Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Of Betrayal ( Chapter 4 )

Of Violence

Chapter Four: Of Betrayal

 

Toushirou fixed his vice-captain with a stare cold enough to rime his walls in a light coating of frost before returning his attention to the bookshelf. “Matsumoto, your talent for telling stories is the best I've ever heard, but this is over the top, even for you.”

 

“You honestly think I'd lie about this, taichou?” she demanded, sounding frustrated as she plopped down in her usual position, splayed over the couch.

 

He paused in his perusal to glance briefly over his shoulder. “You mean to tell me that Rukia is abusing Kurosaki? And expect me to believe it?” he asked, promptly continuing to search for a particular scroll. He needed to see that list as soon as possible.

 

Matsumoto crossed her arms under her assets, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a firm toss of her head. “Yes. I was there. I saw it.” She paused, face darkening with the memory. “And I heard it, too.”

 

Grudgingly, Toushirou was beginning to believe her. He abandoned his search, realizing he wasn't going to get any work done, and moved back to his desk.

 

“Are you sure you saw what you think you saw?”

 

Matsumoto snorted. “You mean, did I imagine Rukia's hand accidentally running into his face? Twice?”

 

Toushirou felt a migraine coming on, not unusual when any conversation involved his vice-captain. Matsumoto wasn't lying; this wasn't her idea of an unfunny joke. He exhaled harshly, visions of a ballistic Karin in his head as he thought of having to explain to his girlfriend just what was going on. She was rather protective of her brother, a Kurosaki trait he had come to learn.

 

“It was likely a one-time incident,” he suggested, lowering himself back into his seat and watching his vice-captain's response.

 

She rolled her eyes, a frown pulling across her lips. Matsumoto should have known that her captain wouldn't be able to connect the dots in such a negative fashion. He had grown up in the first district of Rukongai, after all. He didn't know what it was like in the higher ones.

 

“You wouldn't understand, taichou,” she huffed, though her voice had quieted as she shifted her eyes away.

 

Those aquamarine irises regarded her strangely. “Understand what?”

 

“What it's like,” Matsumoto clarified, briefly returning to her own memories of her time in there. She might not have survived the seventy-eighth like Renji and Rukia, but she had been nowhere near the more civilized districts. “You've never seen it before.”

 

“That doesn't mean I don't know it exists,” Toushirou countered defensively. He was convinced it was another effort of his vice-captain's to remind him of his age or stature. “I'm not that naïve.”

 

She gave him a look that was nowhere near her usual pout.

 

Toushirou sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Alright. Fine,” he conceded. “What do you want me to do about it? March down to the thirteenth division and ask Kuchiki?” he questioned, falling back on old habits. “Or better yet, head to the fifth and demand an explanation from her husband.”

 

Uncertainty warred on Matsumoto's face for a moment. “Of course not.”

 

“Then, why tell me? Is it your duty to inform everyone in Seireitei when something happens?” A realization dawned on him, knowing who his subordinate would have had to pass to return to her own division. “You stopped and told Ise-san, didn't you? As well as Kyouraku?”

 

His vice-captain shifted uncomfortably. She hated it when the little squirt reprimanded her without making it obvious that he was doing so.

 

“I want you to do something about it, taichou. That's why.”

 

He understood that much but was at a loss for exactly what. “And what do you want me to do?”

 

She sat up on the couch, trying for a semblance of propriety. “I don't know. Something!”

 

Toushirou had the sudden urge to tear out his hair in frustration, only it was counter-productive. “Do you want me to tell the soutaichou that my fukutaichou might have seen something happen between a husband and his wife in the privacy of his office when she wasn't even supposed to be there?”

 

“No,” Matsumoto responded, pursing her lips. “But you could to tell Kuchiki-taichou.”

 

The captain blinked. “And now, you want me to go tattling to her brother?” He scoffed at the very idea, having a clear picture in his mind of how that would go over. “That would be an interesting conversation. `Excuse me, Kuchiki-taichou. My fukutaichou saw your sister smacking her husband around. Please do something about it.'”

 

Matsumoto huffed. 'Damn cheeky bastard,' she thought internally. She never would have thought that her cute captain would ever be this mouthy when she signed up to become his vice-captain. She heaved to her feet, assets jiggling in her frustrated annoyance.

