Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Of Goodbye ( Chapter 6 )

Of Violence

Chapter Six: Of Goodbye

 

The restaurant was nestled in an oft-forgotten corner of the fifth district of Rukongai, a small structure tucked away behind several much larger buildings, very unassumingly. Ichigo had been surprised the first time Byakuya had brought him there for lunch that the Kuchiki heir had even known of its existence. He had also been skeptical since the restaurant certainly didn't look as if its food was that particularly tasty.

 

He was definitely glad that he had been proven wrong.

 

And since it was so little known, they didn't have to worry about people finding Ichigo there. Carefully masking his reiatsu and the both of them wisely leaving their haori behind pretty much promised anonymity. The waitresses had come to recognize them on sight, without knowing their true identities, and automatically knew which table to give them.

Their usual spot in the corner far from the door and hidden from the rest of the patrons. What few there were. It never seemed particularly busy, which Ichigo found baffling. The mix of Japanese-and-Mexican-and-whatever-else food was the best he had tasted in a long time.

 

In all honesty, however, he was just glad no one had given them a second glance or a hastily lowered gaze that proved they knew something. Here, they knew nothing.

 

“It's been a while since we've been here,” Ichigo commented as he lowered himself to the floor.

 

“We've had other obligations.” Byakuya gracefully slid in beside him, waving away the menu the waitress was offering; they didn't need it by now. “Tea, please.”

 

The pleasant-faced woman turned towards Ichigo. “And you, sir?”

 

The question gave him pause. He was sorely tempted to order the strongest liquor they had on stock. But he also didn't want to see Byakuya's look of disapproval. He didn't need to get inebriated.

 

“The same for me.”

 

She bowed her head and walked away, leaving them in a comfortable silence. Ichigo sighed inwardly, glad for the escape this lunch brought him. The edgy, twitchy feeling gradually began to fade. He thankfully knew with Byakuya that if he didn't want to talk about something, he didn't have to.

 

“I hear there are some promising candidates preparing to graduate from the Academy,” Byakuya began slowly, his talent for acquiring normalcy from chaos greatly comforting. “Are you planning on accepting any into your division?”

 

Ichigo nodded, recalling the few he had in mind. “I've already been by to watch them practice. I think there are a few who would fit in well. You?”

 

“Perhaps.” Byakuya considered. “They show promise, but they are still naïve about the war.”

 

The younger captain snorted disdainfully. “They've been fed a version of the story that they've romanticized. They don't understand the realities, only seeing heroes and villains. As if there ever were such a thing.”

 

Byakuya's lips twitched into a smile. “Everyone wants to be in the fifth division, which the famed Kurosaki-taichou has `revived from ashes,'” he lightly teased, actually quoting directly from a few Shinigami he had inadvertently overheard.

 

Brown eyes rolled. “Not to give Aizen credit, but there really wasn't much I had to do when I arrived. They held together on their own,” A sudden, sneaky grin took over his lips. “And it's not like they don't flock to your division, too,” Ichigo added, changing his voice to an almost mocking tone. “`Oh, Kuchiki-taichou. He's so pretty and rich... and polite.'” Ichigo scoffed at the last bit. “If only they knew.”

 

Byakuya wasn't even offended; he had heard it for decades. “No amount of explanation can dissuade them from that belief,” he returned as their waitress appeared, setting their tea in front of them with efficient movements.

 

She took their order quickly, both of them spouting off the usual spicy combination of foods. She promptly swept away, disappearing as quickly as she had arrived.

 

Ichigo blew lightly on his tea to cool it, sipping at the hot liquid. “Don't pretend you don't enjoy it. You preen at all the attention.”

 

Byakuya lifted a brow. “I do not preen.”

 

“Yes, you do. And worse, it's rubbed off on Syaoran.”

 

The Kuchiki heir sniffed, finding himself becoming a bit ruffled. “I haven't noticed any such behavior.”

 

This prompted Ichigo to smirk deviously, some of the old Kurosaki gleam in his eyes. “People never recognize their own bad habits.”

 

“Having pride in one's appearance is nothing to be ashamed of,” Byakuya countered knowledgeably. “If only the rest of the children could learn as much.”

