Sora's jeans. In a fleeting memory, she thought of her brother, barely over his teenage years.
"Well then? What is it?"
"It's her hands."
With daggers pinned on her, Orihime gulped again, ready to clarify her thought. She had no reason not to trust him. "Earlier on, I know you told me that Yachiru had gotten into an accident—and that's fair enough. But I have to know how exactly she came to receive them."
His frown turned into an open grit.
Clearly, she pinched a nerve. A mysterious one she had mulled on for months.
Orihime and Yachiru's father had always maintained, an earnest yet rehearsed, professional back and forth, removed from themselves. But now that she had finally said what she needed to off her chest, a graceful poise appeared, replacing her usually cheery demeanour. She inhaled resolutely as the blubbering of Yachiru playing with a toy trickled underneath the door.
He continued to stare into her, her eyes barely registering that his thoughts were ricocheting against each other.
"I think it's obvious enough that I've only just gotten custody of my daughter. All from less than stable circumstances." His voice resonated firmly.
"Her mother, wasn't a nice one. Was convicted for neglect. Child neglect." His words didn't betray his feelings of the matter. A neutral and unreadable admission. "When I got her, all I was told was that something had happened to her hands."
So she was right.
Yachiru had been abused.
An odd yet familiar uncomfortability in Orihime's gut festered beneath the surface. Her intestines churning.
"So you'd understand why I'd like to know what happened myself." He grunted.
She stammered apologetically. "W-well, you're probably wondering why I even started this line of questioning…" It was hard to get back into her professional self, when the situation came too close to home.
She ignored the images, liquor stains and broken bottles across the living room floor, of Sora hiding her under the bed. "But something unusual happened today..."
His ears perked.
"Nothing too drastic really. But it was the first time I'd ever seen Yachiru get so upset. With spring here now, the daycare's planted some new flowers around the back. Yachiru was out with the rest of the kids for recess and I had left to grab some toys—I hadn't expected her to make such a mess of herself with the soil. It was pretty wet since the night before."
She licked her lips. "Anyways—I figured it wasn't a big deal and that we'd wash her hands by the sink before using the medical wipes for her. But she reacted quite badly. Like she was terrified of the sink." Orihime grimaced, she could still hear the bawling and twisting of Yachiru ringing through her ears. "I had to wrestle with her to use the soap and water."
Kenpachi mulled, the information churning in his head. "So she reacted badly to that, huh?"
"She kept on saying no. But she didn't say anything else." The situation was the first time Yachiru ever shied away from her as if she had betrayed her in some way. Orihime's chest stung with guilt.
"The doctors said that an agent was most likely responsible for her hands…"
A thought entered Orihime's mind. "We use sensitive, child-friendly soaps here. But there are some that can be quite harsh, especially with frequency."
Kenpachi remained silent. Yachiru must have been forced to do something over and over to have had quite a distressing reaction to washing her hands. "So soaps…"
"It seems to me that she also has a distaste for water. I had to wash her face and she responded just as bad." Orihime added, the overall conversation abrupt but surprisingly constructive. "And she's never been keen to take a sip from the water fountain unless if I'm there."
"That would make sense." He furrowed his brows, piecing observations together in his mind. "She never likes showers either." It was taxing to think on speculation, but he was forced to by Orihime. "I figured it was just a learning thing."
Orihime shuffled in her seat, clearly he hadn't been as observant as he thought he was. She knew she wasn't privy to the family's situation, nor was it her right, but her heart ached at the possibility of Yachiru's lack of support.
She could only imagine that the girl's father had so many moving parts in his life—especially as a single, working father. He screamed of a man with a small social circle. A circle most likely too masculine to be useful. She wanted to help in anyway, however small.
"Mr. Zaraki—if this sounds okay with you—I'd love to help Yachiru become more accustomed to water. It might be scary for her at first, but with the weather getting better, the outdoor water parks will be open soon. I could take her to one in the next couple of months. All shallow water." Under her desk, she fiddled with her fingers at the sound of her suddenly stupid sounding suggestion as it left her lips.
A different kind of suspicion etched across Kenpachi's face. Orihime waved her hands in sheepish placation. "I-I mean, I know she's dealing with trauma. So at the end of the day, I'd never do anything without your say so or advice from specialists. But water is important and fundamental to life as it is." She spluttered. "I-I could train her to be accustom to it for a couple of months. Maybe make her water the plants with me until her threshold is better. And I know it'd be on my off time, but I'd love to take her afterwards. Teach her that water can be safe—and fun." She added the latter, a sudden afterthought to soften the proposition.
"I'll be there."
"What?" Orihime blinked frantically.
Not that she disagreed. She just hadn't accounted for that. The slight informality she offered, now veered into a further extreme than she hadn't anticipated.
"I can't have her afraid of anything. Refuse to." Kenpachi continued, shuffling the keys in his jacket before standing. He couldn't admit his oversight in this. "You let me know whenever she's ready and make it a weekend. I won't leave her with a stranger."
A part of her felt that she should have been offended at being called a stranger. Especially considering the fact that he left his girl at the daycare all the time. But another part told her that it was his backhanded way of admitting that he needed to be part of the process.
Orihime smiled quietly, a new task set before her.
He had already opened the office door when she stretched out her hand again. "We have a deal then, Mr. Zaraki."
TBC.
A/N: Hello folks! I hope anyone even remotely curious enjoyed this very, very crack!ship read. I wrote this because the idea for this story has been bouncing around in my head for months. The gnawing came to the point that I just had to let it out. I suspect there will be a total of three to five parts at the longest.
I know the fandom has been dead for a while, but with the animated TYBW arc and Kubo Tite's continuation of Bleach with the Hell Arc, I figured that now would be as good of a time as any.
Kudo's to anyone who recognizes that this AU is situated in Canada. Hence, it's easy for people to drive up into any of the three territories for Oil and Gas work. The arctic climate is insane there.