Second Draft
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Revelation the First
Insubstantial Mirage
弱い蜃気楼 :
A “What If”/AU Story
By Bunnisteffi
A “What If”/AU Story
By Bunnisteffi
His heavily-gauzed fingers brushed against the several palatial wooden tables that he encountered along the corridor. They were all wonderfully smooth and cool, like a healing stone of sorts for his tender, throbbing hand.
He wondered why all of the beautifully carved and seemingly identical furniture had bare tops. After all, tables were supposed to be used, weren’t they? Unless they were some rare antique stock that Kuchiki Byakuya had procured solely for the purpose of decorating his mansion…
Ichigo quickly removed his hand from one. He sure as hell didn’t want to be cut into pieces just because he had caused the tables to rot or something.
In his mind, the tables that he saw around his house mostly had things on them, usually books, Isshin’s medical stuff, or the occasional vase of flowers, if Yuzu had the time to pick them. But no, the ones here were ornamental enough to each stand individually by themselves.
Ichigo mentally shook his head. He didn’t understand Byakuya, and he was quite sure that he would never be able to understand that weird guy who wore a scarf that if sold, could facilitate the cost of building ten large houses, and the kenseikan that made him look utterly femme.
As he continued in his search for the doorway which would lead him to his destination, Ichigo looked out of the large windows that framed the entire right wall of the corridor. Outside, the sky was dyed a deep cinnabar; the sun was setting. He had rushed here right after waking up from two days of healing and resting at the 4th Division quarters.
-
Ichigo was very sure that she would be in a worst state than him, having been completely rammed through with an arrancar’s weapon. The image of her lying in a pool of blood was cut deep into his memory, one that couldn’t be shaken off, most certainly for his entire life (including the future half that would be spent in Soul Society). He had managed to get there in time, after Nell turned the tide again and took his place in defeating Nnoitra and Tesla
Rukia. She had clutched at his arm, mumbling, “Nakama…hearts…we connect…” before finally passing out. Ichigo was relieved that she hadn’t died while her reiatsu had faded to nothingness. He was even more surprised that she had stayed conscious enough to say something. What did she mean? ‘Hearts connect’? Ichigo hadn’t asked her then, since it was not possible to wake a near-death (or whatever state a shinigami is in that is similar to that) person just to clarify a few words she had said. So Ichigo had done his best by carrying her in his arms and shunpoing at his Hollowfied-bankai speed to the real world portal, rushing her to Soul Society immediately after Urahara-san had said that only the 4th Division taichou could fix Rukia. Even then, only Inoue could successfully and completely erase the hole in her stomach.
And she had done so. A day after his and Rukia’s arrival, the rest of the unofficial (and unapproved) rescue group had returned. Ichigo was sure that they were annoyed with his rushing off the moment he laid his hands on Rukia. Except for the look of relief he received from Chad, the rest had practically ignored him, even though their beds in the 4th Division room were right next to each other. It was very likely that they were yet more pissed when he had requested (as politely as he could) for Inoue to heal Rukia. At least, that was how Ishida had seemed.
Well, he would clear everything between them, after seeing Rukia. He still had the ‘hearts connecting’ thing to ask her, too.
-
When Ichigo rounded the corner, he gave a rather audible gasp. His feet ceased moving.
Rukia. She was sitting on one of the tables, her feet dangling inches from the wooden floor. Her head was turned away from him, looking at the gloaming sun through the window. But somehow… Somehow, her form was smaller than her usual, already bantam figure.
Ichigo blinked. This girl wasn’t Rukia, he could see that now, though she appeared to be like her. He knew about her elder sister, but she was dead. And there couldn’t be a younger one, based on what he had understood…
“Oi,” Ichigo found his voice. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” She parroted in a voice not unlike Rukia’s, but it sounded much more childlike.
Nope. She couldn’t be the ghost of her elder sister, either. Ichigo had not seen or heard of ghosts existing in Soul Society, since all it inhabitants were dead, and all had substantial bodies. Perhaps it was a ghost-of-young-Rukia. Ichigo wasn’t sure if those existed, but that would explain this being’s youthfulness (not that Rukia was very old).
Now that he had found a reason for her existence (albeit a rather illogical one), he asked her, less anxiously, “You are the child-Rukia-ghost, yes?”
Again, she twisted his question, “I am the child-Rukia-ghost, yes?”
This time, she turned to face him, the shadow of a smile lingering at her lips. Her eyes were shadowed, so he could only tell that they were dark-coloured. She also had that (irritating) strand of hair falling is a slight curve across her nose. Around her shoulders draped a pale-pink intricately embroidered haori which almost concealed the silver kimono underneath. Pink. Ichigo had never seen Rukia wearing pink before. Were those the type of clothes that Byakuya had made Rukia wear when she was younger? He had no idea when Rukia was adopted.
“Where is she?” Ichigo crossed his fingers. Please answer my question, then I don’t have to waste my time searching for her in this damned maze-of-a-mansion.
“The current-Rukia?”
“Yes. The current-Rukia. Where is she?”
She flashed him a maddening smile and said, “East. Go east. She’ll be there.”
With that cryptic un-answer, she leapt off the table and sped down the corridor. Ichigo felt an urge to chase after her, but upon hearing a resounding “I am shinkirou…” coming from where she had just disappeared, he blinked.