 

“Well, if you don't tell someone about it, then I will!” she declared with finality, wanting something to be done. Yumi might not have said it, but it was clear enough that what she had witnessed had happened before.

 

“You already have!” Toushirou spluttered, feeling his head abruptly throb with the ensuing migraine. Why, oh why, couldn't he have gotten Yamada to be his second-seat?

 

Quiet. Hard-working. Meek. Reasonable.

 

Instead, he was stuck with... this.

 

Matsumoto tossed her head, chest heaving. “Well, there's someone I missed!” she announced in an uppish tone.

 

She turned on her heels, hair flying out behind her in a whirl as she stormed from his office. In her mind, her intentions were clear. She was going to go to the old man, even if no one else did. She left behind her captain with a throbbing headache, which hadn't been there before.

 

Irritation welling up inside of him, Toushirou barely refrained from throwing his brush holder after her. The last thing he needed added to the flames was rumors of vice-captain-abuse though some might wonder who could blame him. She nearly suffocated him on an daily basis. Which by the way, Karin was not too happy about.

 

Toushirou looked pointedly around the room, wondering when it had all become so complicated. His head pulsed again as he thought of the mess that was soon to come, and he quickly decided that it was time for an early lunch. He just couldn't deal with this right now.

 

As he rose from his desk, he half-heartedly contemplated calling Karin before deciding that he would save that for later.

 

His head was already hurting.

 

*****

 

When Ichigo arrived home that night, he was surprised to find Rukia already there. Though, considering what had happened, it made some sort of sense. She had been there long enough to have dismissed the nanny and taken the care of the children onto herself.

 

Ichigo found himself, for the first time in several months, having enough time to strip out of his captain's haori and place Zangetsu in the bedroom before getting down to the task of parenthood.

 

He greeted his children warmly enough, but between he and his wife was a coiling tension that created an unwelcome silence. Luckily, too enamored by getting to see their mother, the children were oblivious. Syaoran happily chirped away as she talked about something she had done that day, while Kaien kept trying to interject.

 

Ichigo allowed Rukia to spend time with them, offering to take the twins off her hands. There was no argument as he scooped up Mikan and Ryuu, taking them out into the garden with him. There was a small bench set in the midst of the karesansui, and he settled there quietly. Both children fit easily in his lap, Mikan giggling as she unsteadily reached forward and poked her brother.

 

Ryuu scrunched up his face but didn't let out a single sound, simply acquiescing to his sister's behavior. Sometimes, Ichigo marveled at how patient and laid back his youngest son could be. His son rarely fussed, unlike Mikan, who was always getting into something. And considering both he and Rukia, he had always assumed that the quiet nature could be attributed to Yuzu or possibly even his mother.

 

Mikan, on the other hand, was entirely different. She had an inquisitive nature about her, looking around with wide eyes as if absorbing every experience around her. Things weren't done to be mischievous as much as they were to determine what would happen if she poked this or kicked that or even mashed food into the table.

 

It was easier to entertain infants, something Ichigo noted to himself as he relaxed into the bench and tried to wipe away the events of the day. They didn't require as much effort since it didn't take much to attract their attentions.

 

Ryuu gradually settled, lulled by his father's warmth and the quiet of the garden. His eyelids drooped as if preparing for a nap, paying little heed to his sister's boisterous movements. Her fingers clumsily plucked at Ichigo's kimono, or she would sit and stare at her own fingers, clenching and unclenching them as if fascinated by the motion. All the while burbles that were her attempt to speak poured from her lips.

 

His children were a great panacea to the roil of emotions inside.

 

“Ichigo-san?”

 

He turned, spotting Nami on the porch and scanning the garden for him. Adjusting the children in his grasp, Ichigo stood and emerged from behind the tree that was somewhat concealing his presence.

 

“Yes?”

 

She smiled lightly as she spotted him. “Dinner is ready.”

 

Ichigo joggled the twins, waking Ryuu from his impromptu nap. “Thank you, Nami.”

 

The housekeeper bowed faintly, turning on her heels to head into the house. Ichigo followed after her at a more sedate pace, the smell of Sanji's cooking wafting to his nose. He doubted he would eat much with the twisting in his stomach, not that he ever managed much of a meal while trying to feed the twins.

