Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Chapter 11: Realities ( Chapter 12 )

Of Violence

Chapter Eleven: Realities

 

It had been three days since he returned from his vacation, and nothing had changed, not that Ichigo really expected it to. There were still whispers and stares, pitying glances and people shaking their heads as if they really knew what was going on. He still went to work everyday, signed the same paperwork, oversaw training sessions and doled out punishments, though those were few and far between. His division seemed to be on its utmost in good behavior.

 

He went back to his house every night, sent Tohru home, and took care of his children. He fed them, bathed them, got them ready for bed. He read them a story and tucked them in. Nothing had really changed. Except that he slept at night in a bed too big for one and with cold sheets and a noticeable silence.

 

Ichigo really didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. Nothing had changed, and yet, everything had. It was different. Before, Rukia might not have been there, but he knew she would eventually come home. Now, by the time he laid the children down, there was nothing else to look forward to. He had nothing but time to himself, and nothing to think about but… this.

 

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. How much time did she want? How much was he supposed to give her? It was the uncertainty that was killing him, a constant churning of indecision in his gut.

 

He was tired of it all and more than ready for it to end. He wanted his life back the way it was, the way it had been. It wasn't perfect, but dammit, they were working on it. It was his life.

 

“Tou-san?”

 

The unexpected query caused Ichigo to start. The silence of the night had surrounded him as he brooded on the back porch, playing with a bottle of sake he had no intention of drinking.

 

Ichigo turned to see Kaien standing in the doorway leading back into the hall. One hand rubbed at his eye as though he had just woken. Which made sense. Ichigo had put them all to bed at least two hours ago.

 

“Couldn't sleep?” Ichigo asked, surreptitiously setting the sake jug under the porch and slowly rising to his feet.

 

His son shook his head and looked at his father. “When's okaa-san coming home?”

 

Ichigo stiffened for all of a moment, ice shivering its way through his insides, before he forced himself to recover. He had to hold together. He couldn't let his son think anything was wrong, and it was a valid question, after all. Rukia had been gone for a week. Perhaps Kaien had merely realized how much he missed his mother. There was nothing to be worried about.

 

He forced a smile onto his face. “Whenever her patrol is up,” Ichigo replied, laying his palm on his son's sleep-mussed hair. “Come on. Let's get you back to bed.”

 

Kaien didn't budge, looking up at him with eyes that flashed determination. “Is she really on patrol?”

 

Thrown by the sudden query, Ichigo stared at his son. The boy knew something, had heard something. Or maybe it was that his kids were more observant than he gave them credit.

 

Ichigo lowered himself so that he was eye level with his son, hand slipping to Kaien's shoulder. “What's on your mind?”

 

His son shifted uneasily, eyes shunting off to the side. “I saw okaa-san at Hime-obaa-san's party,” he admitted, fidgets growing more prominent. “But she didn't come see me.” He paused and searched his father's face. “Why? Why hasn't she come back home yet?”

 

It came a lot sooner than he expected it would. There was no use in keeping the story anymore since it had already been blown to pieces. Kaien deserved the truth.

 

“I guess you're getting older, hmm?”

 

Predictably, his son scowled. “I'm not a baby, tou-san.”

 

“I know,” Ichigo soothed, cutting off the pout before it even began. He rose to his feet. “I think I forget that sometimes. Let's go into the kitchen. I'll warm some milk.” It sounded like such a paltry offering in the face of what he was about to tell Kaien, but it was the best he had to give.

 

His mind was spinning, and Ichigo wished he had the words to say. He had known from the moment Rukia had walked out the door that this moment would eventually come. He had just hoped that it would take a lot longer. At least until after he had figured something out. Right now, all he had to offer was half-assed reassurances.

 

Ichigo placed his hand on Kaien's back and steered him into the house. A faint noise floated to his ears, and he paused, the boy looking up at him in surprise.

 

“Go wait for me in the kitchen,” Ichigo instructed. “Let me check on your brother and sisters.”

 

“Hai.”

 

His son continued down the hall, and Ichigo diverted his original course, slipping in to check on the twins. They were curled together, the blanket lying twisted around their legs. A fond smile creeping onto his lips, he fixed it and brushed his fingers over their cheeks. Mikan made a noise of discontent but settled just as quickly. No worries here.

 

He moved on to Syaoran's room. The moment he stepped inside, he heard the rustle of blankets. She was awake.