 

“Pride?” Ichigo repeated, still amused. “Is that what they call it nowadays?” He shook his head, sipping briefly at the green tea. “Between you and Yumichika, most women are put to shame.”

 

Byakuya pursed his lips, if only to hide his smile. “Now, there's no need for jealousy. We can't all be so fortunate.”

 

The smirk deepened. “Gods, you even sound like my vice-captain now. What have you been doing? Making buddies with Yumichika when I'm not looking? Trading hair tips?” he shot back with a pointed look to his companion's always elegantly styled locks.

 

Ichigo was glad to find himself relaxing, the stress of the day melting away beneath the calm of this casual conversation. He had eased into his seat, no longer stiff and restrained. His knee brushed Byakuya's under the table, but he didn't even bother to pull away. It was no big deal.

 

He was certainly relieved that the very thing he had been dreading had not been as big of a deal. Everything was perfectly normal with Byakuya and him, despite the knowledge that hung in the air between them like a lingering spirit. He knew that if he never wished to speak about it, then Byakuya would never bring it up. And that knowledge was comforting.

 

“You are not one to talk,” Byakuya reminded him with a pointed look, dropping a sugar cube into his cup. “I remember a certain french-braiding lesson that you requested from Matsumoto-fukutaichou.”

 

Embarrassment showed briefly on Ichigo's face. “Syaoran was persistent.”

 

Byakuya sipped at his drink, reveling in his victory and hiding his amusement behind his cup.

 

Until Ichigo turned predatory, face sharpening with a sudden recollection. “But don't think I don't know that you learned as well.”

 

“I admit nothing,” Byakuya responded, eyes widening marginally.

 

The look on Ichigo's face was suddenly sly, the most relaxed expression Byakuya had seen on him in recent weeks.

 

“What next?” the younger man asked in a smug tone. “Are you going to offer to cut her hair with Senbonzakura?”

 

A chuckle banked behind Byakuya's lips. He was saved from breaking his usual stoic demeanor when the waitress reappeared, arms laden with their order. They were quiet as she set it before them with a smile, deftly managing to not spill a thing.

 

“Do you need anything else?” she asked sweetly, drawing back with her serving tray pressed demurely to her belly.

 

“No, thank you,” they replied, somehow managing to say it in perfect unison.

 

Ichigo and Byakuya didn't even exchange a glance of surprise. It wasn't entirely uncommon.

 

She blinked before bowing. “Very well. Enjoy your meal.” Turning away, Ichigo heard her mutter with a sigh, “It's always the good looking ones.” She then disappeared towards the kitchen.

 

He raised a brow but promptly shrugged it off as the aroma of his meal wafted to his nose. He hadn't been hungry all day, and now, he was suddenly ravenous. He picked up his chopsticks.

 

The two captains began to eat in a quiet silence, the lack of conversation comfortable. Food was a priority first. Ichigo found his thoughts wandering, and he admitted to himself, though with much reluctance, that he owed Byakuya enough to talk about what had happened. After all, the Kuchiki heir was the only one who hadn't demanded that he spill the truth.

 

He waited until they were halfway through their meal before breaking the silence.

 

“It wasn't always this way, you know,” Ichigo started slowly, hesitantly. “I mean, in the beginning, it was playful. I'm not even sure when it stopped being a game.” His fingers tightened around the chopsticks, the wood straining beneath the force of his grip.

 

Beside him, Byakuya kept his silence, just listening, giving Ichigo room to vent. He liked that about the other captain, not pressing for answers but letting him speak as he found the words. It left him feeling unrestrained, able to breathe.

 

Relaxing his hands, Ichigo forced himself to continue, “I didn't want anyone to know because it wasn't their business. I really don't see how you figured it out.”

 

In all honesty, Ichigo had been taking deliberate pains to make sure Byakuya never knew. He had thought long and hard about who could have possibly told Rukia's brother and had assumed that it must have been one of the servants. Possibly Nami since she was usually the last one to leave the house for the day.

 

Byakuya sighed then, interrupting Ichigo's thoughts. “I apologize. However… Kaien came to me.”