 

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, at least between the married couple. They sat on opposite sides of the table, each between two children. Rukia listened to Syaoran and Kaien continue to babble, nodding and commenting when appropriate. Ichigo even interjected if he had something to say, at one point causing his eldest son to stick out a tongue quite comically at him. But otherwise, he was kept busy making sure that the twins did not create too much of a mess.

 

He was marginally more successful than he had been the previous night.

 

The tension was still there, stewing between them, just waiting for the right moment to crack and bubble to the surface. Words exchanged between husband and wife were incredibly polite, treading the line of unfamiliarity. It was all an act, a carefully plotted play designed to keep their children from worrying.

 

Dinner ended, creating a need for the kids to be bathed. Rukia volunteered to take the twins and Syaoran tagged along, offering to help her mother. Ichigo didn't argue as he was left with the task of wrestling his oldest son. Rukia took them into the larger master bath, leaving he and Kaien to the other.

 

“I can wash myself,” the boy stated stubbornly as Ichigo struggled to unravel him from the confusing tangle of clothing he had made of himself in an attempt to undress.

 

Ichigo arched a brow, well used to hearing this argument by now. “Can you?” he asked, his son's tendency towards independence becoming more commonplace.

 

Kaien nodded, successfully navigating one arm out of a sleeve. “I'm old enough.”

 

“Even your hair?”

 

The boy paused in thought. Ichigo knew that his son hadn't considered that particular body part and was currently debating his abilities to dunk his head in the water and wash his hair. All without accidentally drowning himself. Dark blue eyes, so much like his mother's, shifted to the side.

 

“I might need a little help,” his son conceded, his tone implying that it took great effort to admit it.

 

Shaking his head, Ichigo decided to humor the boy. Kaien was old enough to sit in the water for a few minutes without drowning himself, after all. He pulled the rest of his son's clothing off, dropping it into a laundry basket, and helped Kaien into the bath. Water splashed about waist high on his son, easing but not completely clearing his worry.

 

“Fine,” Ichigo agreed, much to his son's pleasure. “You wash up, and I'll go get your nemaki. When I come back, we'll wash your hair. Deal?”

 

“Un!” Kaien was already grabbing for the washcloth and soap, both items carefully stacked on the side and well within his reach.

 

Ichigo, however, lingered for a few heartbeats. He watched critically, almost amused, as his son diligently wet the cloth and rubbed soap into it. The concentration on his face seemed so serious for such a simple task, but this was a Big Boy job. Kaien was out to prove something. It took several long minutes for his son to realize he was still being watched.

 

“Tou-san!”

 

Despite himself, Ichigo chuckled. “I'm going.”

 

He turned and left the bathroom, keeping the door cracked and ear out just in case. It wasn't as if he would be gone long anyway; Kaien's bedroom was just down the hall. He wondered just how telling it was that he realized he would have been less worried if it had been the much younger Syaoran he had left alone. That might have had to do with the fact she wasn't in the habit of attempting dangerous endeavors.

 

Remembering a certain incident in which his son thought it might be fun to try and fly, Ichigo found himself hurrying. He returned quickly but hovered outside the doorway, giving Kaien time to get most of himself clean. To be expected, he forgot certain body parts. And once it became clear that Kaien was just playing in the water, Ichigo entered, pushing up his sleeves.

 

“See?” his son declared, as if demanding that his father notice just how old he was.

 

Ichigo's lips twitched into a smile. “You forgot something,” he countered, grabbing the cloth and scrubbing behind the boy's ears, much to his displeasure.

 

Kaien huffed but didn't argue, allowing his father to help with the places he had missed. As the water splashed around them, he regaled Ichigo with stories of the work he had been forced to do that day. How much he hated arithmetic but loved history, especially when his instructor talked about his father and his exploits.

 

As always, Ichigo countered with, “I didn't do much.”

 

And Kaien always replied smugly, “But you're a hero.”

 

Ichigo knew better than to try and convince his son otherwise because Kaien was only a child and wouldn't understand. A part of him didn't want his son to understand just yet; he wasn't old enough. But there were no heroes or victors in war and battle, only survivors and those who lived. And yes, there was a difference between the two.