There wasn’t a point in chasing after her. Should he follow her directions? After all, she could have been a hallucination. His mind must be going fuzzy after being pounded so in Hueco Mundo. Well, Ichigo couldn’t think of an alternative way to look for Rukia without getting to her after midnight, so he sighed and headed eastwards.
-
“What are you doing here, Abarai Renji, fukutaichou of the 6th Division?”
“You…” Renji knew who she was not. “You are not Rukia.”
“Only blinded fools would think that I am her.” She replied haughtily, and added, “Or the ghost of her younger self.”
“I’ve never heard of those, nor have I heard of you, little girl. Who are you?”
She mimicked him, “Who am I?”
“Aa, just get to the point, girl. I have to find Rukia. It seems as if Dandelion-head has gone looking for her, too.” Renji glanced down the hallway impatiently.
“Shinkirou. I am Shinkirou.” She was fingering and staring at the wood grain of another of the numerous tables that were placed around the house.
Renji sighed, exasperated. “You and I both know that you are real. Stop wasting my time.”
The girl looked at him. “I said, my name is ‘Shinkirou’. It is a flaw in your comprehension skills that wastes your time, Abarai Renji.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t happen to be related to my taichou, do you?”
“I see no link between your question and my answer, fukutaichou.” Her fingers left the surface of the table and twisted together in her lap, although the expression in her face never changed; the slate-grey eyes remained unreadable, the half-smile still in place.
Realisation dawned upon Renji. He was absolutely sure who she was now. “Kuchiki Shinkirou, you are Kuchiki- taichou and Rukia’s sister’s daughter.”
“Whoever I am, it is of no matter to you.” Shinkirou dropped (gracefully) to the floor from her perch. “If you still have the intention of looking for Rukia-sama, she is in the eastern courtyard.”
Renji was left standing alone. The traces of Shinkirou’s reiatsu had not yet disappeared. Renji grinned, his eyes narrowed. Indeed, that little girl was related to Byakuya- there was just so much evidence for her being so. She hadn’t even denied it when he had made that revelation. Wondering what the other shinigami would say if he were to reveal his taichou’s secret (it can only be called that, since, apparently, no one from the outside world knew about the girl), Renji headed east.
-
Ichigo got there first. He had not expected ‘east’ to mean a small courtyard garden, nor had he thought that he would see Rukia seated high in the branches of the largest tree, staring at the twilight sky.
He supposed that the tall, majestic trees that stood (ornamentally) around bore sakura blossoms in spring. Byakuya’s fondness for the pulchritudinous, though short-lasting, flowers extended throughout wherever he was. It was nearly winter now, hence the painfully bare appearance of the garden- the Kuchiki house grew no evergreens. Ichigo gritted his teeth; he did not want to be reminded about the imminent Winter War. Two days had passed, but the Hueco Mundo rescue had still left a bitter aftertaste.
“Ichigo!” Rukia was twisted at the waist, staring intently at him. She had felt his presence the moment he entered the mansion. Waiting for him was boring and looking for him was out of the question. Ni-sama would kill her, or him, or both of them if anything were to happen to Rukia in her current state while she ran around hunting down Ichigo. So she had decided to climb her favourite sakura tree, scraping her knees and the heels of her palms while doing so. She had simply been staring at the greying clouds without thinking about anything. It was better that way, really, when there was too much that could be thought about.
“Yo, Rukia,” Ichigo approached her (or the tree).
“What took you so long?” She asked from her exalted position. “Your reiatsu-searching skills still suck, huh.”
Of course, Ichigo got annoyed. He looked down, away from her to conceal his smile, one which could be called devilish is a lesser man. On Ichigo, however, calling it ‘charming’ wouldn’t have you branded as a liar.
1… 2… “Are you- GARH!” …3… “Let go of me, fool!”
Ichigo had shunpoed up the tree, prayed that she wouldn’t kick him, and lifted her up in his arms. It was… nice, carrying her this way. Like how he had done, two days ago…
Before she could protest (again), he quickly flashed back to the veranda and dumped her there. “You were supposed to be healing, weren’t you? Climbing trees isn’t part of the process. For all you know, a branch could just-”
“Shut up,” Rukia muttered as she straightened her copper-rose-coloured haori. She didn’t hit or kick him in revenge.
For a while, there was a peaceful silence. They were both content with looking as the sky, which was darkening by the second.
“So, do you remem-” Ichigo faltered. “Hey, did you have a pink coat when you were younger?”
“Pink? No,” She looked at him curiously, expecting him to give a reason for his strange question. Since when had he notice what she wore, anyway? It was even weirder that a light flush appeared on Ichigo’s cheeks. He was embarrassed now?
In an attempt to get him to answer her unspoken question, she said, “It’s alright to ask about what I wear Ichigo. I don’t mind.”
Great. Now she thought that he was interested in her clothes, of all things. So much for the side-approach.
“I thought I had seen the ghost of your younger self,” he stated, and gestured at her housecoat. “She was wearing the same thing as you, but it was pink.”
“Ghosts do not exist in Soul Society, Ichigo,” Rukia frowned. ‘Ghost of your younger self’…But there wasn’t anyone who looked like her living in this mansion, with her sister dead. Who in Soul Society…
“I know that. That’s why I’d said ‘thought’. But if it wasn’t you, or a ghost of you, then…”
“What had she said to you?”
“‘I am shinkirou’, she had called out before leaving…”
“Shinkirou?” By now, both of them had (severely) wrinkled foreheads.
