Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Chapter 17: Excuses ( Chapter 19 )

a/n: Big thanks to everyone who reads this and reviews. I know I may not respond to your comments, but I assure you, I enjoy every comment you leave behind. I do hope you continue to enjoy this!

 

Of Violence

Chapter Seventeen: Excuses

 

“You're sure that you're not hungry?” Yumichika asked, disbelief etched into his tone as he frowned at his captain.

 

“Positive,” he replied, amused by his vice-captain's concern. Ichigo waved him off and diligently hunched over a stream of new paperwork, all of which accompanied the stream of new Academy graduates whom had joined his division.

 

He was treated to another one of Yumichika's skeptical stares before the other man simply sighed. “I'll bring you something anyway,” he said.

 

Ichigo knew far better than to argue otherwise. “If you insist.”

 

“I do.”

 

Purple eyes watched him for a moment more before Yumichika excused himself from the room, leaving Ichigo to his paperwork and contemplations. Honestly, his vice-captain had a rather annoying habit of trying to be his wife sometimes.

 

Once he was certain Yumichika was gone, Ichigo put down his brush and stretched, hearing the bones in his back creak and pop. Paperwork was exhausting, and if he had known there would be so much beforehand, he might have had second thoughts about becoming a captain. But they had needed him at the time, and like always, he couldn't just turn them down.

 

It wasn't so much that it was a lot of work, but that it was time consuming and boring. He would much rather be out training the lower-seats or leading scouting parties. And unlike some others, he didn't foist all his work onto Yumichika. He was pretty sure that his flirtatious vice-captain wouldn't mind, but he wasn't going to take advantage either.

 

Ichigo closed his eyes and raked a hand over his hair, feeling more tired than he should feel considering he hadn't done anything more strenuous than sign papers. It had been a busy week, and he really hadn't had time to absorb much of anything. Or carry any of the conversations he had needed, not a discussion with Byakuya or an explanation for his children.

 

Rukia had visited the children the day before, explaining that she would be leaving for some time, completing duties that the thirteenth had picked up. The air between husband and wife had been filled with a tired sort of sadness, and Ichigo busied himself with the twins so that he didn't have to watch the woman he loved. It still hurt too much.

 

Neither Kaien nor Syaoran had been too happy, but they hadn't argued. Syaoran especially had been upset and had spent most of the visit clinging to her mother's side. There was a possibility that Rukia would miss her birthday party, which she expressed great regret for, though promising she had something wonderful for her daughter and would see if she could return at least for that one day. The mixture of hope and disappointment in Syaoran's gaze, however, never faded. And it was a solemn little girl who Ichigo tucked into bed last night, not once questioning when her mother would be back. It nearly broke his heart.

 

At least, he understood now why Syaoran hadn't wanted a large affair for her birthday this year. Just something small, involving the closest relatives and friends and none of those sycophantic strangers who were trying to impress the high-ranking Shinigami. His little girl was already looking forward to wearing her new kimono, specially chosen and bought by her uncle.

 

Forcing his eyes to open before he fell asleep in his office and worried Yumichika even more, Ichigo sat back up and looked at the piles of papers on his desk. His gaze shifted from the work-related documents to the ones of a more personal nature, carefully arranged on the corner of his desk. Patiently awaiting his signature.

 

Shoulders slumped, he tugged them towards him, pushing aside supply requisitions and progress reports. He'd read them enough, practically memorized what the official papers said. He knew where he had to sign and how many times; he knew exactly what he would be agreeing to. Divorce would have never been this simple in the Living World.

 

He lifted his brush, fiddling with the carved wood and holding the bristles over the ink well. He knew that he needed to sign, that it was time to just let go. Yet, Ichigo lingered, feeling something in his heart clench. The pain wasn't as enclosing as it had been before, balmed by other realizations, but it still hurt.