 

The war against Aizen was something neither he nor Rukia talked about much, especially not in front of their kids. Truthfully, most of the Shinigami who had fought on the front lines didn't really want to discuss the battles. The hordes of strange and bizarre creatures Aizen had thrown at them, their abilities nightmarish and terrifying. It had been as if Aizen had built up an army of nightmares, just waiting to send them after the Shinigami. Though they had been more like distractions than real enemies. The true challenges didn't come until after they had fought their way through the madness.

 

Ironically, of the three traitors, only one had actually been killed in the war: Aizen himself. And he had been the last to fall, fighting until the bitter end, throwing trick after trick at them. He had anticipated so much of the war, was more than prepared for what Yamamoto-soutaichou had organized against him. If it weren't for Urahara's careful planning, Ichigo doubted that most of their own tactics would have worked.

 

As for the other traitors, Tousen had committed suicide. But not before giving a long-winded speech about the concept of Justice and how he had failed Her miserably. Ichigo suspected that his actions largely stemmed from Komamura's death.

 

And Ichimaru… the former third-division captain had turned on Aizen for a reason he refused to explain. He didn't even try to flee after betraying his leader, instead surrendering to Soul Society. Now, he was imprisoned. Or technically, under house arrest. And he had not once tried to escape; no one expected him to anymore. Even stranger, he had a constant companion, the still child-like Nel Tu.

 

Ichigo pulled himself from his musings and covered Kaien's eyes with one hand, tipping his head backwards to pour water over his son's hair and rinse out the last of the shampoo. Kaien held himself absolutely still, having already learned the consequences of moving and getting soap in one's eyes. With that finished, he pulled his son out of the water, setting him on the bath mat to be dried.

 

Surprisingly, Kaien allowed it with little argument, his face pulled tight with a child's deep thoughts.

 

“Tired?” Ichigo asked as he rubbed the towel over his son's hair. “You're actually letting me dry you.”

 

It was true. Ichigo actually managed to get those pesky wet spots on the boy's back.

 

Kaien shook his head beneath the fluffy cotton. “Nope.” He chewed on his lip, completely contradicting his words.

 

The captain paused in his ministrations, growing concerned. “What's wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” The answer came far too quickly.

 

“Kaien.”

 

He used his best fatherly warning tone, one that Isshin never could master. It was almost sad that Ichigo had learned such a thing by using it on his sisters all those years ago. The thought was a brief and fond memory.

 

His son fidgeted and abruptly grabbed his nemaki, trying to put it on himself though he got tangled in it in the process. “You and okaa-san weren't talking,” he mumbled, looking at the floor and hiding in the tangled fabric. “Are you mad at each other again?”

 

Sometimes, Kaien could be surprisingly astute, his intelligence hiding behind his tendency towards mischief.

 

Ichigo blinked, sighing inwardly. “We're not mad,” he fibbed, the matter too complicated to explain in a way his son would understand. He helped Kaien get untangled from the mess he made of his sleeves. “We're just tired.” The man tugged his son close by the edges of the kimono and kissed him on the forehead.

 

“Tou-saaaaan.” Kaien squirmed, dispelling the uncomfortable moment. But he didn't try to escape from the affection.

 

“Deal with it,” Ichigo countered, ruffling a hand over his son's hair and taking secret amusement in watching it stick straight on end. “Your turn to pick the story tonight, remember?”

 

His son nodded. “Yeah. But I don't have any new stuff.”

 

“Then the next time we go to Yuzu's house, we'll get you some, okay?” Ichigo responded, fond memories of his little sister and her husband flooding his brain.

 

Kaien perked up. “Hana-oji-san and Yuzu-obaa-san? Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Ichigo confirmed with a chuckle, rising to his feet and playfully slinging his son over a shoulder, knowing it would amuse him. “Yuzu's been bugging me to see you guys, so maybe a vacation should be planned soon.”

 

His son kicked his feet in brief protest before settling down. “Cool. Hana-oji-san promised he would tell me stories about that time you rescued okaa-san.”

 

“You're heard about that countless times,” Ichigo reminded him as they headed into Kaien's room, the trip down the hall rather quick.

 

“So?”