“Yo, Rukia,” A new voice came from behind them.
Rukia acknowledged the man behind them without turning, “Renji.”
Ichigo glared at him, irritated that his conversation with Rukia had been interrupted.
Renji had been pleased to see that he had ruined Ichigo’s plans, but he frowned (the third member to join the Wrinkly-Foreheads Club) upon noticing the Rukia’s proximity to Ichigo.
He forced himself into the (wee) gap in the middle, ejecting loud cries of “What the hell are you doing, Renji?” from the duo. When he had settled into a relatively comfortable position, Renji announced, “Rukia, Shinkirou is your niece.”
Of course, this resulted in ‘what-the-hell’ looks from the two at his respective sides.
Rukia recovered first, and said in a voice no less incredulous, “Ni-sama has a daughter?”
“Yes. Dandelion-head over here has seen her, too. He though that she was your ghost.”
Ichigo scowled at the chuckling Renji. “That’s right. She looked like you, with the strip of hair dangling and all.”
Rukia flicked the said ‘strip of hair’ to the side, but it fell back into place again. “How do you know that she was ni-sama’s daughter?”
“You know how Kuchiki-taichou speaks? Her speech is like his. ‘Abarai Renji, it is of no matter to you, whoever I am.’”
“Aa,” said Rukia.
“And her eyes. They were like yours. And his. Grey, unreadable, but they were shaped like yours, Rukia.”
Ichigo stood up. “See you later, Rukia, Renji. I…I will go look for Chad and the rest.”
They turned to stare at his receding back.
Renji continued, “Anyway, she had also said…”
-
It had felt rather uncomfortable to be seated beside them, and not be included in the conversation. Well, it wasn’t as if they were openly ignoring him, but Renji…Ichigo wondered if Renji knew that he would react this way. Even if he had no idea, Renji would be celebrating in his mind right now. Right from the moment he had met Renji, Ichigo knew that he viewed him as a rival. Well, let him think that Ichigo, by leaving abruptly, had conceded.
He would look for Rukia again, later.
-
The girl smoothed out the folds in her sakura-embroidered haori as she sat herself on the long windowsill of the study.
“They were both looking for her.” She traced out the patterns done in silver thread on her haori.
For a while, there was just the swish-swish sound of a brush on paper, and the soft crinkling when a page was turned. Then came the awaited answer.
“I see.”
“I met them. Kurosaki Ichigo and Abarai Renji. The Dandelion-boy had thought that I was Rukia-obasama’s ghost-” -laughter crept into her tone here- “So I humoured him. I told him where ‘the current-Rukia’ was. Then I told him I was shinkirou. An illusion.”
“But the fukutaichou had guessed who I am in just a short while. Impressive. For one who seems like a boor, his mind can be sharp. But of course, I should not be surprised, for it was you who chose him, otousama.”
She looked at her father. His head was inclined towards the sheets in front of him, the brush in his hand moved in flowing strokes across the white parchment. Shinki knew that he was processing her words in his mind, even though he looked undistracted. All of the Kuchiki learn how to mask their thoughts from a young age. It would take a ‘wooden-face’ practicer to break the language code of another ‘wooden-face’ practicer.
She strode past a snow-china vase of blue bellflowers to stand by his side.
“Still, otousama, I would rather have Dandelion-boy instead of your fukutaichou as my ojisama. Orange, as a colour, is more fun than red, no?”
Kuchiki Byakuya continued to silently process her words. Shinkirou decided that she did not want to wait anymore. She ducked under his left arm and pulled herself onto his lap. Byakuya continued uninterruptedly with his reports, even when Shinkirou leaned back against his chest. This was so much better than sitting on those quaint little tables that he had set around the house for her use.
“Obasama would know about me after this. It would change everything. Life would be more interesting,” Shinkirou said softly. “You would have to let me out, otousama.”
Byakuya finally laid down his brush. His arms circled around his daughter, his chin rested on her head. Let her out? He had lost Hisana, Rukia had almost died, just because he had allowed them to go out of his sight. He could not bear losing this girl. If she were to go the same way as the other Kuchiki women, his Shinkirou would disappear. No.
“Wait a little longer, Shinki,” he said into her hair. “You can have your obasama and your ojisama without setting a foot out of here. You know why I can’t let you out. Not so soon.”
Shinki turned and flashed him a smile, a genuine one, this time. “Of course. But only for a little while more.”
Byakuya sighed. This was the little girl that the woman who he fell in love with gave birth to. She had been with him longer than Hisana had; losing her would be like losing Hisana thrice, not twice. “Disappear not, Shinkirou.” It was a chant-like phrase that he had developed over the years.
“It’s not my fault that I am named ‘mirage’,” muttered Shinki, closing her eyes.
“Hisana had not named you ‘mirage’, Shinki. You are my precious white carnelian. Shinkirou.”
-
It was almost midnight. Ichigo did not know what it was that made him look for her at this ungodly hour.
Alright. He did know. It was because of the words she had said before she passed out, nearly three days previous. “…We connect…” He was pretty certain that her ‘we’ did include him. Ichigo hoped that it wasn’t just wishful thinking.
He leaned against the smooth outer wall of the Kuchiki mansion’s eastern courtyard. Now he only had to find some way to…
“Ichigo!”
“BWA-” A hand clamped over his mouth. “Meet me at the senzaikyuu. Go, now.”
Rukia. How did she know that he would come? Through detecting his reiatsu? Crap. That would mean that Byakuya also knew about his presence near his house.
