"I'll take tea and dinner in my office," Byakuya says brusquely as he closes the shoji door behind him and starts to remove his shoes. "Whatever has already been prepared is fine."
Immediately, three servants scatter to see to his errand. A fourth lingers—a younger girl, whose name he can't recall. She leans forward with her hands clasped behind her back and stares at him, her lips pressed close together.
Byakuya frowns. "Well?" he asks, as the servant girl scrambles into a low bow.
"We're very happy to have you back home safe, Lord Kuchiki!" she announces with a wide smile, before she disappears down the hall.
Byakuya sighs as he slips off his damp robe and leaves it hanging by the door, where another servant will come later to wash and launder it. It has been raining in the Seireitei, and for a while, it seems—not a harsh rain, as he has seen first-hand in the world of the living over these past few days, but a persistent, grim rain that has left behind a certain softness to the floorboards around the house that Byakuya cannot help but notice as he walks to his study.
The rain falls rhythmically, soporific, against the window looking out onto the courtyard, which is painted in tired shades of hazy grey and green. The last plum blossoms have long since faded away, and the shishi-odoshi echoes with its hollow clanks against the earth.
It makes for a peaceful backdrop, though Byakuya is not quite in the proper state of mind to appreciate it. He takes a seat by the window looking out into the garden, releasing a long, pent up breath as he closes his eyes and rests his head back against his chair. He runs one hand through his hair, loosening his kenseikan before he removes them entirely, setting them on the desk next to his paperwork.
His most recent trip to the world of the living was a short one - less than two weeks, hardly enough time for him to have covered much territory at all - but it was draining nonetheless. He started in Shinjuku, a place where he would ordinarily be able to see a large number of people in a short amount of time. The crowds move fast in Shinjuku, and the people disappear just as quickly.
Even on such short trips as that one, he tries to approach his search from multiple angles—sometimes he'll find posts where he can observe the people who pass through, other times he will bring a portrait of Hisana with him to show pedestrians, in the hopes that her sister will bear enough of a resemblance to her that someone may recognize her.
Neither approach has yet to bear any fruit.
The rain in Shinjuku was near constant this past trip, which frustrated a lot of his efforts. Many had their faces covered by coats or umbrellas, and the picture of Hisana he brought crumbled and faded in the pouring rain and humidity within days of his arrival.
It was an abject failure, like the many missions before it.
After so long, though, failure is exactly what Byakuya has come to expect, though it had been so foreign to him before. He hardly even knows whether the picture is useful anymore; enough time has passed that Hisana's sister may have lived and died several times over without his having learned of it. She may have yet to be reborn at all, trapped in the fickle cycle of death and rebirth.
The truth is that so much time has passed that any certainty he may have had once is gone; now there is only conjecture and supposition, neither of which has served him well.
When he initially began searching for Hisana's sister, he'd been ceaseless in his efforts, dogged, hardly resting or eating, wearing his body to its limits, just as Hisana had done. From dawn to dusk he'd be trawling through the Rukongai, assisted by the servants in the Kuchiki household.
He spent over five years traveling through Soul Society, his drive tapering off with each subsequent failure. Eventually, he could find no other explanation for his failure other than that he was too late, and that Hisana's sister was no longer in Soul Society for him to find.
It stung then, just as it stings now, but he has grown so used to the sense of failure that the sting of defeat is merely that—a sting, an ache, a wound that will fade within the coming days. He has no choice but to continue on, and so he does.
Now that he is fresh from his latest failure, though, he would much rather spend the evening indulging his frustrations, preferably with a glass or two of plum wine, a long rest, and a hot bath, though he supposes all three will have to wait until he's caught up on what he's missed in the time that he's been gone.
With a final sigh, Byakuya rubs at his sore eyes and begins to sort through the papers left on his desk, ones that Toshiro must have sent over. It was a less than ideal time for him to be gone, and there's much to be done in light of Toshiro's inevitable transfer. Far too much, he thinks irritably, as he thumbs through a stack of reports that Toshiro drafted.
Belatedly, and somewhat cynically, Byakuya wonders whether he ought to have delegated more of this work to his lieutenant at the outset of his testing, under the guise of preparing him better for his prospective duties as captain.
Just as he begins to review Toshiro's papers in earnest, there's a soft knock at his door, barely audible above the wind outside, before a tray is set just outside his study. The servant's retreating footsteps patter like soft rain down the hall.