 

There was no arguing with a child's logic; Ichigo had learned that pretty quickly. He paused in front of Kaien's bookshelf, turning so that his son could see the gathered books. Most were gifts from their friends on birthdays and holidays, and he had a decent collection of stories from all cultures.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Hmm.” Kaien paused as he contemplated carefully before pointing. “That one.”

 

Shaking his head, Ichigo lowered Kaien far enough that he could grab the book for himself, noting out of the corner of his eye that it was Robin Hood. Another one of his son's favorites. Typical. His children were ridiculously predictable.

 

Chuckling, Ichigo aimed for Syaoran's room. Despite Rukia having both the twins and Syaoran, he was certain she had managed to finish bathing them all before he could wash Kaien. He was not wrong.

 

Syaoran was sitting on the floor, dressed with her hair brushed. She was humming softly as she played with a doll, patiently waiting.

 

“Where's okaa-san?” Ichigo asked as he flipped Kaien and set him carefully down the floor. His son grinned, clutching his book close.

 

Brown eyes, the same shade as his own, looked dispassionately at the story her brother carried but offered her father a smile. “She's putting Ryuu and Mikan to bed.”

 

Ichigo nodded. “You two behave and okaa-san will read your story tonight.”

 

“Hai.”

 

He leaned over, kissing both children on the forehead and wished them goodnight. Convinced they would be fine for the next few minutes, Ichigo headed down the hall to the twins' bedroom. Rukia was just preparing to leave, pulling the covers over Ryuu and Mikan.

 

“Kaien's already got his book. They're waiting for you,” Ichigo informed her as he stepped up beside the bed, looking down at his children.

 

“Thank you.” It was the most she had said to him in the past hour.

 

Rukia leaned down, brushing her lips over Ryuu and Mikan's cheeks, then left without another word. He watched her exit in silence, internally debating, before turning back towards the twins. They were both already exhausted, nearly taken in by sleep. Mikan squirmed as he tried to wrestle some blanket away from her for her brother, and he smiled, giving up.

 

“Goodnight, little ones,” Ichigo murmured, fingers tracing over the fuzz on their heads.

 

They barely stirred.

 

Nightly rounds completed, Ichigo left to take his own bath, relieved for the opportunity. The silence of the bathing room surrounded him, barely able to hear Rukia's voice as she read the story aloud to their children. It left him with nothing to do but think, reminded of his wife's behavior towards him.

 

He had never realized how very heavy silence could be until it dragged on between them, stretching with monotonous end. When he emerged from his bath and she still hadn't spoken more than a passing word to him, something inside of him broke. He didn't intend to begin their argument again, but her anger, simmering beneath the surface and obvious in her every movement, had spurred him into action.

 

“I didn't say anything,” he repeated, his voice cutting through the quiet as he dropped his towel into the pile of dirty clothes.

 

She turned, setting the brush down on the nightstand with a heavy clank. “How else did he find out?” Rukia demanded, rising to her feet. “I sure as hell didn't tell him.”

 

“I don't know. Maybe he guessed,” Ichigo returned, shrugging. After long hours of thought, he had quickly discerned what her visit to his office had been about.

 

Somehow, Byakuya had discovered what was going on between them. Moreover, he had visited Jyuushiro in hopes that the older man could do something about it.

 

“He's not stupid, you know,” Ichigo added.

 

She rolled her eyes, crossing the floor and heading towards him. “Of course not. But he couldn't have just concocted the thought out of thin air.”

 

Growing angry, despite himself, Ichigo threw up his hands, feeling the incredible urge to tear out his hair. “Do you honestly think I'd want people to know?”

 

“Ashamed are you?” Rukia retorted nastily, her face scrunching into something rather unpleasant that he had already learned to dislike. “Why don't you go running to my brother then?”

 

Taken aback by her bringing Byakuya into the argument yet again, Ichigo blinked. “What?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

 

She was building herself into a righteous fury at this point. “It's like you're married to him,” his wife spat, closing the distance between them. “I'm just the stand-in. And worse, you don't even realize it. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about, Rukia. There's nothing going on between me and your brother.”

 

The very insinuation was enough to spark a hot coil of indignation in his chest. If he wouldn't hit her, then he sure as hell wasn't going to be unfaithful either. Had the woman forgotten that he loved her? That they had four children together? He couldn't help but wonder if she had lost her grip on sanity somewhere.