 

Their marriage had really ended long ago; he was slowly coming to understand that. They had been clinging to the remnants of it and hoping, trying to salvage what remained. Neither of them could hope to be happy again if they remained in limbo, just waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't fair to Rukia. It wasn't fair to his children. It wasn't fair to himself. And it was obvious by her own signature that she understood far better than him what was best for them.

 

She didn't want to hurt him again.

 

He thought of Jyuushiro's words, his subtle suggestions. There was no going back, as much as he hated to admit it. While he would always love Rukia, they could not return to their old relationship. To the passion they had once shared. There was too much between them. In fact, he wasn't even sure what he was holding out and hoping for anymore.

 

Maybe Shunsui was right. Maybe he was just in love with the idea of being married to her, of having someone to come home to every night. Of someone to share everything with. But Rukia was gone, and he wouldn't have that with her again. Nor would he have it with anyone else if he didn't let her go.

 

His fingers clenched around the brush, and Ichigo forced himself to dip it into the ink, carefully patting off the extra fluid. With sharp, even strokes he applied his name to the paper: Kurosaki Ichigo. Signing away his marriage, his life with Rukia. Giving her up. Letting her go.

 

Ichigo's hands were heavy as he finished the last stroke and laid down the brush, watching the dark lines quickly dry. He waited for the wash of relief, the wash of something to crest over him. Instead, all he felt was incredibly tired. It was done, and he felt no better than before.

 

The rest was purely mechanical. Folding the papers and putting them in an envelope. Sealing it closed with his official seal.

 

The sound of hurried and concerned knocking suddenly disturbed his thoughts, causing him to nearly start in the soft quiet of his office. Clearing his throat, he set down the envelope.

 

“Enter.”

 

The door slid open, revealing a man he did not recognize with the fourth divisions familiar bag slung across his body. He bowed faintly as he stepped inside, looking a bit harried.

 

Ichigo frowned in confusion. “Yes?”

 

“Abarai-san has gone into labor,” the younger man explained succinctly, pausing briefly to catch his breath. “She requests your presence.”

 

A small treble of excitement coursed through Ichigo, who had wanted to be present for the momentous occasion. He well remembered the exhilaration of the birth of his own children. Still, it seemed a bit odd.

 

“Where's Renji?”

 

Faint amusement crossed his visitor's expression. “He's exactly why Kotetsu-taichou sent me to get you,” he replied and seemed as if he were trying to hold back his laughter. “Abarai-taichou is--”

 

He stopped when Ichigo held up a hand, feeling a sense of amused annoyance. “I think I can guess.” He chuckled and rose to his feet, able to imagine the insanity that Renji was probably producing at the moment.

 

Ichigo reached for Zangetsu, unable to leave his zanpakutou simply sitting in the office, and followed after the other Shinigami. Who seemed awfully anxious for him to hurry. Was Renji really that bad?

 

He quickly summoned a Hell Butterfly as they walked, speaking a short message to Jyuushiro, asking if the man would be willing to take Syaoran and Kaien for the evening. And then sent another to Byakuya, the mere thought of his friend making him warm. He asked his friend to take Ryuu and Mikan. He had the feeling that this pregnancy wasn't going to be an in and out affair. Orihime had a flair for complicating matters.

 

He received an affirmative answer just as quickly, and relieved that his children were being cared for, Ichigo could now concentrate on helping his friends. He and the messenger arrived at the fourth division quickly enough, and the captain was taken to the west wing. The Shinigami bowed and excused himself as Ichigo stepped into the large and comfortable waiting room, casting his eyes around.

 

Immediately, he caught sight of Renji, pacing back and forth across the floor and muttering under his breath. Confused, Ichigo let the door close behind him and watched Renji's stride for a few moments more. When it became clear that the anxious man wasn't going to notice his presence, he spoke up.

 

“Why aren't you inside?” he asked, removing Zangetsu from his back and laying the sword in a nearby stand. His zanpakutou just barely fit in the small niche he noted with some amusement. But he didn't want to risk carrying it around if he was going to be anywhere near Orihime in the midst of her giving birth.