 

The younger man blinked, everything inside of him freezing as he turned towards Byakuya. “Kaien?” he repeated, completely stunned.

 

Inwardly, Byakuya winced, realizing he had inadvertently made the entire situation much worse. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I couldn't exactly ignore him.”

 

His food was abruptly abandoned, sitting like lead weights in his stomach. “Dammit,” Ichigo breathed, heard pounding painfully in his chest. His head dropped into his hands, fingers gripping at overly long orange strands. “I'm a worse father than Isshin.”

 

More than that, he was a failure as a freaking human being. He couldn't even protect his children. What good was he?

 

“That is not true,” Byakuya stated firmly, horrified that Ichigo would even think such a thing. “No one cares for those children as you do.”

 

Ichigo had no words to offer back. It was going to take more than a simple denial to convince him. He had been accepting of the situation the way it was. He could endure Rukia's distance and her abuse as long as it was himself. But to find out that his children had known, had witnessed, made him feel inordinately sick on his stomach, leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

 

The Kuchiki heir stared at his meal, knowing that he had to say something but feeling at a loss. He racked his brain, wishing he had the perfectly comforting words, anything to take away the hopeless despair creeping into Ichigo's softly leaking reiatsu.

 

The sounds of the other patrons in the restaurant trickled in around him, illuminating the lack of conversation between he and Ichigo. Byakuya felt assuredly stumped. Until suddenly, the words came to him, surprisingly easy considering the depths of his soul where he had obtained them.

 

“We all have weaknesses, things we never want others to know,” he said quietly, about to admit something that he had never told anyone, though he was sure that others had guessed. “Mine was Hisana.”

 

Ichigo uncovered his face, looking at Byakuya. Really looking at him. Hisana was an unspoken topic, much like the day Ichigo's mother had died. They were both aware of the events, but they never brought it up, never talked about it. The agreement was entirely unvoiced.

 

The older captain's eyes were locked on his tea cup. “I know she did not accept my proposal out of love, but I had foolishly believed she might come to do so. Or at least hold some affection for me.”

 

It became Ichigo's turn to simply listen as Byakuya sighed and released his cup, finally realizing he was fidgeting in a very out-of-character action.

 

“In the end, I was nothing more than a means to a better life... one out of Rukongai.”

 

Byakuya was not revealing the truth about his relationship with Hisana to compare the two sisters. Far from that. It was more of an apology for bringing Ichigo's secret to the attention of all of Seireitei. It seemed fair that he owed Ichigo this much, an exchange of dark truths, which had once been carefully buried.

 

“I fulfilled Hisana's last wish because of my love for her, but it was… disconcerting to have Rukia in the house when she looked so much like my wife.” Byakuya paused, a range of emotions flitting across his face too quick to identify. “Especially when she genuinely seemed to hold a fondness for me and actively sought my approval.”

 

Ichigo mused, turning this information over in his head and understanding it for the apology it was. “I'm not mad, Byakuya,” he put in softly. “You didn't have to tell me all that to make me feel better.”

 

“Perhaps. But I wanted to do so.”

 

His gaze returned to the table and his half-eaten meal. “We had another argument last night,” Ichigo admitted.

 

It was easy to infer that there had been some violence involved.

 

“I suspect she was rather angry with how things went during the day.”

 

“That's putting it lightly.” Ichigo's fingers fiddled with the ring on his left hand. “She accused me of blabbing to you.” He hesitated, inclining his head. “But of course, I now know the truth.”

 

Byakuya couldn't quite ignore the guilt that shot through him. Rukia hadn't been that far from the truth, only in that it had started thanks to him.

 

“She said some other things, too,” Ichigo continued, his voice confused. “About you and me. But they didn't make any sense at all.”

 

The Kuchiki heir furrowed his brow. “What kind of things?”

 

Ichigo frowned, fingers still nervously twisting his wedding ring, a habit he had grown into more and more lately. “She said… she said that she sometimes feels like a stand-in.”

 

Byakuya blinked. “What?”

 

“That was my response!” Ichigo bit out, growing agitated as he angrily raked a hand through his hair again. “I didn't get it either. And she wouldn't explain.”

 

Byakuya was at a loss for words, disbelief clear on his face. “How could she think such a thing?”