Ichigo dashed off towards the center of seireitei.
-
He did not have to wait long. Minutes later, Rukia came running onto the bridge. She was completely breathless.
“Invalids shouldn’t run, either,” observed Ichigo as he handed her his flask. It was amazing how he had the foresight to know that she would need a drink when she got to him.
“Shut up,” panted Rukia as she downed the contents of his flask.
When she was done, Ichigo took it back from her and stuffed it done his top. He leaned against the railing of the bridge, his arms gripping it tightly while he looked down. “Why here?”
“Because you know very well that ni-sama would be less than happy to find out that you have been visiting me in the middle of the night,” Rukia raised herself onto the railing.
“Don’t fall,” he cautioned. “Your brother wouldn’t believe me if I told him that it was your fault if you fall to your death.”
“You had wanted to ask me something?” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he said. “I would like to clarify something you had said.”
Rukia glanced down at him. “Stop being so formal.”
Ichigo did not look at her. He rushed out, “You’d–said-something-about-‘hearts’-and-‘connection’-before-you-went-unconscious.”
“Oh.”
“Explaining?”
She was silent for a while. Then she told him, softly, “It was something my senior had told me. ‘You must absolutely not die alone, Kuchiki’, he had said. He had this theory; every time you and I connect with each other, a little heart is born between us. Heart wasn’t something physical to Kaien-dono. It isn’t just something inside us. It is born whenever we think about someone. And when we die, it is passed on to our nakama.
“When I was dying… When I was dying, Ichigo, I was thinking of his words. I knew that I couldn’t die. Not alone. Seeing Kaien-dono’s likeness was a reminder. I was waiting for my nakama to pass my heart on to,” Rukia looked straight into his eyes, for he was staring at her now. “I was waiting for you, Ichigo.”
Ichigo stared at Rukia, and Rukia stared right back. Then he changed his position, planting both his hands onto the railing by Rukia’s sides.
“You know that we aren’t just nakama, Rukia.”
Rukia had to look up this time. “…No…”
It was the perfect moment. Ichigo could simply lean down and…
… Kiss her.
His hands went to her back, preventing her from toppling over backwards. Ichigo’s mouth swooped upon Rukia’s, and she parted hers slightly. Her lips moved upon his hesitatingly at first, but they gradually became more insistent. Their tongues met. Connected. Rukia lifted her hands into Ichigo’s hair, burying her fingers into the mass of orange.
Heart has been born between them.
-
“Kuchiki Rukia.”
Byakuya. What the hell?
“N-ni-sama,” Rukia whispered.
And they were free falling…
Ichigo, who had his arms around Rukia, pulled her tighter. But before he could shunpo the both of them up (to their doom), away from falling to their deaths (the other doom), another pair of hands found their way behind his back and his knees.
…And then they were back on solid ground.
Damn. Byakuya had just touched his body! Ichigo set Rukia onto her feet, trying to avoid looking at anything and anyone else ten inches away from him.
“Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya looked at the flustered boy. “Leave us.”
Ichigo was about to give a retort when he saw Rukia’s flashing eyes. Leave. He stepped past her and Byakuya and was off like greased lightning.
Rukia had expected her brother to admonish her, or at least give her a disproving glance before ordering her home. But he did not.
“I presume that you have heard about Shinkirou?” He asked her mildly, after rubbing his white gloves, discretely, against his black hakama.
“Y-yes.”
“She has asked for your company. Kurosaki Ichigo would be allowed to continue visiting us, indefinitely, if you acknowledge her as your niece.”
Was ni-sama driving a bargain? What has Ichigo visiting got to do with Shinkirou? But by accepting his…offer, everyone would benefit, right?
“I will acknowledge her as my sister’s daughter, ni-sama.” Rukia straightened up and stood in front of him.
“Good.”
-
“Why?” was the first question that both Rukia and Ichigo had asked Shinki.
They did not understand what their relationship had to do with their accompanying Shinkirou around. And it wasn’t as if they could bring her out of the house; mostly, they were restricted to racing around the maze-like corridors(It wasn’t fair, since both Ichigo and Shinkirou were better at shunpo than Rukia was.), or visiting the several courtyards, of which one contained a meadowful of rabbits (Ichigo had simply stared while Rukia and Shinki ran around raining apples cubes and strawberries on the bunnies; it seemed as if they had been there many times before, but had never met, since Shinki was keen on the whole hide-from-obasama game), or simply talking.
Shinki had smiled at them, “Just because, Rukia-obasama. Because, Dandelion-boy.”
She was happy. They were happy. Her otousama was happy to see her happy.
You could say that Ichigo and Rukia were allowed to be happy only because they made Shinkirou happy. For if she wasn’t, sakura petals could easily pierce them all.
Shinki supposed that they had already guessed the reason why they had to ‘visit’ her so often, and the consequences if they did not. But she was certain that they did not know about the bigger picture, that they were also indirectly saving Kuchiki Byakuya from losing what he held most dear, or what she was grooming them up for.
Shinkirou beamed up at her future ojisama.
After all, she was older than he was. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ Let them all think that she was the little girl who found playing with her three-times-older aunt and almost-three-times-younger…friend fun. She got a greater kick out of playing ‘matchmaker’ to the two young ones, and doing it in secret was an even greater jollity.
‘Because’ would settle as an explanation for them, just as her father’s short (and often cold) statements had satisfied his subordinates for the past decades.