 

Renji jumped about two feet in the air at the sudden voice and whirled to face Ichigo. It took a moment for recognition to dawn as he let loose a muttered curse, raking a hand over his hair.

 

“It's just ya,” he stated sourly and then resumed his pacing, ignoring Ichigo's amused and raised eyebrow. “They kick'd me out,” he added on a mumble.

 

Blinking and trying to hold back his laughter before he upset Renji any further, Ichigo tracked his movements. “Why?” He felt he had a good guess as to the reason, however, judging from Renji's current and erratic behavior.

 

“Dunno. Isane jus' said ta leave, and I couldn't `xactly argue `gainst her.” He paused with a faraway look in his eyes that hinted of discomfort and a small measure of fear. “She's worse tha' Unohana ever was.”

 

His socked feet padded back and forth across the floor ,and Ichigo was glad to notice that the rest of the waiting room was empty of other visitors. Otherwise, they might have been alarmed by an oblivious captain's unsettled demeanor. Renji hadn't even bothered to take off his haori or put Zabimaru in one of the many stands located around the room. And his reaitsu was fluctuating wildly.

 

“I told you that you had to leave because you were making everyone, including your wife, more tense,” a feminine voice inserted. Isane appeared from one of the doorways and captured the attention of both males in the room.

 

Renji squared his shoulders, ceased his pacing, and drew to his full height. “I wasn't,” he retorted defensively, trying to stare down the female captain.

 

The look she gave him in return was gleaned entirely from her former boss. “You were,” Isane insisted, shifting position in the doorway and looking far more composed than the frantic husband. “And if you don't calm down, I will be forced to sedate you.”

 

Renji's jaw dropped, and he stuttered some sort of argument. But Isane was no longer paying him any attention. Instead, she turned towards Ichigo, smile warming and tone losing the hard edge.

 

“Ah, Ichigo-kun, you're here. Thank you for coming.”

 

“Well, I told Orihime I would,” Ichigo answered, not really needing the appreciation. He didn't want to miss something as important as this. He deftly ignored the accusing and annoyed looks that Renji was shooting his direction.

 

Isane inclined her head. “I know. And I would appreciate your help in quieting Renji-kun.”

 

“Calmin' me down!?” Renji spluttered in the background, sounding two steps away from one of his usual loud outbursts.

 

A doctor's firm glare was thrown his direction. Renji quieted somewhat, muttering under his breath.

 

Trying his best not to laugh, Ichigo smirked. “Sure.”

 

Her gaze flickering between them, Isane seemed satisfied. “If he calms, he may return to the delivery room. If not, it is best he remains here.”

 

With one last warning glance, she turned on her heels and headed back down the hall and undoubtedly to Orihime's room. Ichigo was rather impressed. Isane had delivered all four of his children, so he was certain that Orihime was going to be just fine. But one peek at Renji informed him that his friend was not of the same assurance.

 

He smirked, fully prepared to play his part of the encouraging friend and experienced father.

 

Renji was nearly the color of his hair from anger, but even Ichigo could see the worry beneath his expression. He wanted to be in the room, but undoubtedly, he had been hovering and in the way and demanding. Which had been no help at all.

 

“Relax,” Ichigo stated and moved to one of the chairs in the room. “She'll be fine.”

 

“I know that,” Renji huffed and with a snort started his pacing all over again, moves agitated and jerky.

 

It was amusing and just a bit familiar. Ichigo had been just as agitated when Rukia had gone into labor with Kaien, though he had been less demonstrative about it. Isane certainly never had to threaten to sedate him.

 

“How long has she been in labor?”

 

The steps ceased for a moment as Renji contemplated the question, unable to worry, think, and pace all at the same time. “Since this mornin'. She woke me up sayin' somethin' `bout leaky water and aliens tryin' to get through the petdoor.” He picked up the pace again. “It's been a waitin' game since.”