This, Byakuya has come to expect. His servants have learned to tread carefully around him after his trips to the world of the living, though he has never been in the habit of announcing his plans to them beforehand. They have a way of sleuthing it out for themselves regardless, either from the length of his absences, or from his behavior upon his return.
For some strange, incomprehensible reason, they seem to care when he is in his darkest moods, hovering around his grief like moths around a lamp.
He has the wherewithal to admit that he is not a pleasant man, nor is he a particularly inviting one, even in his most charitable moments. And yet, his staff have never regarded him with fear. Rather, they, like the girl servant who had greeted him earlier, seem to care for him in a way that almost seems matronly, as if he were a child to be cared for.
He knows, for example, that the tray that's been left behind includes not only the tea and dinner he requested, but several neat, fresh flowers arranged on the corner of his tray, along with several fresh pastries he did not request, that he may or may not eat.
No, his servants do not fear him. At least, not right now, they do not.
If anything, they pity him. Perhaps it's not unrealistic of them to do that.
Save for a small number of children and newer staff, there is not a servant in his home who does not remember Hisana, who does not remember her presence, or how her presence had changed him, irreversibly, from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her.
Hisana was a kind woman, who had charmed many of the hard hearts that had been set against her. Many of the staff had mourned her death as he did, and they have looked after him as Hisana might have herself—dotingly, with quiet, subtle assurances.
Byakuya gives his hair one last, frustrated tug, before he rises to retrieve his dinner. As he anticipated, there is a sprig of fresh lavender tucked along the side of the tray, as well as a bowl of grilled fish over rice and a small pastry wrapped in light blue paper.
He takes a small sip of the tea as he sits back at his desk, but leaves the grilled fish and rice as he sorts through his papers to find a roster of the remaining members of Squad Six, whose rearrangement will be his next frustrating task, now that he will be in need of a new lieutenant.
The third seat is an inoffensive choice, he supposes, though Byakuya does not have much of an impression of the man. It is not like how it had been with Toshiro, who Byakuya never doubted as a candidate. The talent he had as a new shinigami was impossibly rare, unmatched by any shinigami since, and the opportunity to mentor him had been too difficult for Byakuya to resist.
The current third seat does very little to spark that same interest now.
To complicate matters more, Byakuya is not even entirely sure that he's had a conversation with his third seat within the last few years or so.
Byakuya frowns as he flips through the training exercises Toshiro has recorded over the last few days, already dreading the time it will take for his next lieutenant to learn his duties. Toshiro has been by his side long enough that it will be an adjustment to have a new lieutenant, and not a particularly pleasant one.
Toshiro was, after all, much more than simply his lieutenant: he was his student as well as his companion, and at times served as Byakuya's only confidant. While it is unrealistic to expect that his next lieutenant will be able to fill any of those roles as Toshiro did, he cannot help but mourn it, in a way that has him feeling exceedingly selfish.
For Toshiro's own sake, Byakuya is happy to see his lieutenant prosper. As Toshiro's mentor, he also cannot say he's unsatisfied to see his student of so many years succeed.
But still, as the Captain of Squad Six, and as Byakuya Kuchiki, the change is one that will take some time for him to get used to. It will be lonely, he knows, once Toshiro is gone. It will be lonely, and there are very few people available to fill the hole Toshiro's absence will leave.
A board creaks down the hall, slow like an old joint, heralding the approach of someone who is neither a servant nor overly concerned with being heard as he approaches.
In Byakuya's manor, that could only ever be one person.
He feels a vein in his forehead throb.
"Grandfather," Byakuya says, before the man has the opportunity to knock. "Come in."
Ginrei hums loudly, the most vocal his praise ever gets, before sliding the door open. He looks around the room and takes stock of the room—the lack of light, the scattered papers, Byakuya's uneaten food and cooling tea. "It's rather dark in here," he notes, by way of greeting, as he closes the door behind him. "But it looks as though you're settling back in from your time away."
"It was lighter when I started," Byakuya lies. He shuffles the few papers on his desk and sets them aside with a wave of his hand. Truth is not so much of a necessity with his grandfather, who has an unfortunate habit of prying into business that is no longer his own. "There are only a few things that I intend to look through this afternoon."
"Hm. You're fortunate there is not more," Ginrei says, as he crosses his hands behind his back. "Assuming that there isn't."