 

“You're not sleeping either?” Ichigo asked in surprise as he moved to her futon.

 

She looked up at him, rolling over to lie on her back. “Nii-san's right, isn't he?” she whispered, her voice sounding on the verge of distress.

 

Ichigo nodded and held out his hand, figuring that he might as well explain to her. Hell, she had probably noticed long before Kaien did.

 

“We'll get you some milk, too.”

 

Syaoran nodded, idly brushing down her rumpled nemaki. The obi was coming loose, so he quickly tightened the knot and took her hand. With Syaoran in tow, he headed into the kitchen.

 

Kaien had turned on the lights and was waiting patiently at the table. He sleepily stared at the top as he leaned his head on one hand, elbow on the tabletop. He looked on the verge of falling back asleep, only determination keeping him awake.

 

“Go sit next to your brother,” Ichigo urged, giving his daughter a gentle push. She slid in next to Kaien as their father slipped into the kitchen.

 

Pulling out the necessities, Ichigo began to warm some milk. It was more to give his hands something to do as he pondered just what exactly he could tell them. The truth was probably best. It was obvious that any lies weren't going to hold for very long. But he should not reveal it all either. There were certain things they really didn't need to know.

 

He knew they would have questions; he was already anticipating them. Why? When? What now?

 

He dreaded them because he had no answers. What should he say? Lie? Offer them a false reassurance? He simply didn't know, and it was that reality that made him feel he was even more a failure of a father.

 

Sighing, Ichigo poured the warmed milk into two mugs and carried it to his children. Setting the cups on the table, he nudged Kaien aside and lowered himself down between them. Syaoran immediately bumped up against his side, whereas Kaien wrapped his hands around the mug, sniffing at it. His daughter didn't even bother, lifting her gaze to her father.

 

“Tou-chan?” Syaoran urged, probably noticing that he was beginning to fidget.

 

“Just thinking, sweetheart,” he replied, and then to their surprise, he wrapped an arm around them and tucked each within his hold.

 

After taking a deep swallow of his milk and swiping at his upper lip with his sleeve, Kaien spoke. “Okaa-san's not on patrol, is she?”

 

Ichigo forced himself to breathe deeply. He had to hold together.

 

“No, she's not,” he answered honestly. “She's not here because she's staying at her division.”

 

“Why?” Syaoran asked.

 

“She should be here with us,” Kaien added, his hands cupping the warm mug.

 

Their father unconsciously drew them closer. “Unfortunately, she can't. Okaa-san and I had a fight, and we need to live in separate places right now.”

 

Syaoran frowned. “But you've had fights before,” the girl insisted. “She didn't leave then.”

 

“Then why?” Kaien demanded, craning his neck to look up at his father, anxiousness creeping into his expression. “Is it cause of what I said to Byakuya-oji-san?”

 

Ichigo shook his head forcefully. “No, Kaien. It's not your fault. It's… complicated.”

 

He hated having to use that word, but there was no way he was going to outright tell his children that their mother feared harming him. Perhaps when they were older. Or if he had his way, never at all. It wasn't something they needed to know.

 

“Is she coming back?” Syaoran questioned, arms wrapping around her father. “When's she coming back?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

Tears began to shimmer in his daughter's eyes, and Ichigo felt himself break.

 

“Okaa-san's not coming back? Doesn't she love us anymore?” Syaoran asked in a small voice.

 

Ichigo swallowed down the emotions threatening to rise. They needed him right now. He couldn't shatter. He had to be the strong one. He was the adult. Even if he was a failure of a parent, no better than Isshin.

 

“Okaa-san loves you very much,” he reassured them, hoping to kami that his voice had not just cracked. “And I know she'll come to see you soon. Even if... even if she doesn't come back, she'll still be here for you.”

 

Kaien's lips pulled into a glower, but Ichigo had been expecting it.

 

“That's not the same,” the boy sulked, pushing away his mug and crossing his arms over his chest. “She should be here with us.”

 

`I couldn't agree more,' Ichigo said to himself. He kept it inside, however.

 

“I know,” he responded instead, trying to keep his voice gentle and soothing. “But for now, we're just going to have to hold together on our own.”

 

Syaoran stirred, burying her face in his side. “You should go get her,” she mumbled. “Tell her to come back.”

 

“If it were that simple, sweetheart, I would have already done it.”