 

Ichigo chuckled to himself. That was just like Orihime.

 

“You have nothing to worry about then,” he assured the soon-to-be father. “Rukia was in labor with the twins for eighteen hours.”

 

“Yeah,” came the distracted answer, and to Ichigo's relief, it appeared that Renji was calming soon. He seemed less twitchy than before.

 

“And Orihime's strong. She'll be just fine,” Ichigo added for good measure.

 

Renji's hand ran through his hair again, dislodging the high ponytail and roughly yanking it out to redo the string. “I know.” A small growl of frustration escaped as he worked the long strands back into the usual style.

 

It was easy to understand Renji's disquiet. He never liked being helpless, never liked feeling powerless. Yet, in this situation, there was nothing he could do for his wife but stand by and watch. He could support her and hold her hand, but he couldn't help the pain or help her with the delivery. That feeling of weakness had always been a downfall for him.

 

Sighing softly to himself, Ichigo searched his mind for something to abate Renji's worry. Inspiration struck him.

 

“You know,” he began, a plan forming. “I'll bet she'd like that blanket Shuuhei made for when the baby comes.”

 

Dark red eyes widened in understanding and realization, Ichigo's idea striking Renji as something he actually could do. Without so much as a thanks, Renji hurried from the room, relaxed now that he had a goal and a purpose.

 

Shaking his head, Ichigo rose from his chair and decided to sneak back towards Orihime's room. He wanted to see how she was doing, and unlike Renji, he could be calm and composed. He would be back in the waiting room by the time the red-haired man returned if necessary.

 

Besides, he had the feeling it was going to be a long day.

 

- - - -

 

“Jyuu, did you want some popcorn?”

 

From his position on the couch, Jyuushiro shook his head. Then, realizing that his husband couldn't see it, he opted to answer aloud.

 

“No, thank you,” he replied and looked at his two charges. “What about you?”

 

Kaien folded his arms over his chest and stared grumpily at the screen that had been a gift from the Kurosaki family a decade or so ago; it had been adapted to play movies from the living world by the twelfth division, one of Akon's more useful inventions. The young boy wasn't too happy at the moment, and Jyuushiro knew better than to press. He would let Kaien sulk for a while and then try conversation.

 

Syaoran, nestled next to Jyuushiro, smiled up at him. “I would please,” she answered nicely.

 

He was unable to help the goofy smile in return, echoes of the little girl he and Izuru were trying to adopt in the back of his mind. “Syaoran would like some, however.”

 

It was probably far too early for the children to be eating such snacks, but Jyuushiro didn't mind spoiling them just this once. They were going through a difficult time right now, after all. And with all the burdens on Ichigo at the moment, he was probably unable to spoil them as he usually would.

 

“Alright,” came the response.

 

The door to the kitchen swung back shut as Izuru disappeared inside. While they had servants, Jyuushiro had discovered that more often than not, Izuru preferred to do some things by himself.

 

“Kaien, would you please put the movie in?” Jyuushiro requested, certain that Izuru wouldn't miss anything since the opening credits were usually pretty long.

 

The boy, despite his pouting, jerked his head into a nod and scurried to obey, finally showing some enthusiasm towards a movie both he and his sister had been wanting to see for some time. Smiling at his reaction, Jyuushiro shifted around to get comfortable on the couch while he waited for Izuru. A faint cough sounded from beside him.

 

Concerned, he looked down at Syaoran who was snuggling even closer than usual. “Are you sick, Syaoran?” he asked, one palm instantly reaching for her forehead in an age-old method of checking temperature.

 

She ever so subtly inched out of the touch. “I'm fine,” she said with an almost wan smile. “I promise. I'm not sick.”

 

He eyed her critically. “You wouldn't be saying that so you don't miss going to the park today, would you?”

 

Syaoran shook her head. “Nope. I don't feel sick at all, ojii-chan.”

 

Though skeptical, he figured that if there was something seriously wrong with the child, she would say so. Besides, she only looked a little pale and tired. Perhaps some rest was all she needed.