Despite his age, Ginrei has the same proud, unbent stature he'd had in Byakuya's youth, when he'd spent most of his time overseeing Byakuya's training as a young shinigami. His age shows in other ways, in the long, weighted wrinkles that have formed around his proud cheekbones, and the way that his eyes - though they remain as sharp as they've ever been - have begun to sink into his skull, as if his entire body were made of wax that'd been set too close to a fire.
"Regardless," Ginrei continues, "I thought I would come to congratulate you, now that your lieutenant is being promoted."
"Ah." Toshiro's promotion is not quite yet settled, nor is it public knowledge, but Byakuya keeps the thought to himself. The test itself was no secret, and Ginrei has any number of connections from his time as Captain of Squad Six and head of the Kuchiki clan. That his grandfather talks about Toshiro's promotion with so much confidence only confirms what Byakuya has already suspected.
"He has earned it by his own merit," Byakuya says simply. In an attempt to head off any potential criticism of that, he adds, "Though it's a credit to the Squad as a whole."
"Yes, certainly. A credit indeed, and a sharp boy. Yes." Ginrei nods silently to himself as he circles Byakuya's study, as critical and discerning as a prowling wolf.
He stops in front of a hanging scroll near the window, one that depicts a lone sakura tree over a lake, its falling petals suspended over the water, embossed with silver thread so that they appear to shimmer in the air. It's one that Hisana had chosen for him soon after their marriage, her own eyes better suited to such details than his own.
The same scroll has hung there in that precise spot since Hisana placed it there. Byakuya supposes that it'll hang there until the next head of the Kuchiki clan, whoever that may be, elects to take it down.
Ginrei contemplates the wall hanging for several moments before he notes, "The two of you worked rather closely over the years, so I imagine that will be a great change for you going forward." He pauses, then adds, "and you are not always the most accommodating person to change, Byakuya."
Byakuya cannot help his eyebrow from twitching at his grandfather's entirely unsubtle remark, but he dismisses it with a shake of his head. "I'm seeing to it now. Certainly there will need to be some movement within Squad Six, but I am not anticipating any significant issues."
"Mhm." It is clear Byakuya's response was not what Ginrei had in mind, because he continues, "One would think this would have been settled weeks ago, after the test was given. Certainly you would have known then whether he was fit to pass or not, regardless of whether an announcement had been made."
Byakuya frowns, unsure of where their conversation is going. Their conversations seldom take long to reach one of the many points of contention between them, and Ginrei's eyes are no less critical than they'd been when Byakuya was a boy, still learning his katas.
Since ascending to both head of the Kuchiki clan and the Captain of Squad Six, Byakuya's priorities have been a source of near-constant conflict between him and his grandfather—not one that he has ever been swayed by, hence their ongoing stalemate, but one that his grandfather stubbornly refuses to cede.
"It would be much simpler," Ginrei adds, "if you would simply choose someone within the clan to take as your lieutenant. You are not so young that it would be unreasonable for you to begin considering who you will one day appoint as your successor, given that you have no natural heirs to speak of."
"There are hardly any shinigami within the clan who would be capable of taking over the position," Byakuya responds, though in truth, he only knows that no shinigami within the clan have been brought to his attention; he can only guess how capable they actually are. "I had intended to promote from the shinigami already within my squad."
"Of course. You've always had commitments beyond that of the Kuchiki clan." There is a hint of disdain in his grandfather's voice. "I could perhaps understand that, but with you, the clan and your squad have never been your priorities."
"My priorities," Byakuya repeats cooly. "Do tell me what my priorities are, then, Grandfather."
Ginrei gives him a sharp, clinical look before he continues. "I will concede that perhaps I bear some responsibility for this." At this, he stares out the window, contemplative. "You lost your parents at a younger age than most. There were, perhaps, lessons that you learned at too young an age, that you were not fully prepared to accept."
"Do you intend to speak only in riddles?"
"I can only say this kindly to you, Byakuya," Ginrei says solemnly, as if pronouncing a criminal sentence. "You must move on from this grief you have lost yourself in. You bury yourself in other obligations and defer your own needs, but I see how it weighs on you. Fidelity is important," he continues, his voice strangely consoling. "But there is only so much that can be expected from one man. It is not that I misunderstand why you would grieve. Any man would grieve the loss of his young wife, but the time for grief has passed."
"Say what it is that you mean plainly," Byakuya says curtly. "Enough of this."