 

His children fell silent, but he could tell that they were upset. Syaoran was clinging, and Kaien was working himself into a first-class sulk, his best attempt at not crying and acting grown-up. Ichigo closed his eyes, wishing the right words would just come to him. Something that would make them feel less abandoned and more loved. He had no answers. Nothing but half-hearted hopes and a vague wish that it would all be okay eventually. He couldn't comfort them; he couldn't even comfort himself.

 

Some hero.

 

Ichigo pressed a kiss to their heads, noting that Kaien didn't even squirm. “Let's get you back to bed,” he put in quietly. “I know you have lessons tomorrow.”

 

“It's not fair,” the boy muttered without budging. “Why can't she just come back?”

 

`Please, just stop.' Ichigo found himself begging. `I don't have the answers. I can't give you anything.' He couldn't say it aloud and groped for something, anything. He was ten heartbeats away from a lie. Ten fucking beats.

 

Syaoran lifted her head and glared at her brother. “Cause she can't, nii-chan,” she retorted crossly, though it was obvious she was hurting just as much. “Tou-chan said so. Quit acting like a baby.”

 

“Shut up,” Kaien shot back before Ichigo could get a word in edgewise, irritation in his tone. “I'm not a kid.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Ichigo inserted, stopping the argument before it could degenerate further. “Don't be mean to each other. Remember what I said about sticking together?”

 

There was a moment of silence as Syaoran pressed her face back into his summer yukata. “Sorry, tou-chan,” she whispered.

 

Ichigo soothed a hand down her back. “Don't apologize to me. You two need to apologize to each other.”

 

He could practically see the irritation rising off of both of them at the mere thought. Yet, Syaoran, ever the one to feel superior, apologized first. If one could really call it an apology.

 

“You're not a baby, nii-chan,” she acquiesced graciously.

 

Kaien sniffed. “I'm sorry, too,” he gritted out, though it sounded both forced and petulant and not much like an apology at all.

 

Rivalry. He still didn't get it.

 

Ichigo knew that was the best he was going to get out of them. He sighed and unraveled them from his arms, rising to his feet.

 

“Come on. Bedtime.”

 

There was no more protest as he tucked them in and managed to get them settled in their beds. He returned to the dining room, dumping out the barely touched drinks and returned to his perusal on the porch. The sake was admired but also untouched.

 

Later that night, after he had finally decided to sleep, he felt two small bodies join him, one on either side. Something that hadn't happened since they were both much, much younger. He could only wrap his arms around them as they slept at his side, not for once thinking of booting them back to their own beds. Even if they were a bit too old for this.

 

It was the only comfort he had to give.

 

*****

 

It was mildly warm, a gentle breeze whispering around him that somehow managed to be the perfect temperature. The sun was shining, despite the fact that Byakuya knew logically there was no sun. It was serene. Soothing. And entirely within his mind.

 

Byakuya frowned deeply. “Why have you brought me here?” he demanded with a pointed look to his surroundings.

 

Everywhere he looked, there were long, carefully organized lines of sakura trees in full bloom. They towered over him, pink and white petals a stark contrast to the blue sky. The ground beneath was grassy and dotted with fallen flowers. And in front of him, she sat, an elegant kimono draped demurely around her. Her knees were folded and her legs off to the side, feet tucked towards her body.

 

Senbonzakura's lips pulled into a gentle smile. “You need a place to think,” she responded enigmatically, sipping delicately at a cup of tea.

 

The Kuchiki heir's scowl deepened. “I have plenty of time to think,” he retorted, crossing his arms with a small hint of irritation.

 

Her eyes watched him over the rim of her cup, gaze unreadable. “Indeed. Perhaps you spend too much time doing so. But not, I believe, on this particular matter.”

 

Byakuya pursed his lips in thought as he attempted to discern exactly what she meant. He drew a complete blank, however, which left him even more annoyed.

 

Senbonzakura merely smiled from where she sat at the base of one of the larger trees and patted the ground next to her. “Come. Sit with me, dearest. Have some tea.”

 

Clearly reluctant, he also realized that she had brought him there for a reason. Firming his lips, Byakuya lowered himself to the grass beside her, declining her offer of tea with a shake of his head.

 

“What matter are you referring to?”

 

Her eyes searched him. “Zaraki Kenpachi is a very intuitive man, is he not?”

 

Byakuya sniffed, disdain rising up inside of him as he folded his arms into his lap. “The man is delusional.”