 

“Popcorn's ready,” Izuru called out cheerfully as he strode into the room, deftly carrying a bowl filled with the salty snack.

 

The opening strains of the movie began to play, probably a bit louder than it should have, as Izuru settled down on the other side of Syaoran. He arranged the bowl so that she could reach into it as well. When she immediately held out a hand to grab a few kernels, Izuru grinned. He could just imagine their own little Miharu enjoying it as well.

 

He looked up to meet the gaze of his husband and found the same fond look in dark eyes. They were both so excited about their soon-to-be daughter that it was understandable. And Izuru had the feeling she and Syaoran would get along just fine.

 

The sound of several coughs broke them from their goofy staring, and Jyuushiro's attention was again drawn towards Syaoran, who was very obviously trying to muffle the sound with her fingers. Her free hand still clutched the popcorn, which she hadn't even had chance to eat yet. Her little body was wracked with the force of the cough, and she was slowly doubling over.

 

Instantly, Jyuushiro was concerned. “Syaoran, sweetie, are you alright?”He turned towards Syaoran, laying a hand on her back and rubbing soothingly.

 

Izuru quickly wiped his hand on his pants and held it to her forehead, looking up at his husband in alarm. “She's burning up, Jyuu,” he said as his other hand smoothing back her hair.

 

Syaoran shook her head under their touch and tried to straighten. “I'm fine,” she insisted weakly, voice raspy from the force of her coughing.

 

“No, she's not,” Kaien retorted, his attention detracted from the movie as he turned to look at his sister. Though he appeared annoyed, it was clear that he was worried. “She's been coughing real bad at night and hiding it.”

 

“Kaien!” Syaoran cried, aghast. But then, her words degenerated into another fit. “You... weren't supposed to tell.”

 

Izuru looked at his husband in concern and was alarmed to find the expression of sheer horror on Jyuushiro's face. He followed the other man's gaze, and a gasp escaped him. There, splattered over Syaoran's delicate fingers, was a fresh splash of bright blood.

 

“Kami,” Jyuushiro whispered, fear warring with worry on his face. He had paled, fingers spasming before he scooped the feverish child into his arms. “We have to take her to the fourth.” He was already rising to his feet as Syaoran continued to cough in his arms, emitting a low moan of pain as her chest ached.

 

Izuru nodded fiercely and stood, setting the bowl of popcorn aside. As Jyuushiro tended to Syaoran, murmuring words of encouragement and ignoring her claims of being fine, the blond turned off the screen and ushered Kaien into getting ready. A sense of hurried worry was in the air, and Izuru had to keep from biting his lip as he felt his husband's fear increase.

 

“Is Syaoran going to be alright?” Kaien asked, his expression showing an uncharacteristic sense of solemnity. It was clear that despite their rivalry he loved his sister.

 

Kneeling to help Kaien into his waraji, Izuru offered the boy a reassuring smile. “I'm sure it's nothing serious,” he replied, hoping the same. “Don't worry. I know Isane-san will be able to treat her, and then, she'll be just fine.”

 

“Izuru, we're leaving!” he heard his husband's slightly frantic voice call for him, likely from the front door.

 

Sliding into his own waraji with quick movements, Izuru smiled comfortingly once more and patted Kaien on the head. “Let's go,” he suggested and guided the young boy forward with a palm to his upper back.

 

Kaien nodded, and they met up with Jyuushiro at the door before they of them hurried to the fourth division, worry increasing their pace to a near shunpo.

 

- - -

 

Ichigo was far more tired than he should have been, especially considering that the reason for his fatigue had nothing to do with his own troubles. But Orihime's labor had dragged on for hours the day prior, and he had been stuck at the fourth division until the early morning. She had been in labor for nearly thirty hours, a ridiculously long time. And like a good friend, he had remained to keep Renji calm and in control.