"What you are doing now is—it is something that is simply not done. It is a rejection of the cycle of life and death. You must accept that the woman who you married is no more, and that there is nothing of her to be recovered. Even if you were to find yourself reunited with some piece of her, that woman is gone."
Ginrei is still staring out of the window, his eyes drawn to the darkening sky outside, his back turned to Byakuya. "It is harsh. I am not indifferent about that, but anyone who has lived and loved has experienced what you have experienced. I have done so, more times than I can now count. Shinigami are no strangers to loss in this way. We, like the living, must respect and honor the fate every soul must face. Right now, there is the clan—"
Byakuya hums obligingly, pretending to digest his grandfather's words while, truly, having no actual interest in listening.
His grandfather is his elder, and his predecessor in many things, but all titles have since passed to Byakuya, and with them, a certain authority that does not always compel him to submit to his grandfather's dictates. Marrying Hisana was one such break from his demands. His prioritization of Toshiro over the young shinigami in the Kuchiki clan was another.
His marriage to Hisana had come at a high price, however, and it cost him political capital that has taken years for him to recoup. Byakuya had used up much of the goodwill he'd been given as a young, newly inaugurated clan head in forcing the clan to accept his marriage, for as short as it had been. His fitness to lead the clan and uphold its laws and traditions had been called into question, not unfairly.
Hisana's premature death had done much to stymie those criticisms. Largely, he assumes guilt stayed their tongues, for having criticized Hisana so harshly. None had been brave enough to show hostility to her in his presence, though he was not blind to Hisana's social isolation, the invitations that had been withheld from her, and the friends within the clan that never materialized.
That being said, he assumes that a not insignificant number of elders were satisfied enough in seeing the clan restored to its former status.
They were, however, wise enough to never acknowledge such a thought out loud.
Byakuya glances over again at the wall hanging where Ginrei stood and considers the falling petals of the sakura tree, suspended perpetually between heaven and earth. In the years since Hisana first hung the scroll there, he has learned what it means to be trapped between the two, traveling to and from the land of the living in his pursuit of Hisana's sister, his final promise to his wife, unfulfilled after so many years.
Always falling deeper, further, into the well of his grief, but never reaching the bottom of it.
"Perhaps Kukaku would be interested in some joint venture between our clan and the Shiba, as a means of strengthening bonds between our families," Byakuya eventually offers, half-hearted. He hasn't been listening to any of what his grandfather has been saying, but it feels like enough of a concession that it will satiate his criticisms, at least for a few weeks.
When Byakuya looks up from his musing, his grandfather's face is screwed up in concentration. "What is it?"
"It is good for a man to have a lady's counsel on hand," Ginrei says mildly, as he strokes his chin. "Even a man who has grown so used to his independence."
Byakuya's lip curls in distaste. "Kukaku is hardly a woman, let alone a lady."
His grandfather visibly withholds a sigh, as he tucks one hand inside of his robe. "One dispute at a time," he says, almost as if it were a concession.
Byakuya begins gathering his papers into a neat stack and searches for a folder. It seems clear that if he intends to have true peace while he works, he will need to return to the barracks, where his men at least know better than to disturb him.
"I will consider it further," Byakuya says. "Though be warned, I am not making any guarantees."
Whether Kukaku will have any interest in an event that does not end with something exploding is doubtful, though there is no harm in him merely making an inquiry. It would discharge a certain amount of responsibility on his end by simply leaving it in her hands, when he can safely assume that Kukaku will turn down his offer.
"I suppose I will have to be content with that for now," Ginrei muses, before shaking his head. "I can see you are eager to return to the work that's collected during your time away. I can only imagine what one misses when away from his post for so long."
With that unsubtle, critical remark, his grandfather offers him one last nod before stepping back out into the hall, the floorboards silent as he makes his way out of the manor.
Byakuya restrains a sigh and rubs his eyes, which have already begun to ache again. He looks back over at Hisana's hanging scroll, the gentle sakura tree and its falling blossoms.
Some things are meant to be temporary, he supposes, though it seems a foolish principle to live by. Hisana had understood, much better than he, how to remain hopeful in the face of such uncertainty—even to the last of her days, she continued to search for her younger sister, returning again and again to the Rukongai in spite of her failing health and their empty home.
She continued to search, undaunted, past the point where it had become clear to all but her that there was no longer a sister out there for Hisana to find.
One day, perhaps, when he and Hisana are united again, and his promise to her has been fulfilled, he can ask that she explain that to him.