 

“Why bother denying what you already know is true?” she queried, voice light and airy, though he also knew it could also be harder than steel. “The only one you are lying to is yourself.”

 

His fingers tightened on his knees as he watched her drink her tea. “It is impossible,” Byakuya countered, wondering why even his zanpakutou thought fit to get involved with Zaraki's insanity. “The man must be misconstruing friendship.”

 

“My dear Byakuya,” Senbonzakura said, clucking her tongue in a chiding fashion. “I am you, and still, you think that by merely stating it isn't true then it will be so.”

 

Frustration began to well up inside of him. He could practically hear Zaraki cackling at him, throwing the word “denial” in his face over and over again. What was wrong with simple friendship? Couldn't he simply be friends with Ichigo and leave it at that? Why did everyone want to push it towards something more?

 

She continued, either heedless of or ignoring his inner diatribe. “I know that you have noticed it,” Senbonzakura mused aloud, setting her cup on its partner saucer, which sat in the grass.

 

A wind stirred, sending a rain of blossoms falling down on them. Byakuya didn't even notice.

 

“Surely, you are beginning to see what Kenpachi means?”

 

Byakuya tore his eyes away from her, glaring agitatedly at one of the nearby trees. “I see nothing.”

 

“What are you so afraid of?”

 

Teeth gritted, the denial coming out more forceful than he had intended. “I'm not afraid.”

 

Kuchiki Byakuya did not fear anything. Not Zaraki. Not Ichigo. Nothing at all. And especially not so-called, nonexistent feelings towards his best friend. He was not delusional; he was not lying to himself. He didn't care what everyone else thought they knew or saw or could point out to him.

 

Senbonzakura scoffed, clearly disbelieving. “Byakuya, my dear, you are absolutely terrified.”

 

He sniffed indignantly, swinging a full glare her direction. “And what am I supposedly so terrified about?”

 

She gave him a look, her grey eyes threatening to pierce right through him like one of the sharp petals of his blade. “You poor, delusional boy.” Senbonzakura sighed. “No one lies as well to you, Kuchiki Byakuya, as you do to yourself.”

 

He scowled, lips firming.

 

“You are afraid that he will be another Hisana,” Senbonzakura added softly.

 

His entire body stiffened in anger. “He is nothing like her,” Byakuya ground out from between clenched teeth. “Even I know that.”

 

Her lightly painted lips curled into a mysterious smile that only made his ire rise in temperature. “That is not what I meant.”

 

“Then, explain yourself,” Byakuya snapped, failing in his attempt to rein in his frustration. “What do you mean?”

 

Sadness echoed in her exhalation. “You simply fear that he will be unable to return your love, just as your wife could not.”

 

Byakuya sucked in a breath. “That's not… It isn't… It is not true!”

 

`But he loves you more.' That damn Zaraki voice! It wouldn't stop. Over and over in his head. He really was going to strangle the man the next time he saw him. Apparently, the one strike wasn't enough for the bastard to stop smirking in his head.

 

He firmed his jaw, staring resolutely past her. “Just be quiet,” Byakuya hissed under his breath, uncertain if he spoke to her or the Zaraki echoes. He purposely avoided thinking of his sanity as he possibly rebutted the voice of a man who was not present.

 

Fabric brushed against grass as she changed position, shifting closer to him and laying her hand on his arm. It was probably a motion that was meant to be soothing, but he flinched. And only with great will did he not immediately draw away.

 

“My little Byakuya,” Senbonzakura said in a gentle tone. “You are only hurting yourself. Either admit it or move on. You need to live your own life.”

 

“I have a life.”

 

“Oh? And what do you with yourself?” she posed, obviously not believing him. “Work. And spend time with your sister's family. It's admirable, and they are your family as well. But they are her children, not yours, dear heart.”

 

He had no words to say. She was right in a sense. But he didn't want to admit to whatever she was trying to imply. That he didn't have a life outside of Rukia and his nieces and nephews. Outside of Ichigo. That he was clinging to something in an unconscious and desperate hope.

 

It was simply impossible.

 

Senbonzakura continued, despite his inner turmoil, “Ichigo is your only real friend, the only person you willingly open up to. You won't even give as much to your beloved senpai.”

 

“That is not true,” he insisted, but even to him, it sounded false and forced. A small, very tiny part of him was starting to listen, but the greater majority was stubborn.