 

It had been amusing to see their son, a fact Renji was not disappointed by in the slightest. He had been ecstatic at the sight of the infant, though Ichigo took some humor in noting the crown of orange hair. A gift from his mother. As were the beautiful eyes, a soft dove grey.

 

Holding his son for the first name, Renji's eyes had lit up with the glow of a father, only to immediately scowl in Ichigo's direction. “My kid looks like you,” he had muttered, though it was with affection.

 

Not to be cowed, Ichigo rolled his eyes and shot back just as teasingly, “Better than looking like you.” But his counter had been ignored by the new father, whose attention was stolen by the quietly sleeping infant.

 

Shaking his head and leaving Renji to his wonder, Ichigo had stopped in to see Orihime. Remarkably perky considering the length of her labor, she had smiled at him and thanked him for coming. He had congratulated her, promised to let everyone else know, and then excused himself. The sun was just beginning to rise as he had trudged home and collapsed on his futon, content in the knowledge that those he trusted were taking care of his own children.

 

Watching Orihime and Renji together had been bittersweet. He could remember his own pride and happiness with Rukia when Kaien had been born. The joy of new parents, of holding their infant in their arms. Remarking at how small they were. How fragile and beautiful. Perfect in every way.

 

Rukia had been so exhausted after the first birth, body bathed in sweat, hair wet ringlets around her face. But she had been the most beautiful then, holding their son in her arms. Giving him that tired but exhilarated smile. He could remember her delicate fingers gently stroking the side of Kaien's face and the soft glint in her eyes.

 

The memories cropped up now that he was witnessing the same between Orihime and Renji. And it hurt, reminded him that he was no longer with Rukia, that he had made the conscious decision to let her go. It still tugged at his heart and clenched in his belly. But somehow... somehow, it was just a tad more bearable than before. The empty echoes weren't quite so loud in their silence. And Ichigo had a suspicion he knew why.

 

He wasn't entirely alone in this, and it was that knowledge that gave him strength.

 

Rolling his shoulders, Ichigo fought back a yawn and stepped into the outer office of the fifth's headquarters. Yumichika immediately looked up from where he sat at his desk, pretending to contemplate his paperwork. Ichigo knew when his vice-captain was working and when he wasn't. Not that it really bothered him since no matter what Yumichika's work was always completed on time.

 

“Good morning, Ichigo-kun,” Yumichika said pleasantly as he rose to his feet.

 

Ichigo paused and purposefully glanced around, even flickering his gaze to the window where the sun was already nearing its zenith. “It's nearly noon,” he retorted, just because he could.

 

A smile stole onto his vice-captain's face. “And here, I thought you couldn't tell time,” Yumichika countered with a hint of teasing as he followed his captain into the office. “Considering you are several hours late with no explanation.”

 

Shaking his head, Ichigo removed Zangetsu and put the zanpakutou in its stand before sitting at his desk with an audible sigh. “And here, I thought you would have already been up to date on the latest gossip.”

 

Yumichika waved a hand of dismissal. “I know. Little Abarai Shori was born early this morning. And Ichigo-oji-san just had to be present.” He broke into a smile that was just shy of being goofy, an almost recollective look taking over his face.

 

Forcing himself to resist the urge to lay his head on his desk and go to sleep, Ichigo gestured vaguely towards his vice-captain. “Exactly. So let me know what I missed yesterday and this morning.”

 

He idly cast a glance over the scattered papers, frowning at the lack of organization. In his hurry to leave yesterday, he had completely upset his carefully ordered stack. He would end up spending half the day searching for the more pressing documents.

 

Yumichika cast him a look that clearly stated just how much he was humoring his captain before diving into all the important and unimportant events that had cropped up in his short absence. To be expected, there was nothing pressing, and Ichigo only listened with half an ear. He could feel the fatigue tugging at him.

 

The sound of near frantic footsteps woke him from his lethargy, and Ichigo straightened as they headed his direction. Yumichika cut off mid-sentence as he turned to look at the door, which he had left open on purpose. Within seconds, Ukitake Jyuushiro was standing in the aperture, face pale and worried.