 

“I know that!” Rukia shouted, her voice reaching a dangerous volume. “But there's something!”

 

“You're making no sense!” Ichigo argued, frustration boiling inside of him. He suddenly wanted an Arrancar to kill or a Hollow to attack. Just something to ease what was building. “What do you want from me, woman?”

 

It was so damn surreal that a part of him felt detached from it all, as if he were outside his body, merely watching the argument and his life fall apart. They were arguing and yelling, their voices rising and ill emotions lashing between them. She had already struck him today; he was preparing for it to happen again. And that in itself had inspired the entire verbal fight.

 

They weren't fighting over finances or the children or anything normal like other couples. It wasn't because he had cheated or she wanted to return to work. Something simple. No. It was because someone had found out their little secret, always carefully hidden, and chose to air their dirty laundry for the entire world to see.

 

Ichigo couldn't even find it in himself to be angry with Byakuya, if indeed Rukia's brother had been the one to bring it to light. He was certain that his friend had their best interest at heart, likely also concerned for the children.

 

His wife, however, was furious. And not entirely with her brother. The rage was built upon the truth that now everyone would know. They would realize that the beatings, once so comical, had become dark and tainted, poisoned with the definite stench of abuse. And because Ichigo simply took it without fighting back or raising a hand in defense.

 

They were arguing because Rukia thought Ichigo had told someone, as if he would ever go to another person for help about this. He would never. Not ever. It wasn't something he would've wanted anyone to know, not even Byakuya or the ever-so-understanding Jyuushiro. His pride was at stake. And more than that, his dignity.

 

Not only his, but Rukia's as well.

 

Rukia snarled, and her palms slammed into his chest, nearly forcing him backwards. “Fight back!” she yelled, the shove enough to startle him. “I want you to fight back or do something, dammit!”

 

“You know that I'd never hit you,” Ichigo snapped, taking a step away and trying to put distance between them.

 

The worry that they would wake their children nagged at the back of his mind. But he also knew there was almost no calming her at this point. Until one of them left the room, the fight would continue to escalate.

 

She wasn't entirely willing to let him go, closing the small space he had created. “Well, maybe you should start,” Rukia bit out, shoving him again.

 

Ichigo did not rise to the bait, though his face grew stormy as he fought against the battling urge to defend himself. “I've had enough of this,” he muttered, moving away from her.

 

He would wait until she was rational again.

 

A slim-fingered hand wrapped around his upper arm. “Don't you walk away from me.”

 

Ichigo paused, eyes staring straight ahead. “Let go, Rukia,” he said in his calmest tone. “Let's not do this.”

 

They were falling apart enough as it was. How much more would it take to make them shatter completely?

 

A fist struck against the back of his shoulder, hard enough to jar him. “You're always so damn understanding,” she hissed, but her tone was beginning to sound more defeated than angry.

 

Ichigo didn't respond, mentally willing her to let go.

 

Frustrated, her fingers tightened around his arm, and she balled up her fist again, striking him harder, this time closer to his spine. He absorbed the blow without a sound, though it was more bruising than the one previous.

 

A moment of tense silence, less than it took for him to draw half a breath, passed before Rukia abruptly released him. She shoved his arm away from her as if he'd been the one to offend her. With a grumbled curse, she stormed towards their shared bathing room, sliding the door open and then slamming it shut behind her.

 

One of the pictures on the dresser toppled over from the force of the impact, crashing to the floor. The glass immediately shattered, sending shards in all directions. Part of the frame slanted off, slipping out of place.

 

A moment later, Ichigo heard another crash from within the bathroom and couldn't help but wonder what else she had broken. She wasn't releasing any pain through their tattered bond, so he knew she hadn't injured herself.

 

He also knew that this had actually been restrained for her. Those few strikes were nothing compared to the usual. Just as she had become more distant to her family, she wasn't even hitting him as much as she used to. It was a sad affair when he judged how far they were from one another with her anger.

 

Ichigo was left standing, staring at the door to the hall. His back tingled where healing was already beginning, seeking to smooth out bruises and unknot tense muscles. He took in several long breaths, trying to ease the painful coiling in his chest before he turned to clean up the fallen picture.