 

“Isn't it?”

 

He shook his head, ignoring the comforting squeeze she gave to his arms. “No… I do things.” He paused, fighting to find some defense that didn't sound trite. “My garden is fine. I have read several books. I--”

 

“You only do those things when he is with you,” she interrupted.

 

That was enough. He refused to listen anymore. If his zanpakutou was foolish enough to believe the drivel that Zaraki was spouting then he had every right to ignore her. Ridiculous nonsense. All of it.

 

That was the only thing it could be.

 

Byakuya pursed his lips, body turning as stiff and cold as ice. “Are you quite through?” He had heard enough.

 

“No, my dearest heart, but I know that you will not listen further,” she responded with a disappointed sigh. She released his arm, drawing back. “Please, think about what I have said.”

 

A noncommittal noise echoed in his throat. And from the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of her beginning to fade in a wave of petals.

 

“I do not want you to one day regret lost opportunities,” she murmured.

 

Then, Senbonzakura was gone, leaving him alone under the tree.

 

The silence was echoing, heavy and harsh. He lowered his gaze to the ground, forcing clenched fingers to unfurl and allow blood to rush back into the tightened digits. The wind stirred, though this time it was far colder, as if a storm was threatening to invade his inner world. But he was not Ichigo. The weather never changed.

 

Only the trees. From bare branches to full growth and all the states in between. They had withered over years after Yoruichi's hasty departure and throughout his marriage to Hisana. And after his wife's death, the trees had been barren, empty. Lifeless. But they had slowly revived, small buds appearing as he healed. And yet, only after Rukia's aborted execution, only during the war, had they completely revitalized.

 

Byakuya swallowed and exhaled heavily.

 

“I believe that I already do,” he murmured. But he was the only one to hear it.

 

*****

 

The knock on the door surprised her, and she jumped at her desk, nearly spilling her inkwell all over her paperwork. She had been taking more and more back to her quarters lately, a distraction for the pangs of loneliness that often attacked her. She sorely missed her family. And more and more with each passing day.

 

Frowning in confusion, Rukia concentrated her senses and then relaxed when she realized she recognized the reiatsu. She rose to her feet, double-checking the knot on her obi, and moved to her door. The knock came again, a bit louder this time. The impatience was not surprising in the least.

 

She slid open the door. “Renji?”

 

“I'm an idiot,” the seventh-division captain announced before she say anything more. His declaration was immediately followed by a heavy sigh.

 

Rukia blinked and furrowed her brow. “Well, I know that, but…”

 

“I'm sorry, too,” he added, twitching as one hand tugged on his captain's haori. He must have just come from the division on his way home. “For being an idiot.”

 

“You're not making any sense.” She peered at him, wondering if he'd fallen and hit his head recently. Or perhaps his vice-captain had finally caused him to lose his mind.

 

Rather than explain himself, he fidgeted again and looked at her hopefully. “Can I come in?”

 

“Into the home of another woman, one who is not your wife, and at this hour?” Rukia asked, though it was more teasing than chastising. The sense of uneasiness between them did not miss her attention, and it bothered her immensely.

 

Renji was supposed to be like family to her, a brother in everything but name. He was supposed to be one of the few people she could be herself around, someone she could always trust.

 

He jerked his head into a nod. “We've never cared `bout rules anyway,” he countered and then added a half-smile that was nothing like his cocksure grin. “Besides, yer like my sister.”

 

Rukia stepped aside, pushing the door open all the way and giving him room to enter. He carefully slipped off his waraji as he padded inside, robe swishing about him. He truly must have come over straight from work; otherwise, he would have already removed his haori.

 

“Tell me why you're an idiot,” Rukia commanded as she led him into the first of three rooms in her quarters.

 

Her apartment near the barracks was surprisingly spacious, though still a lot smaller than what the captain would have had he lived at the division. She had her own bathroom, complete with both a shower and a tub. Not to mention a separate bedroom. Then, of course, there was the main room, her desk along the far wall by a large window. Opposite that was the kitchen and dining area, a couch and other furnishings in between.

 

All in all, it was bigger than she had initially expected. Big and echoing and very empty, despite the painstakingly crafted furniture and all the lovely designs painted on the walls.