 

“I wish I knew. It just doesn't make any sense.” Frustration laced his tone as Ichigo shook his head, fist lightly hitting the table. “None of it makes any sense.”

 

Watching him slowly breaking at the seams, a part of Byakuya couldn't agree more.

 

*****

 

It was just before sunset when Ichigo made his way home, having never returned to the office. He didn't even want to see who might be waiting for him there. Byakuya walked with him the entire way, considering it just a few streets from the Kuchiki manor. Normally, Ichigo would have invited Byakuya in, perhaps to spend some time with his nieces and nephews.

 

But his day had been far from normal, and Ichigo didn't bother to make the offer. The last he needed was rumors being spread that he and Byakuya were anything more than friends. Rukia's behavior and accusations were confusing enough.

They parted outside the Kurosaki house with Ichigo heading inside after a brief farewell. Silence greeted his ears as he stepped inside, no one answering his announcement of “Tadaima.” Frowning briefly, Ichigo removed his waraji and walked further into the house. The children should have been home.

 

He passed by the kitchen before he found them, catching sight of all four of his brood outside in the garden through one of the windows. They were under the ever watchful eye of their nanny, Tohru. Relief spread through him, and he relaxed, muscles unconsciously loosening from what was preparing to be a battle position.

 

Ichigo decided to take advantage of the situation, planning to change clothes and leave Zangetsu in the bedroom before greeting his kids. Feeling incredibly weary and more than through with visitors for the day, Ichigo trudged back towards the bedroom. Even his zanpakutou seemed exhausted, the old man barely thrumming against his back. He winced, realizing that it was probably constantly raining in his inner world right now.

 

He silently tossed an apology to Zangetsu and Shirosaki both, promising that he would do something about it as soon as he could.

 

Ichigo had one arm through his haori and was in the process of removing the other when he stepped into his room, only to draw to a complete and utter halt in the doorway. In his distraction, he had entirely missed Rukia's reiatsu in the house. Though admittedly, no one had responded to his earlier call. She had to have heard him.

 

Even more surprising than the fact she was home early again was what she was in the process of doing.

 

Packing.

 

There was a bag on the futon, some clothes lying out beside it along with a few toiletries. Rukia was stepping out of the closet, arms laden down with a small stack of her clothes, some he recognized as dresses from the living world. The severity of the situation became even clearer when he spotted Sode no Shirayuki tucked into her obi when he knew her zanpakutou usually rested on a stand near the door.

 

“Rukia?”

 

She pretended as if she didn't hear him, dumping the clothes on the futon. Rukia began to pick them up, one by one, folding each dress or outfit and placing it carefully in her bag.

 

Ichigo stepped further into the room, succeeding in taking off the last arm from his haori and unconsciously dropping it to the floor behind him. His gaze scoured the bag, finding that it was half-full of everything that she usually deemed important whenever they traveled. A quick glance at her dresser proved that she had packed most of it.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

She looked tired, face drawn and pale, dark circles under her eyes. Her lips had pulled into a thin line of stress, shihakushou noticeably rumpled. It occurred to him in that moment that as much as he had suffered today, she must have endured much worse. After all, he was the victim. She was the perpetrator.

 

He couldn't even imagine what looks she must have been forced to weather or what comments she had heard. The sidelong glances he had quickly learned to hate and the hurriedly dropped eyes. Worse, Ichigo knew she must have had to speak to Yamamoto, just as he had. He wondered if she thought he had spilled everything.

 

Her response came exhausted, tightly clipped and contained. “What does it look like?”

 

He watched her movements. “You're leaving.”

 

“You knew it was coming,” she responded tiredly, placing more things into her bag. She was definitely packing more than enough for a few days. “And after what happened, I shouldn't stay here.”

 

Ichigo felt as if something inside of him, once drawn immeasurably tight, was snapping in half. “You're giving up,” he said, hating that it came out as weak as he suddenly felt.

 

“No. I'm simply staying somewhere else for awhile,” she corrected, crossing the room to the closet and pulling a few more things out before returning to her bag. “Don't put words where I haven't said them.”