He wondered why all of the beautifully carved and seemingly identical furniture had bare tops. After all, tables were supposed to be used, weren’t they? Unless they were some rare antique stock that Kuchiki Byakuya had procured solely for the purpose of decorating his mansion…
Ichigo quickly removed his hand from one. He sure as hell didn’t want to be cut into pieces just because he had caused the tables to rot or something.
In his mind, the tables that he saw around his house mostly had things on them, usually books, Isshin’s medical stuff, or the occasional vase of flowers, if Yuzu had the time to pick them. But no, the ones here were ornamental enough to each stand individually by themselves.
Ichigo mentally shook his head. He didn’t understand Byakuya, and he was quite sure that he would never be able to understand that weird guy who wore a scarf that if sold, could facilitate the cost of building ten large houses, and the kenseikan that made him look utterly femme.
As he continued in his search for the doorway which would lead him to his destination, Ichigo looked out of the large windows that framed the entire right wall of the corridor. Outside, the sky was dyed a deep cinnabar; the sun was setting. He had rushed here right after waking up from two days of healing and resting at the 4th Division quarters.
-
Ichigo was very sure that she would be in a worst state than him, having been completely rammed through with an arrancar’s weapon. The image of her lying in a pool of blood was cut deep into his memory, one that couldn’t be shaken off, most certainly for his entire life (including the future half that would be spent in Soul Society). He had managed to get there in time, after Nell turned the tide again and took his place in defeating Nnoitra and Tesla
Rukia. She had clutched at his arm, mumbling, “Nakama…hearts…we connect…” before finally passing out. Ichigo was relieved that she hadn’t died while her reiatsu had faded to nothingness. He was even more surprised that she had stayed conscious enough to say something. What did she mean? ‘Hearts connect’? Ichigo hadn’t asked her then, since it was not possible to wake a near-death (or whatever state a shinigami is in that is similar to that) person just to clarify a few words she had said. So Ichigo had done his best by carrying her in his arms and shunpoing at his Hollowfied-bankai speed to the real world portal, rushing her to Soul Society immediately after Urahara-san had said that only the 4th Division taichou could fix Rukia. Even then, only Inoue could successfully and completely erase the hole in her stomach.
And she had done so. A day after his and Rukia’s arrival, the rest of the unofficial (and unapproved) rescue group had returned. Ichigo was sure that they were annoyed with his rushing off the moment he laid his hands on Rukia. Except for the look of relief he received from Chad, the rest had practically ignored him, even though their beds in the 4th Division room were right next to each other. It was very likely that they were yet more pissed when he had requested (as politely as he could) for Inoue to heal Rukia. At least, that was how Ishida had seemed.
Well, he would clear everything between them, after seeing Rukia. He still had the ‘hearts connecting’ thing to ask her, too.
-
When Ichigo rounded the corner, he gave a rather audible gasp. His feet ceased moving.
Rukia. She was sitting on one of the tables, her feet dangling inches from the wooden floor. Her head was turned away from him, looking at the gloaming sun through the window. But somehow… Somehow, her form was smaller than her usual, already bantam figure.
Ichigo blinked. This girl wasn’t Rukia, he could see that now, though she appeared to be like her. He knew about her elder sister, but she was dead. And there couldn’t be a younger one, based on what he had understood…
“Oi,” Ichigo found his voice. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” She parroted in a voice not unlike Rukia’s, but it sounded much more childlike.
Nope. She couldn’t be the ghost of her elder sister, either. Ichigo had not seen or heard of ghosts existing in Soul Society, since all it inhabitants were dead, and all had substantial bodies. Perhaps it was a ghost-of-young-Rukia. Ichigo wasn’t sure if those existed, but that would explain this being’s youthfulness (not that Rukia was very old).
Now that he had found a reason for her existence (albeit a rather illogical one), he asked her, less anxiously, “You are the child-Rukia-ghost, yes?”
Again, she twisted his question, “I am the child-Rukia-ghost, yes?”
This time, she turned to face him, the shadow of a smile lingering at her lips. Her eyes were shadowed, so he could only tell that they were dark-coloured. She also had that (irritating) strand of hair falling is a slight curve across her nose. Around her shoulders draped a pale-pink intricately embroidered haori which almost concealed the silver kimono underneath. Pink. Ichigo had never seen Rukia wearing pink before. Were those the type of clothes that Byakuya had made Rukia wear when she was younger? He had no idea when Rukia was adopted.
“Where is she?” Ichigo crossed his fingers. Please answer my question, then I don’t have to waste my time searching for her in this damned maze-of-a-mansion.
“The current-Rukia?”
“Yes. The current-Rukia. Where is she?”
She flashed him a maddening smile and said, “East. Go east. She’ll be there.”
With that cryptic un-answer, she leapt off the table and sped down the corridor. Ichigo felt an urge to chase after her, but upon hearing a resounding “I am shinkirou…” coming from where she had just disappeared, he blinked.
There wasn’t a point in chasing after her. Should he follow her directions? After all, she could have been a hallucination. His mind must be going fuzzy after being pounded so in Hueco Mundo. Well, Ichigo couldn’t think of an alternative way to look for Rukia without getting to her after midnight, so he sighed and headed eastwards.
-
“What are you doing here, Abarai Renji, fukutaichou of the 6th Division?”
“You…” Renji knew who she was not. “You are not Rukia.”