 

Crossing the room, he carefully knelt, gathering up the remnants of the frame. His eyes traced the scene in the photograph, a posed picture that had been taken before the war had fully escalated, before he had even met Hirako Shinji. He probably had Urahara-san to thank for taking it, one of the few photos in existence of the entire group: Orihime, Ishida, Renji, Rukia, Chad, and himself with one of Kon's plush paws futilely inching towards a grasp of Orihime.

 

Simpler times.

 

Ichigo plucked the last few shards of glass from the frame and carefully pressed the right corner back into place. He would need to replace the covering later, but for now, he reached up and set the photo onto the dresser. His attention was then moved to the glass, unwilling to leave it waiting for the servants. He didn't want to chance either of them cutting themselves.

 

The rote movement, requiring little to no thought, helped distract him from the numbness that was working its way through his body. He really didn't want to think, not about his life or his marriage or how everything was going to blow up the next day.

 

Finely tuned father senses quickly picked up the sound of a baby crying. Ichigo glanced once at the bathroom door before rising to his feet. He deposited the broken glass into the trash before leaving their shared bedroom. He knew without much need to guess that the noise of discontent had come from the twins' room. Syaoran and Kaien were past the age of waking him up with loud and teary complaints.

 

The frustration running through his veins was desperately seeking an outlet. He strongly wished that he had something to battle. Perhaps a war for distraction or a rogue Espada who needed dispatching. He had been inactive for too long, and he could almost hear Zangetsu vibrating from the other room, also eager for a good fight.

 

Ichigo entered the twins' room, making his way easily in the dark to the bed that the two shared. Mikan was still asleep, oblivious to her brother's complaint as she hogged most of the blankets. Ryuunosuke had kicked off what covering he had been allowed and was crying loudly, fists punching into the air.

 

“Shhh,” Ichigo soothed, lifting his unhappy son from the bed. Immediately, his nose encountered a rather foul stench, and it was easy to see why Ryuu was being so noisy.

 

He carried his son over to the changing table, soothing noises slipping from his mouth as he quickly changed the cloth diaper. Holding his breath, he tossed the dirty one into the small hamper specifically designed for such purposes. Ryuu, seeing that he was finally getting the attention he had demanded, settled down and gurgled happily as he was cleaned and rediapered.

 

Ryuunosuke was already yawning by the time he was deposited into bed next to his sister. Ichigo gently tugged some of the blanket away from Mikan, ignoring her whine of displeasure, and tucked his son back into the covers. Ryuu immediately curled next to his sister, eyes slipping closed.

 

Ichigo brushed his fingers over his son's head, feeling the softness of his hair beneath his touch. He lingered, watching Ryuu fall asleep. The desire to stay far away from his bedroom was pressing down on his shoulders. He contemplated spending the night in the guest room, unwilling to return. Yet, the thought of sleeping alone was thoroughly unappealing.

 

Once Ryuu's breath evened out and even Mikan had returned to her restful sleep, Ichigo slipped away. He paused by Kaien's doorway, peeking in to check on his eldest son. The boy was sprawled over the covers, fast asleep, drool painting the bedding that had shifted beneath him. Ichigo smiled at the amusing sight, slipping inside and carefully returning the blanket to its rightful place.

 

He pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, rolling his eyes when the boy whined in his throat, protesting even in his sleep. Kaien twitched, one leg kicking out. But he settled down again, already falling back into the arms of sleep. It usually took an explosion to wake his energetic son once Kaien was finally out for the night.

 

He left Kaien and made his final round, stopping by to check on Syaoran. Ichigo peeked in, finding that his daughter was actually awake. He could see the gleam of her eyes from the doorway.

 

Concerned, he stepped inside. “Why aren't you sleeping, sweetheart?” He lowered himself down next to her, running a hand over her back.

 

She yawned visibly, shifting to see him better. “Heard something,” Syaoran responded.

 

Ichigo winced, knowing they had been too loud. “I'm sorry. Okaa-san and I had a little disagreement.”

 

She snuggled closer to him. “I know,” came her answering mumble. “Heard it before.”