 

He blew out a breath of frustration. She was being evasive on purpose.

 

“And what am I supposed to tell the kids?” her husband asked, struggling to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want it to degenerate into another argument. He needed answers, not more fights.

 

Rukia's hand stilled in the midst of packing, and he watched her delicate fingers curl around an article of clothing. Her head dropped as she looked down at the bed.

 

“I'll talk to them,” his wife finally answered, forcing herself to continue packing.

 

He would later to admit to himself that bringing up the children had been an effort to remind her of a reason to stay. She had already been pulling away from him. But he knew she loved their kids.

 

Even though he wouldn't be forced to explain it to them, that didn't make it any easier. He could imagine their questions now, their worries. When would mother come home? They would ask when they would get to see Rukia again, and he would have to see the disappointment in their eyes when all he could offer them was a vague “soon” or an even worse “I'm sorry.”

 

And that was entirely shoving aside what she was doing to him. Dammit, this wasn't what he wanted. If it had been, he would have chosen to leave long ago. He loved Rukia. He didn't want to watch her walk out the house, half her stuff with her, leaving him an empty and cold bed.

 

His fingers unconsciously curled into fists in an effort to hold himself together. He imagined that his inner world was quite the storm right now, more than torrential rains and booming thunder but also careening lightning and consuming tornadoes. It only accurately displayed half of the emotional turmoil that was raking through his body.

 

“Aren't you tired of fighting?” Rukia demanded, finally lifting her eyes to look at him. “Of any of it?”

 

Ichigo gazed at her, taking in the drawn lines and those big blue eyes that were so familiar to him. He didn't even have to think about it.

 

“I'm not tired of you.”

 

And he wasn't, not in the slightest. He could do without the arguing and the fighting and yes, the abuse. He could do without the stress and her worries and their distance. But he still wanted her, Rukia, the woman he had fallen in love with and married.

 

Rukia couldn't hold his gaze for long, an expression of hurt painfully flitting across her face before she dropped her eyes. “I think we just need some space. With everything that's going on…” She hesitated, taking a very deep and shuddering breath. He took no consolation in knowing it wasn't any easier on her. “Maybe some distance is best right now.”

 

He bit back the sharp retort wanting to emerge. They already had distance. That wasn't what they needed. But he held it back because that would lead to an argument, and he didn't want that right now.

 

Ichigo watched as she pulled the last few things off her dresser like her brush and noticed her fingers lingering over a framed picture before she picked that up as well. It was a family portrait, if he remembered accurately. It was a small comfort that it still meant something to her.

 

All of these items were piled in with the rest of her stuff. The bag was getting noticeably full now, bulging in some places.

 

“Don't you think it's a bit sudden?” he asked, desperately searching for something to say.

 

The sound of the latch clicking shut filled the room as she closed up her pack, sliding ties into place and securing her belongings. “This has been a long time coming,” Rukia finally answered as she lifted the bag into her hands, the weight momentarily setting her off balance.

 

She paused, looking once around the room as if making sure she had left nothing of herself behind and headed for the door. She halted before she passed him, staring straight ahead as he watched the spot where she had just been standing.

 

“You and I both know it, Ichigo,” she added, much more quietly than the others.

 

Even if he had wanted to speak, he couldn't past the lump in his throat.

 

Rukia said nothing more, and he could only stand by helplessly as she walked out of their room with her belongings in hand. He assumed she was going to speak to the children before she left, but he couldn't get his feet to work and follow her.

 

They only wanted to lead him to the futon where he sat down, staring blank-eyed at all the empty spots in the room where her stuff had once been.

 

The ease he had felt from having lunch with Byakuya had disappeared in all but an instant, leaving him knotted up and tangled, everything coiled inside of him. His meal sat like an uncomfortable weight within his belly and churned unpleasantly.

 

The startling realization that his wife had just left him bounced around crazily inside his head. Ichigo sucked in a shuddery breath and put his head in his hands.

 

Some hero he was.

 

*****

 

Ichigo kissed Syaoran on the cheek. “Love you, sweetheart. You be good for Jyuu-ojii-san, okay?”

 

She nodded, grinning happily at the thought of getting to see her favorite grandfather. “Un!” She then leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially, “I'll even keep an eye on nii-chan for you.”