“Only blinded fools would think that I am her.” She replied haughtily, and added, “Or the ghost of her younger self.”
“I’ve never heard of those, nor have I heard of you, little girl. Who are you?”
She mimicked him, “Who am I?”
“Aa, just get to the point, girl. I have to find Rukia. It seems as if Dandelion-head has gone looking for her, too.” Renji glanced down the hallway impatiently.
“Shinkirou. I am Shinkirou.” She was fingering and staring at the wood grain of another of the numerous tables that were placed around the house.
Renji sighed, exasperated. “You and I both know that you are real. Stop wasting my time.”
The girl looked at him. “I said, my name is ‘Shinkirou’. It is a flaw in your comprehension skills that wastes your time, Abarai Renji.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t happen to be related to my taichou, do you?”
“I see no link between your question and my answer, fukutaichou.” Her fingers left the surface of the table and twisted together in her lap, although the expression in her face never changed; the slate-grey eyes remained unreadable, the half-smile still in place.
Realisation dawned upon Renji. He was absolutely sure who she was now. “Kuchiki Shinkirou, you are Kuchiki- taichou and Rukia’s sister’s daughter.”
“Whoever I am, it is of no matter to you.” Shinkirou dropped (gracefully) to the floor from her perch. “If you still have the intention of looking for Rukia-sama, she is in the eastern courtyard.”
Renji was left standing alone. The traces of Shinkirou’s reiatsu had not yet disappeared. Renji grinned, his eyes narrowed. Indeed, that little girl was related to Byakuya- there was just so much evidence for her being so. She hadn’t even denied it when he had made that revelation. Wondering what the other shinigami would say if he were to reveal his taichou’s secret (it can only be called that, since, apparently, no one from the outside world knew about the girl), Renji headed east.
-
Ichigo got there first. He had not expected ‘east’ to mean a small courtyard garden, nor had he thought that he would see Rukia seated high in the branches of the largest tree, staring at the twilight sky.
He supposed that the tall, majestic trees that stood (ornamentally) around bore sakura blossoms in spring. Byakuya’s fondness for the pulchritudinous, though short-lasting, flowers extended throughout wherever he was. It was nearly winter now, hence the painfully bare appearance of the garden- the Kuchiki house grew no evergreens. Ichigo gritted his teeth; he did not want to be reminded about the imminent Winter War. Two days had passed, but the Hueco Mundo rescue had still left a bitter aftertaste.
“Ichigo!” Rukia was twisted at the waist, staring intently at him. She had felt his presence the moment he entered the mansion. Waiting for him was boring and looking for him was out of the question. Ni-sama would kill her, or him, or both of them if anything were to happen to Rukia in her current state while she ran around hunting down Ichigo. So she had decided to climb her favourite sakura tree, scraping her knees and the heels of her palms while doing so. She had simply been staring at the greying clouds without thinking about anything. It was better that way, really, when there was too much that could be thought about.
“Yo, Rukia,” Ichigo approached her (or the tree).
“What took you so long?” She asked from her exalted position. “Your reiatsu-searching skills still suck, huh.”
Of course, Ichigo got annoyed. He looked down, away from her to conceal his smile, one which could be called devilish is a lesser man. On Ichigo, however, calling it ‘charming’ wouldn’t have you branded as a liar.
1… 2… “Are you- GARH!” …3… “Let go of me, fool!”
Ichigo had shunpoed up the tree, prayed that she wouldn’t kick him, and lifted her up in his arms. It was… nice, carrying her this way. Like how he had done, two days ago…
Before she could protest (again), he quickly flashed back to the veranda and dumped her there. “You were supposed to be healing, weren’t you? Climbing trees isn’t part of the process. For all you know, a branch could just-”
“Shut up,” Rukia muttered as she straightened her copper-rose-coloured haori. She didn’t hit or kick him in revenge.
For a while, there was a peaceful silence. They were both content with looking as the sky, which was darkening by the second.
“So, do you remem-” Ichigo faltered. “Hey, did you have a pink coat when you were younger?”
“Pink? No,” She looked at him curiously, expecting him to give a reason for his strange question. Since when had he notice what she wore, anyway? It was even weirder that a light flush appeared on Ichigo’s cheeks. He was embarrassed now?
In an attempt to get him to answer her unspoken question, she said, “It’s alright to ask about what I wear Ichigo. I don’t mind.”
Great. Now she thought that he was interested in her clothes, of all things. So much for the side-approach.
“I thought I had seen the ghost of your younger self,” he stated, and gestured at her housecoat. “She was wearing the same thing as you, but it was pink.”
“Ghosts do not exist in Soul Society, Ichigo,” Rukia frowned. ‘Ghost of your younger self’…But there wasn’t anyone who looked like her living in this mansion, with her sister dead. Who in Soul Society…
“I know that. That’s why I’d said ‘thought’. But if it wasn’t you, or a ghost of you, then…”
“What had she said to you?”
“‘I am shinkirou’, she had called out before leaving…”
“Shinkirou?” By now, both of them had (severely) wrinkled foreheads.
“Yo, Rukia,” A new voice came from behind them.
Rukia acknowledged the man behind them without turning, “Renji.”
Ichigo glared at him, irritated that his conversation with Rukia had been interrupted.
Renji had been pleased to see that he had ruined Ichigo’s plans, but he frowned (the third member to join the Wrinkly-Foreheads Club) upon noticing the Rukia’s proximity to Ichigo.