 

She lowered herself to the floor in front of a table in the main room, leaving Renji ample space in front of her. Zabimaru was pulled from his obi as he knelt on the floor, only to be laid immediately at his side, always within reach. She thought of Sode no Shirayuki, casually settled on the stand in her bedroom, next to her shihakushou and lieutenant's badge.

 

Rukia waited patiently for Renji to find the words. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, staring firmly at the wooden floor. Some things never changed, she supposed. He was still the immature moron she had always known.

 

“This thing between ya and Ichigo,” he began slowly, as if each word was being pulled from him. “It has us all confused, ya know.”

 

She folded her hands in her lap. “It puts you in a bad position.”

 

“Yeah, but… it shouldn't. Ichigo told me that.” Renji laughed nervously, a fake chuckle that she knew meant he was recalling something. Which was probably Ichigo yelling and cursing. “He's right. Yer still my family.”

 

Her insides warmed, some of the chill of loneliness fading at that remark. She had never felt so much gratitude for the spiky-haired fool in all her life.

 

“Thanks,” she replied quietly, swallowing down her emotions. “But you still haven't said why you're an idiot.”

 

“Ah, that.” A guilty expression crossed his face, and he couldn't meet her eyes. His palms rubbed down his hakama. “IaskedIchigoifyahitthekids,” he said in all a rush. Thankfully, Renji slowed down for the last bit, “He sort of chewed me out for it.”

 

Rukia blinked. The middle part had been nothing but a bunch of garbled nonsense. She could pick out “Ichigo” and “kids” but nothing besides that.

 

“You what?”

 

Renji coughed into his hand, rocking nervously. “ IaskedIchigoifyahitthekids,” he said again, just as quickly, slurring everything together.

 

Pinching her lips, she mulled the words over in her head. Slowly, she managed to unravel the rushed phrase, and when she did, she fixed him with a firm glare.

 

“Normally, I would hit you for that,” she stated angrily. “But under the circumstances, I better not.”

 

He jerked his head into a nod. “I can… um… understand that. And… uh… normally, I'd let ya.” His voice held nothing but regret, however, and she could tell by the embarrassed turn of his eyes that he felt no pride in his accusation.

 

She shook her head. “Why?” Rukia demanded, a part of her very disappointed with him. And hurt that he would even suspect that of her.

 

Ichigo… hitting Ichigo was different. Something that had escalated from what had once been a game. But to turn her anger on her own children? She would never!

 

“Why would you even think that?”

 

He shifted again, twitching. “Well--”

 

“If you're willing to think that of me, kami knows what everyone else believes,” she inserted shortly, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. She felt the onset of another migraine coming on and debated getting up for the pills Isane had given her.

 

Renji exhaled heavily. “I've heard them,” he admitted.

 

“And?”

 

He coughed into his hand, unable to look at her, obviously reluctant. “Well, one of them says that ya… err… smackIchigoaroundcausehe'shavinganaffairwithyourbrother.”

 

She glowered at him for his inability to say anything simply and turned the words over in her mind, picking them apart. It took her several long seconds to translate before her eyes widened. A part of her didn't want to hear anymore. But she also knew that she had to find out just how bad it was.

 

“How long has this supposed affair been going on?”

 

He shrugged. “It varies, but the general consensus says… from the very beginning.”

 

Rukia raked a hand through her hair. “I can honestly see that one,” she admitted, though it pained her to do so. It had only a modicum of truth, but then, that was all a rumor needed. “What else?”

 

“Some think that the twins aren't really Ichigo's,” Renji added, wincing at the look he caught on her face. “They all say it cause Yuzu claimed no one in their family has eyes of that color.”

 

“People in my family could have teal eyes!” Rukia insisted, the very absurdity of it forcing anger through her calm. “It's not like I would know!”

 

Renji spread his palms. “Don't get mad at me. I'm just the messenger.”

 

Disgusted, Rukia sat back on her heels, rubbing her forehead and the building ache again. “Anything else?”

 

He winced, obviously not wanting to tell but also knowing he'd better. “The worst one I've heard,” he answered. “They say that ya never loved Ichigo, that ya only wanted his name cause he was famous and he was an easy way to escape from Byakuya.”

 

The urge to tear her hair out from simple frustration nearly overwhelmed her. “Two affairs and I was using him in the other. It doesn't cast either one of us in a good light.” She shook her head angrily. “I don't want to imagine the rest. That's enough.”

 

But Renji clearly wasn't quite finished yet. He shifted uneasily, awkwardly heading into the next bit.