 

Despite the dead, frozen sensation in his stomach, he managed a smile for his daughter. “You do that. I'm counting on you.”

 

Syaoran beamed at the idea of being relied upon, eyes sparkling happily.

 

Ichigo turned to his other child, Kaien having worked himself into a fine snit over something his father wasn't quite certain of. He tugged on Kaien's kimono, dragging his son closer to him. The boy pouted but reluctantly moved nearer.

 

“What?” he muttered sulkily, lips set firmly in a mood.

 

His father set a hand on his son's head, fingers tangling in the dark hair. “Don't pout the whole time you're at ojii-san's. You know that he takes it personally.”

 

Kaien's eyes shifted away, staring at the polished wooden floor. “I'm not pouting.”

 

Ichigo sighed and rose up from his crouch, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. “I love you, brat. Try not to be difficult.”

 

The boy grumbled under his breath, but for once didn't try to move away from the affection. Kaien simply shifted from foot to foot and fiddled with his obi.

 

“I'll try,” he grudgingly promised. “But you better be there first thing in the morning.”

 

Ichigo raised a brow at this, surprised by his son's insistence. Usually, he was pretty happy to get to visit other people. The fatherly instinct inside of him niggled in uncertainty, but Ichigo firmly pushed it down. He was no good to his children at this point and needed a moment to recover. He loved them, and right now, he didn't want them to see the state he was in.

 

“Good.” Ichigo rose to his feet, ruffling his son's hair one last time before moving to the twins, who were nestled in Tohru's arms.

 

They were much easier to say his goodbyes to since they couldn't speak back. He brushed kisses over their foreheads, briefly tickled Mikan causing her to giggle. Ryuu was still sleeping and yawned lazily when he was bothered.

 

“See you tomorrow, little ones,” he murmured over them and then lifted his eyes to Tohru, who was watching him with an odd expression. “You have the list, right?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, Ichigo-san. Don't worry. They'll be fine.”

 

He couldn't help but worry; he was a father. He inclined his head and opened the door for her as she started to usher his children outside, all of them with their overnight bags.

 

Cries of “goodbye otou-san” floated back to him as they headed down the front walk. Ichigo watched them until they turned the corner, disappearing from his sight behind a range of buildings. He sighed and closed the door behind him.

 

Nami and Sanji were already gone. He had dismissed them after breakfast, telling them they wouldn't be needed until tomorrow. Ichigo had figured that if he actually got hungry, which he doubt he would, he could have some ramen. So far, he only planned to drink sake.

Today was Ichigo's day off, and all he wanted to be was alone.

 

He loved his children dearly, and nothing made him happier than spending time with them. But he also knew that he was in no state to be caring for them at the moment. They would see all too quickly beneath his act of smiles and happiness, especially ever-vigilant Syaoran. And he had already learned thanks to Byakuya that Kaien saw much more than he ever told his father. He wouldn't risk them being inadvertently hurt again, even if it was only emotionally.

 

The night before had been hard enough, his mask barely lasting long enough to get his children in bed before it crumbled.

 

Both Syaoran and Kaien had been worried about their mother, relaying the bullshit excuse she had given them to him. He had done his best to reassure them, despite the fact he was uncertain in his own heart. He didn't know what to say. Was Rukia coming back? He didn't know. He couldn't lie, but he couldn't tell any truth; Ichigo was effectively fucked.

 

He had dredged up a smile for them as he went about their nightly rituals. Dinner, bath, reading, it was all so common to him now. He had already been trained to it by himself so it almost felt like nothing had changed. Except for the hollow feeling that now resided in his chest.

 

Once they were asleep, the silence struck him, the house settling, quiet and still. It was so loud, pulsing in his ears and reminding him of the emptiness of his bedroom. He had grabbed Zangetsu in a fit of desperation and went outside, spending the next three hours mediating and training, though he couldn't do much but swing his zanpakutou around. If he hadn't had the kids, he would have already gone to Urahara's hidden training grounds and blasted off some steam. But he refused to leave his children alone.