He forced himself into the (wee) gap in the middle, ejecting loud cries of “What the hell are you doing, Renji?” from the duo. When he had settled into a relatively comfortable position, Renji announced, “Rukia, Shinkirou is your niece.”
Of course, this resulted in ‘what-the-hell’ looks from the two at his respective sides.
Rukia recovered first, and said in a voice no less incredulous, “Ni-sama has a daughter?”
“Yes. Dandelion-head over here has seen her, too. He though that she was your ghost.”
Ichigo scowled at the chuckling Renji. “That’s right. She looked like you, with the strip of hair dangling and all.”
Rukia flicked the said ‘strip of hair’ to the side, but it fell back into place again. “How do you know that she was ni-sama’s daughter?”
“You know how Kuchiki-taichou speaks? Her speech is like his. ‘Abarai Renji, it is of no matter to you, whoever I am.’”
“Aa,” said Rukia.
“And her eyes. They were like yours. And his. Grey, unreadable, but they were shaped like yours, Rukia.”
Ichigo stood up. “See you later, Rukia, Renji. I…I will go look for Chad and the rest.”
They turned to stare at his receding back.
Renji continued, “Anyway, she had also said…”
-
It had felt rather uncomfortable to be seated beside them, and not be included in the conversation. Well, it wasn’t as if they were openly ignoring him, but Renji…Ichigo wondered if Renji knew that he would react this way. Even if he had no idea, Renji would be celebrating in his mind right now. Right from the moment he had met Renji, Ichigo knew that he viewed him as a rival. Well, let him think that Ichigo, by leaving abruptly, had conceded.
He would look for Rukia again, later.
-
The girl smoothed out the folds in her sakura-embroidered haori as she sat herself on the long windowsill of the study.
“They were both looking for her.” She traced out the patterns done in silver thread on her haori.
For a while, there was just the swish-swish sound of a brush on paper, and the soft crinkling when a page was turned. Then came the awaited answer.
“I see.”
“I met them. Kurosaki Ichigo and Abarai Renji. The Dandelion-boy had thought that I was Rukia-obasama’s ghost-” -laughter crept into her tone here- “So I humoured him. I told him where ‘the current-Rukia’ was. Then I told him I was shinkirou. An illusion.”
“But the fukutaichou had guessed who I am in just a short while. Impressive. For one who seems like a boor, his mind can be sharp. But of course, I should not be surprised, for it was you who chose him, otousama.”
She looked at her father. His head was inclined towards the sheets in front of him, the brush in his hand moved in flowing strokes across the white parchment. Shinki knew that he was processing her words in his mind, even though he looked undistracted. All of the Kuchiki learn how to mask their thoughts from a young age. It would take a ‘wooden-face’ practicer to break the language code of another ‘wooden-face’ practicer.
She strode past a snow-china vase of blue bellflowers to stand by his side.
“Still, otousama, I would rather have Dandelion-boy instead of your fukutaichou as my ojisama. Orange, as a colour, is more fun than red, no?”
Kuchiki Byakuya continued to silently process her words. Shinkirou decided that she did not want to wait anymore. She ducked under his left arm and pulled herself onto his lap. Byakuya continued uninterruptedly with his reports, even when Shinkirou leaned back against his chest. This was so much better than sitting on those quaint little tables that he had set around the house for her use.
“Obasama would know about me after this. It would change everything. Life would be more interesting,” Shinkirou said softly. “You would have to let me out, otousama.”
Byakuya finally laid down his brush. His arms circled around his daughter, his chin rested on her head. Let her out? He had lost Hisana, Rukia had almost died, just because he had allowed them to go out of his sight. He could not bear losing this girl. If she were to go the same way as the other Kuchiki women, his Shinkirou would disappear. No.
“Wait a little longer, Shinki,” he said into her hair. “You can have your obasama and your ojisama without setting a foot out of here. You know why I can’t let you out. Not so soon.”
Shinki turned and flashed him a smile, a genuine one, this time. “Of course. But only for a little while more.”
Byakuya sighed. This was the little girl that the woman who he fell in love with gave birth to. She had been with him longer than Hisana had; losing her would be like losing Hisana thrice, not twice. “Disappear not, Shinkirou.” It was a chant-like phrase that he had developed over the years.
“It’s not my fault that I am named ‘mirage’,” muttered Shinki, closing her eyes.
“Hisana had not named you ‘mirage’, Shinki. You are my precious white carnelian. Shinkirou.”
-
It was almost midnight. Ichigo did not know what it was that made him look for her at this ungodly hour.
Alright. He did know. It was because of the words she had said before she passed out, nearly three days previous. “…We connect…” He was pretty certain that her ‘we’ did include him. Ichigo hoped that it wasn’t just wishful thinking.
He leaned against the smooth outer wall of the Kuchiki mansion’s eastern courtyard. Now he only had to find some way to…
“Ichigo!”
“BWA-” A hand clamped over his mouth. “Meet me at the senzaikyuu. Go, now.”
Rukia. How did she know that he would come? Through detecting his reiatsu? Crap. That would mean that Byakuya also knew about his presence near his house.
Ichigo dashed off towards the center of seireitei.
-
He did not have to wait long. Minutes later, Rukia came running onto the bridge. She was completely breathless.
“Invalids shouldn’t run, either,” observed Ichigo as he handed her his flask. It was amazing how he had the foresight to know that she would need a drink when she got to him.