 

“Ichigo,” he said, voice sharp and close to breathless. “I had thought you'd be at home.”

 

The fifth-division captain frowned and sat up straight. “I had work that needed to be done.” He eyed the man, hair in disarray and worry lines etched into his delicate features. A surge of apprehension tugged in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

 

Jyuushiro swallowed thickly before nodding. “I'm sorry,” he began, though Ichigo wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. “Syaoran is sick. I had to take her to the fourth division.”

 

“What?” Ichigo was on his feet in seconds, something painful clenching at his heart.

 

His daughter was sick? When had that happened? And why the hell hadn't he noticed?

 

A sense of shame crossed the older man's face. “She started coughing,” Jyuushiro explained and watched as Ichigo hurried to grab his zanpakutou and prepare to leave the office. “And then… Kami, Ichigo, I'm so sorry. But she started coughing up blood.”

 

Ichigo paused mid-reach, the reason for the multiple apologies coming to light. “Blood?” he repeated and felt all the color drain from his face. “Did she have a fever? Was she lethargic?”

 

The other captain nodded. “She was burning up. But she kept insisting she was fine.”

 

Ichigo digested this, running through a catalogue of known illnesses that he had picked up from helping his father out at the clinic. Hell, it could be anything respiratory. Even something like a simple cold, he reminded himself. He needed to find rationality because it looked like Jyuushiro had long ago lost his.

 

He turned towards his subordinate. “Yumichika--”

 

“Go,” Yumichika told him with a faint wave of his hand, concern darkening his own eyes. “I can handle things here. Your daughter needs you.”

 

Ichigo was never more grateful for his vice-captain than he was in that moment. If it hadn't been for Yumichika, the fifth division would have fallen apart months ago, around the same time that his own life had.

 

He nodded his thanks and was out the door, Jyuushiro matching him step for step. A sense of hurry lightened his pace until he was very nearly in shunpo, despite the fact that the fourth division was just next door. He couldn't help the pounding of worry in his heart, and he immediately started grilling Jyuushiro for more details.

 

“What did Isane say?” Ichigo demanded, mind working in overdrive as it split between fear and dread.

 

He felt a little sick on the inside as well since he hadn't even noticed Syaoran was that ill. He had thought it was just fatigue brought about the recent circumstances. Had he been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn't even noticed his daughter's?

 

He really was a terrible father.

 

Beside him, steps equally hurried, Jyuushiro frowned. “A respiratory infection,” the older man explained, though he sounded doubtful. “But she was coughing up blood, Ichigo...” His words trailed off, and it was clear that Jyuushiro was very upset.

 

Forcing himself to portray a calm he didn't feel, Ichigo tried to throw his mentor a reassuring glance. “You didn't do it,” he insisted, knowing that it was that particular concern that was bothering Jyuushiro. “She didn't get sick because of you.”

 

“You don't know that,” Jyuushiro replied, utterly aghast and sounding near frustration. Hands clenched into fists at his side as he berated himself internally.

 

“I do,” came the stern response, and Ichigo was never more glad to see the fourth division than he was at that very moment, the front gates coming into view. He stepped up the pace just a little. “It sounds like pneumonia, Jyuushiro. Or possibly bronchitis. If left untreated, it's not uncommon for either to result in coughing up blood.”

 

He said it so simply and with a calm he didn't feel. His rapid-fire heartbeat and sharp, staccato steps betrayed his worry. And not even he could clamp down on the tendrils of concerned reiatsu that slipped out of him, rattling pictures on walls and giving passing Shinigami a shiver.

 

Forehead scrunched, Jyuushiro didn't look convinced, but he inclined his head in acceptance. Common illness or not, he knew he would never recover from the sight of Syaoran coughing up blood. The fear that had gripped his heart was unlike nothing he had ever experienced.