 

At some point, he had stumbled inside and collapsed tiredly on the futon, falling into an uneasy sleep, riddled with half-dreams and half-memories.

 

When morning came, he woke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all. That didn't stop Kaien from jumping on him first thing, making him realize he had somehow slept past his alarm. Either that or he hadn't set it. He couldn't quite remember.

 

He made the decision then and there, feeling the roiling and tossing of his emotions, that it was probably best if he had the children stay with someone else for the evening. He first sent a Hell Butterfly to Izuru, knowing that he couldn't send one to Jyuushiro for rather obvious reasons. Besides, having them stay with Izuru was the same as having them stay with the white-haired man anyway. They all knew that.

 

By the time he had the kids dressed and fed, Ichigo had received a response; Izuru was more than happy to take them. He had delivered the news, causing excitement in Syaoran and her brother. It hadn't been until after he had packed their overnight bags and Tohru came to pick them up that Kaien started sulking. It was something Ichigo planned on addressing when he could think more clearly.

 

He had given Tohru a list of places she could take the children before finally leaving them with Izuru, as well as a pouch of money. The park. For ice cream. Several divisions excluding the thirteenth because he couldn't afford for them to see their mother when she was supposed to be “out-of-town.” The nanny had nodded in understanding, never asking a single question.

 

Relief still flooded through him.

 

So long as his children were taken care of, then he could fall apart safely. He could let go, let everything that had happened to him in the past two days wash over him in crashing waves, eating away at his resolve.

 

He just had to make sure he had his moment of self-destruction alone.

 

The house was silent as he wandered through it, bare feet shuffling across the wooden floor and the swishes echoing around him.

 

His mind was both blank and scattered between a thousand thoughts. Ichigo carefully avoided the bedroom and settled for the garden, propped up on the porch with a sake bottle in hand.

 

Ichigo deftly pulled out a sake cup and set it before him, pouring his first drink of the day.

 

He wanted to forget, it only for a little while.

 

 

It was lunchtime when he received his first uninvited guest. Ichigo hadn't moved from the spot he'd taken that morning.

 

“Yo, Ichigo!”

 

Stirring at the unexpected voice, Ichigo turned to see Renji stepping out onto his porch, hand raised into the air in greeting. He had been so out of it, though not yet inebriated, he hadn't even felt the man's reiatsu. Either that or Renji had been hiding himself to make a sneak attack.

 

Ichigo turned back to the garden. “Don't you have to work today?”

 

“Aren't we a cheery one?” Renji countered, plopping down beside the other man with a weary sigh. “Where're the kids?”

 

Sake was drunk quickly, pouring easily across his tongue. This bottle was almost beyond tasting.

 

“With Tohru. They're staying at Jyuushiro's tonight,” Ichigo answered, gaze tracing the lines of his garden. Nothing had changed in the last few hours. Not that he had expected it to.

 

He could feel Renji's eyes on him, watching his every movement. “How long have ya been at this?” he demanded, gesturing towards the bottle.

 

Ichigo shrugged, pouring another cup. “Long enough and maybe a bit more.”

 

The admission sunk between them like a rock in the sea, and Renji sighed internally. He knew better than to order Ichigo to stop. Instead, he cast about for something to say, watching as his friend steadily sucked down more of his sake as if it were the only thing he needed to live.

 

Seconds ticked by and with all his words jumbled up inside of him, the seventh-division captain erupted. “I don't know what ta say about this,” he blurted, hands rubbing over his hakama. He was utterly torn between his friends.

 

Ichigo contemplated playing dumb, as if he had no idea what Renji was talking about. Ironically, however, that ploy wouldn't work on the redhead.

 

“I mean, it's Rukia. She's like my sister. And you… you're like a brother. Someone I'll tolerate now. And it's this… it's… Guh!” Renji trailed off with a splutter, words entirely failing him. He had never been the most eloquent, but now, he was completely lost.

 

“Yeah,” Ichigo muttered, swishing the alcohol in his cup and staring into it. “It's exactly that.”

 

Renji raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the ponytail in one of his many aggravated habits. “I mean, how long's this been goin' on?”

 

“From the beginning. Mostly,” Ichigo responded, bare toes kicking out at the grass beneath his feet. “You should remember, you were there. Hell, you agreed I was an idiot.”