 

He forced himself to take a calming breath, inwardly cursing both himself and Rukia; their fights were something his children should have never been forced to witness. His fingers moved to her hair, carding through the soft strands in an attempt to soothe his daughter back to sleep.

 

“We'll try to be quiet from now on,” Ichigo promised, shifting position so that he was leaning against the wall.

 

He seriously contemplated spending the rest of the night there, sleeping just like that. He had certainly found rest in worse conditions during the war, dropping down wherever there had been a reasonably safe place.

 

Syaoran made a noise in her throat and settled, pressing closer to his warmth. And the ensuing silence and darkness left him with nothing to do but think.

 

He wondered just when his life had started coasting downhill. Ichigo loved Rukia, couldn't imagine for one second leaving her. But there was a pain that stabbed him inside every time he even thought of her.

 

He knew that it wasn't entirely her fault. There were a lot of things building up to this, a lot of circumstances that simply couldn't be avoided. He wasn't about to demand that she give up her place in the thirteenth, just as she would never ask him to retire from being a captain. The twins had been a pleasant surprise, right as she had been prepared to return to work after Syaoran, thereby delaying her plans.

 

Frustration fueled most of Rukia's fury. Frustration with herself and with the situation. Therefore, he couldn't entirely blame her for her actions, not that he was entirely accepting of them. He wasn't that much of a masochist.

 

It was a near impossibility for him to fight back; he simply couldn't. Nor would he choose to. He couldn't bring himself to raise a hand against the woman he loved, the mother of his children. He couldn't make the decision to end it either. He didn't want his kids to grow up without their mother; he knew that feeling all too well.

 

And he still loved Rukia. A part of him desperately believed that if he just continued to hang on, it would all work out in the end. Things would settle down. The thirteenth division wouldn't need her as much. Somehow, everything would repair itself.

 

It was painful, the fact that he didn't know how to fix it himself. Recklessly attacking couldn't solve everything, much to his disappointment. He found himself wishing for the old days sometimes, remembering when they had first fallen in love. The initial step from friendship to something more had been awkward yet unmistakable, growing from a sense of devout loyalty and the sharing of burdens.

 

They hadn't gotten together until after the war, but the happiness had always been there. Their friends had pushed them one way, even as they had stubbornly fought for their own choices. In the end, they had only been able to concede to the feelings.

 

And Ichigo had never regretted it, not for one second.

 

Syaoran stirred against him, attracting his attention since he had thought she was already asleep. “Tou-chan?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Her hand slipped out from beneath the covers, patting him on the thigh. “You can sleep here if you want.”

 

Ichigo was surprised by her offer. “You'll share your bed with me?” he asked, knowing that his daughter jealously guarded her belongings, much like a certain noble uncle.

 

“Just this once,” Syaoran conceded sleepily.

 

The fifth-division captain chuckled, lightly sending a check through the house with his reiatsu. Rukia was still in their bedroom, her own reiatsu a mixture of turbulent emotions that was rather painful. Ichigo wasn't quite ready to return to the inevitable confrontation. So he took Syaoran up on her offer, shifting downwards and pulling her into his arms.

 

His fingers lightly petted her hair. “You're too kind.”

 

“I didn't want you to go,” she responded, making a contented noise.

 

Ah, the truth emerged.

 

“Monsters again?”

 

She didn't answer, burying her face in his chest as if to hide from the so-called creatures beneath her futon. He wondered what she had seen that would inspire her nightmares and fears.

 

“Well, they won't come as long as I'm here.”

 

“I know.” The relief in her voice was audible even to him.

 

Her breathing began to even as she settled into sleep, knowing that her father would protect her. The very thought made Ichigo's heart swell, some of the cracks healing over, soothed by his daughter.

 

For his kids, that was why he continued to stay strong. He refused to break or snap. His young ones depended on someone to be there for him.

 

A comfortable silence descended on the room, and Ichigo found his own worries easing, if only slightly, despite the clenching of his heart. Rukia's shouts still wanted to echo in his ears, however, reminding him that nothing had been solved.

 

Just as he was beginning to believe Syaoran had finally fell asleep, his ears caught her mumbling one last thing.

 

“Don't cry.”

 

It was nearly enough to break his heart.

 

*****

 

a/n: A karesansui is a Japanese rock garden