 

“Well, with the love affair concerning yer brother…” He paused, looking to her in a silent question.

 

She waved a hand in the air, still silently fuming. “Go on.”

 

“They've been in love from the beginning, ya know, since before the marriage. And ya stole Ichigo from Byakuya, takin' advantage of him cause he's so young and don't know better.” Renji coughed. “Even more absurd is that they think ya used a pregnancy story, and he married ya to save a scandal.”

 

Rukia firmed her jaw. “And what happened to this supposed child? I mean, Kaien wasn't born for several years after we were married.”

 

“Never existed. There was an unfortunate miscarriage.”

 

Aghast, Rukia cried, “I've never miscarried. I've been pregnant three times and had four children! Which, let me tell you, is no walk in the park!”

 

“I know,” Renji insisted. “I'm not the one makin' this shit up. Ya know how Seireitei is. It's a feedin' ground fer gossip.”

 

She had never heard such absolute drivel in her entire life. Clearly, the rumor mill was having more than a good time with her and Ichigo's pain. It was enough to make her sick to her stomach, her belly threatening to heave every last bit of her dinner.

 

Rukia suddenly felt very tired. “Enough. I don't want to hear any more. Please.”

 

She forced her fingers to uncoil as he nodded in understanding, letting the revelations wash over her. Affairs and fake pregnancies… it was like one of those really bad soap operas she had once caught on Ichigo's television, a broadcast from America. All she needed was some other woman to run in, claiming she was pregnant with Ichigo's baby and her dead sister to come back to life to complete the circle.

 

Rukia sighed heavily and forced her thoughts away from the absurd route they were presently taking. Instead, she focused on something that she had been wondering.

 

“How is he?” she questioned, trying to ignore the pangs in her heart at the thought of her husband. She missed him terribly.

 

Raking a hand through his hair, Renji shrugged. “Spends a lot of time with the kids. An' Byakuya. So not much difference. He's got a decent public face, though that one day…”

 

She frowned. “One day?”

 

His gaze shifted to the side, and he abruptly changed the subject. “Rukia, what're ya gonna do?”

 

It was a question she had asked herself time and time again. But that didn't mean she was any closer to the answer than she had been before.

 

“I don't know. There's what I should do, and there's what I want to do. There's what's best for him and the kids...” She chewed on her bottom lip. “And then, there's nii-sama. I just need more time.”

 

He blinked. “How much time're ya gonna take?”

 

“A few centuries?” She honestly didn't know if she was kidding or not. At the rate she was going, Rukia didn't know how long it would take.

 

Renji gave her a look that was ten steps closer to parental than she had ever seen him give in his life. “Your kids won't believe that you're going to be on patrol for a few centuries,” he stated crossly. “And if they do, Ukitake better look out. Kaien's got some fierce reiatsu.”

 

“I know.” Rukia rubbed a hand over her face. “But I just… I need time. It's not fucking easy, you know,” she bit out, forcing herself to blink back tear of frustration.

 

“But ya need to come up with somethin',” Renji insisted. “Ya can't keep this up. It's not good fer ya. Or him. Or the kids. Or yer friends.”

 

Rukia sucked in a shuddery breath. “You're one to talk.”

 

It was merely a reflex, and Renji knew it, thank goodness. He didn't immediately respond. And she was saved from apologizing.

 

Several long seconds of silence passed before he stirred. “It's getting late,” he finally said into the harsh quiet. “And Hime'll be worried.” There was a creak of bones as he rose to his feet, slipping Zabimaru into his obi.

 

Rukia nodded, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes before standing as well. She walked him to the door, opening it for him. He stepped outside but turned before leaving.

 

His red-brown eyes searched her face before he set his hand on her hair. “He still loves ya,” Renji said softly, the faint touch a comfort. “That should be all that matters.”

 

She blinked away moisture. “It should,” she replied miserably. “But not when nii-sama loves him, too. Thanks for coming, Renji.”

 

He hesitated; she could tell he didn't want to leave her alone. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hand and nodded.

 

“No problem. See ya later, Rukia.”

 

“Yeah, see you.”

 

He headed down the walk. Rukia closed the door behind him, and sucking in a breath, she leaned against the thin-paneled wood. She knew that he was right, a clear first when it came to the moron, but she was no closer to an answer. She missed her children; she missed him.

 

But she simply didn't know what to do.

 

*****