 

The other captain snorted. “You're still an idiot. But that doesn't mean she should smack ya around.”

 

Ichigo swiveled his head, pinning his friend with a glare. “Don't make me sound like a battered wife! It's not like it actually hurts or anything.” He scoffed pointedly. “Compared to you slashing me up and Byakuya skewering me with kidoh, it's nothing.”

 

“That's different,” Renji argued. “We were enemies at the time. Rukia's yer wife.”

 

Bristling defensively, Ichigo straightened. “It's not her fault alone,” he argued stubbornly, knowing he was going to face this discussion sooner or later. “Don't place all the blame on her.”

 

Renji looked at him as if he were nothing more than a fool. “And what'd ya do that deserved it? Bein' made captain before she was promoted ta vice-captain? Cause that's on Ukitake and the old man.”

 

Ichigo remained silent.

 

Pursing his lips, Renji went on, “Is it cause you're a Vizard? The rest of us don't even care `bout that.” He shook his head. “Tell me, Ichigo. What do ya think you've done? It's not like you'd ever cheat on her or anythin'. Not fer any reason.”

 

At Renji's words, Ichigo stiffened, remembering Rukia's argument about Byakuya. Not that he would mention that to the redhead. He couldn't shake her accusation, especially since it made so little sense.

 

“It's not any of that,” Ichigo bit out. “And it's not that I think I deserve it either. I just… We…”

 

He had no explanations, no excuses. He had known that before Renji even opened his mouth. Ichigo thinned his lips, taking another drink, and the sake sloshed dangerously low.

 

“You were the one who said she's always been like this,” Ichigo muttered.

 

Renji twisted his jaw. “That was just play, just games! When we were kids.”

 

“Exactly.” Ichigo's voice softened, growing rougher in its quiet. “That's how it started, and then… somehow… I don't know. Somehow, it became this.” One hand idly fiddled with his ring, turning it around and around on his finger.

 

Did it mean anything anymore, now that she had left him?

 

“Ya couldn't tell her no? Or ta stop?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo sneered. “And what? Hit her back?”

 

“Yes!” Renji cursed under his breath. “I mean, no! No, Ichigo. Dumbass. Somethin' else.”

 

The younger man gestured sharply towards the garden. “Like what?” he demanded, finding his limited patience running out of its short supply. “Run crying to Isshin because my wife picks on me?”

 

Scarlet eyes glared at him as Renji bit back a nasty retort. “Ya could've said something ta us. Ta me.”

 

Ichigo scowled, shaking his sake bottle and mourning the fact that he'd have to go get another. “And what would you've done?”

 

Renji knew he had been backed into the corner, just as much as he knew there really was nothing he could've done. He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

 

“At least tell me she doesn't hit the kids.”

 

Ichigo froze, bowl midway to his lips, as the irritation turned to full-blown fury. “You think I'd put up with that shit?” he hissed, fingers cracking around his bowl. “I'm not stupid!”

 

“Ya put up with a hell of a lot else.”

 

“Not when it concerns my children!” Ichigo practically shouted, face stormy and drawn tight, eyes flashing gold.

 

Renji shook his head forcefully. “S'not like ya were always home. Somethin' could've happened, and ya wouldn't have known.”

 

“Clearly your damned worry has made you more of an idiot than usual,” Ichigo snarled, resisting the urge to chuck the nearly empty jug at his friend's head. “Don't accuse my wife - your sister - of that. If you're stupid enough to think that of Rukia, then you need to leave. Right now.”

 

He wouldn't allow anyone to make these inquiries into his life, to ask these questions they had no business asking. Insinuating things that simply hadn't happened. Renji was on the verge of finding the sharp end of Zangetsu, slightly inebriated or not.

 

The redhead sucked in a breath, but instead of arguing, he forced out calm. “Fine.” Renji rose to his feet, striding towards the door. “We'll talk when yer sober.”

 

As he moved to enter the house again to leave, Ichigo rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his sake. “Yeah, I'm lookin' forward to it,” he muttered under his breath, a scowl painting his lips. “Bastard.”

 

*****