“Shut up,” panted Rukia as she downed the contents of his flask.
When she was done, Ichigo took it back from her and stuffed it done his top. He leaned against the railing of the bridge, his arms gripping it tightly while he looked down. “Why here?”
“Because you know very well that ni-sama would be less than happy to find out that you have been visiting me in the middle of the night,” Rukia raised herself onto the railing.
“Don’t fall,” he cautioned. “Your brother wouldn’t believe me if I told him that it was your fault if you fall to your death.”
“You had wanted to ask me something?” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he said. “I would like to clarify something you had said.”
Rukia glanced down at him. “Stop being so formal.”
Ichigo did not look at her. He rushed out, “You’d–said-something-about-‘hearts’-and-‘connection’-before-you-went-unconscious.”
“Oh.”
“Explaining?”
She was silent for a while. Then she told him, softly, “It was something my senior had told me. ‘You must absolutely not die alone, Kuchiki’, he had said. He had this theory; every time you and I connect with each other, a little heart is born between us. Heart wasn’t something physical to Kaien-dono. It isn’t just something inside us. It is born whenever we think about someone. And when we die, it is passed on to our nakama.
“When I was dying… When I was dying, Ichigo, I was thinking of his words. I knew that I couldn’t die. Not alone. Seeing Kaien-dono’s likeness was a reminder. I was waiting for my nakama to pass my heart on to,” Rukia looked straight into his eyes, for he was staring at her now. “I was waiting for you, Ichigo.”
Ichigo stared at Rukia, and Rukia stared right back. Then he changed his position, planting both his hands onto the railing by Rukia’s sides.
“You know that we aren’t just nakama, Rukia.”
Rukia had to look up this time. “…No…”
It was the perfect moment. Ichigo could simply lean down and…
… Kiss her.
His hands went to her back, preventing her from toppling over backwards. Ichigo’s mouth swooped upon Rukia’s, and she parted hers slightly. Her lips moved upon his hesitatingly at first, but they gradually became more insistent. Their tongues met. Connected. Rukia lifted her hands into Ichigo’s hair, burying her fingers into the mass of orange.
Heart has been born between them.
-
“Kuchiki Rukia.”
Byakuya. What the hell?
“N-ni-sama,” Rukia whispered.
And they were free falling…
Ichigo, who had his arms around Rukia, pulled her tighter. But before he could shunpo the both of them up (to their doom), away from falling to their deaths (the other doom), another pair of hands found their way behind his back and his knees.
…And then they were back on solid ground.
Damn. Byakuya had just touched his body! Ichigo set Rukia onto her feet, trying to avoid looking at anything and anyone else ten inches away from him.
“Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya looked at the flustered boy. “Leave us.”
Ichigo was about to give a retort when he saw Rukia’s flashing eyes. Leave. He stepped past her and Byakuya and was off like greased lightning.
Rukia had expected her brother to admonish her, or at least give her a disproving glance before ordering her home. But he did not.
“I presume that you have heard about Shinkirou?” He asked her mildly, after rubbing his white gloves, discretely, against his black hakama.
“Y-yes.”
“She has asked for your company. Kurosaki Ichigo would be allowed to continue visiting us, indefinitely, if you acknowledge her as your niece.”
Was ni-sama driving a bargain? What has Ichigo visiting got to do with Shinkirou? But by accepting his…offer, everyone would benefit, right?
“I will acknowledge her as my sister’s daughter, ni-sama.” Rukia straightened up and stood in front of him.
“Good.”
-
“Why?” was the first question that both Rukia and Ichigo had asked Shinki.
They did not understand what their relationship had to do with their accompanying Shinkirou around. And it wasn’t as if they could bring her out of the house; mostly, they were restricted to racing around the maze-like corridors(It wasn’t fair, since both Ichigo and Shinkirou were better at shunpo than Rukia was.), or visiting the several courtyards, of which one contained a meadowful of rabbits (Ichigo had simply stared while Rukia and Shinki ran around raining apples cubes and strawberries on the bunnies; it seemed as if they had been there many times before, but had never met, since Shinki was keen on the whole hide-from-obasama game), or simply talking.
Shinki had smiled at them, “Just because, Rukia-obasama. Because, Dandelion-boy.”
She was happy. They were happy. Her otousama was happy to see her happy.
You could say that Ichigo and Rukia were allowed to be happy only because they made Shinkirou happy. For if she wasn’t, sakura petals could easily pierce them all.
Shinki supposed that they had already guessed the reason why they had to ‘visit’ her so often, and the consequences if they did not. But she was certain that they did not know about the bigger picture, that they were also indirectly saving Kuchiki Byakuya from losing what he held most dear, or what she was grooming them up for.
Shinkirou beamed up at her future ojisama.
After all, she was older than he was. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ Let them all think that she was the little girl who found playing with her three-times-older aunt and almost-three-times-younger…friend fun. She got a greater kick out of playing ‘matchmaker’ to the two young ones, and doing it in secret was an even greater jollity.
‘Because’ would settle as an explanation for them, just as her father’s short (and often cold) statements had satisfied his subordinates for the past decades.
________________________________
I've decided that I dislike Blogger. I can't even edit my stuff properly here! Garh.
Bunnisteffi
1 comment:
Opps, I accidentally posted my comment for your story on your fanart comment thread. Me so silly. Anyway, read it there.
-- Laurie B. (who really should wear her glasses now!)
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