 

“Where's Kaien?” Ichigo asked as they threaded through the masses of the busy fourth division, Jyuushiro easily leading him towards Syaoran's room.

 

“He was upset,” Jyuushiro explained, sympathetic to the young boy's reaction. “I had Izuru take him home with the idea of finding something for his sister, clothes and the like. I think being able to help calmed him down.”

 

Ichigo wasn't surprised. Despite their arguments, the siblings were close and cared for each other. A small part of him eased at the knowledge that Kaien was fine, but he knew he wouldn't be completely relaxed until he could see his daughter.

 

Beside him, the older man sighed. “It didn't help that he worried it was his fault since he made Syaoran play in the rain with him and didn't tell anyone she was coughing.”

 

Wincing, Ichigo inclined his head. “I'll talk to him.”

 

“It's probably a good idea.”

 

Nothing more was said as they quickly made their way through the corridors. Within minutes, they found Syaoran's room, and Ichigo opened the door with nearly shaking hands. His first lay eyes on his daughter, her form seeming so small in the stark white of hospital sheets. She was asleep, breathing deep and even, but the moment they stepped into the room, she stirred.

 

She immediately noticed him, and her eyes lit up, though still ringed with fatigue. “Tou-chan,” she murmured sleepily.

 

He was at her side in an instant, scooping Syaoran into his arms and smoothing down her back with his palm, barely noticing when Jyuushiro excused himself to find Isane. Ichigo knew he was probably crushing Syaoran against his chest, but he couldn't seem to loosen his hold. His children had been sick before with mild illnesses and the like but nothing that required a rapid trip to the fourth division. Nothing that was potentially this serious.

 

“Tou-chan, I'm fine,” Syaoran said, her voice muffled by the layers of his shihakushou. Just like her mother, pretending to be fine when she wasn't.

 

Reluctantly, Ichigo pulled back and looked his daughter in the face. She was so pale, even more than her naturally light skin. And her eyes were ringed with black, drawn from exhaustion.

 

How had he not noticed?

 

“I'm sorry,” Ichigo murmured, guilt clenching at his stomach. “I should have noticed. I was so worried when Jyuu-ojii-san came into my office.”

 

She shook her head. “I didn't want you to know,” she replied tiredly, a small cough escaping her as she carefully covered her mouth.

 

Ichigo was immediately relieved to note that there wasn't any blood.

 

“I didn't want to worry you,” the little girl added.

 

“Sweetheart...” He sighed, carding his fingers through her hair and brushing it back from her face. She still felt warm to the touch, which might have had something to do with the blankets piled on top of her. “I wish you had told me.”

 

“But you were already sad, and I didn't want to make it worse,” she protested. And the look in her eyes, depicting her own worry for her father, nearly did him in.

 

He pulled her close again, wrapping her in his arms and murmuring apologies under his breath. He still didn't understand his children as well as he thought. They were far more perceptive than he gave them credit. And they thought themselves far too grown.

 

Pressing a kiss to her head, Ichigo drew back and looked her in the eyes, hands gently cupping her face. “Don't hide something like this from me again,” he asked softly and allowed his concern show in his voice. “It hurts me more to see you here.”

 

She nodded, her eyes beginning to sheen over with tears. “I'm sorry,” Syaoran rasped, her voice rough from constant coughing and sickness. “I just didn't want--”

 

He didn't let her finish whatever she was going to say, shushing her instead. Situating himself more comfortably on the bed, he pulled his daughter into his arms and stroked her hair. The nagging sense of worry and fear slowly ebbed as she calmed in his hold, even lulling enough to return to rest, which she needed a lot of now.

 

He stayed at the fourth for the rest of the night, watching over his daughter and wishing he had the power to cure her immediately. Even with kidoh and Isane's abilities, she would still need to remain in the hospital long enough to ensure she was fully cured.

 

Ichigo never remembered the papers lying forgotten on his desk, signed but not delivered, and eventually buried beneath copious other stacks.

 

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