Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ 23: Apologies ( Chapter 25 )

Of Violence

Chapter Twenty-Three: Apologies

 

It was strange to be home, surrounded by the silence of his manor and within his own company. After the last few weeks or months perhaps of being in the constant presence of Ichigo, the children, or both, it felt odd to be on his own. He was all too aware of the stillness of his house in that moment and the quiet, which had once been very relaxing. Byakuya suddenly longed for the sound of the children playing down the hall. Or just the simple and usual hustle-bustle of a house in motion.

 

It was probably the first day off he had spent by himself, and while he was grateful for the time to put some of his own affairs in order, it still felt odd to him. He understood, a bit belatedly, that he was actually missing Ichigo's presence. Ichigo and the children. He hadn't even realized he had become that acclimated to their existence in his life.

 

With a sigh, Byakuya boredly returned his attentions to the matters that had been patiently awaiting him. A pile of envelopes on his desk - his own unwanted stack of marriage proposals. Unlike Ichigo, however, he had been receiving these for years despite his complete lack of response to a single one. That didn't seem to put any of the eligible ladies off in the slightest.

 

Gathering the stack into an easier to manage pile, Byakuya dropped them into the trash without even bothering to open a single one. He wasn't interested, plainly put, and sooner or later, he would have to explain that to his grandmother. Unfortunately, Byakuya was more interested in the latter, putting it off as long as possible. It was a trial to speak to his grandmother, as she usually only heard what she wanted to hear and refused to take no for any sort of answer.

 

Byakuya was in the process of moving on to the next order of business, a few legal documents that had been generated as a result of Rukia's death, when a messenger appeared in the open doorway of his study. The distinct crest of the Kuchiki clan was emblazoned rather visibly on her uniform. He didn't bother to repress his sigh.

 

“Enter.”

 

The woman inclined her head. “Yes, sir,” she replied, stepping in and bowing deeply. She lifted up her hands and displayed a rolled parchment; the ends were pressed with wax and stamped with yet another annoyingly familiar seal. “I was instructed to place this in your hands.”

 

Firming his lips, Byakuya accepted the scroll. “Thank you.”

 

Holding the heavy paper, he could feel his hackles rising. Practically able to sense what was written on the document. And yet, the servant had not left. She was still waiting.

 

He shifted his gaze to her. “You are dismissed.”

 

The woman hesitated. “Apologies, Kuchiki-sama, but I was told to wait for a reply. However long you needed.”

 

Mentally shooting every member of his family a curse, Byakuya inclined his head and used his thumb to break the seal. He really had no interest on whatever was within, but he also didn't want to be trailed by a messenger for the rest of the day. It seemed ignoring his grandmother was no longer an option.

 

Unrolling the scroll, Byakuya gave the carefully penned words a cursory scan. It was just as he had expected. More of the same and more that he could have saved time reading. Squaring his jaw, he placed the document on the desk, resisting the urge to burn it with a Shakkahou. That would be overkill.

 

“Inform Midoriko-obaa-sama that I will be present shortly,” he replied stiffly, already inwardly preparing himself for the pending meeting.

 

The messenger bowed but didn't immediately leave. “By shortly...?”

 

“Within the hour,” Byakuya stated thinly and felt a headache already pressing at his temples. His grandmother was persistent this time, leaving him no room for escape.

 

She seemed accepting of this answer. “Yes, sir.” The messenger bowed again and then dismissed herself, vanishing as abruptly as she had appeared. No doubt to convey his response to his grandmother.

 

Byakuya lifted a hand and rubbed briefly at his temple. It did nothing for the throbbing pulse at his fingertips. He quickly organized the papers scattered in front of him and rose to his feet, only belatedly realizing that his current attire was not suitable for a visit with his grandmother. Or any member of the elder council. And most certainly not if he planned on making some sort of stand. He was the head of the house; that was true. But that didn't mean he was above their rebuke.

 

He hurried to change, putting on one of his more elegant uchikake [1]. Byakuya splashed water over his face to appear more presentable and mentally steeled himself for the migraines that were sure to come. Dealing with the elders had never been something he enjoyed, especially not now when he was certain of the topics to be discussed. Rukia - probably their priority. Ichigo. And most likely, his own status as an unwed head.

 

Thirty minutes later, Byakuya was presenting himself at the Kuchiki main manor, an expansive collection of elegant homes all clustered together and surrounded by sprawling gardens. About as royal as Soul Society came without being the home of the actual supposed king. Servants immediately led him to his grandmother's favorite room, the drawing room. And Byakuya wondered if she truly planned to confront him on her own. After all, the summons - carefully disguised as an inquiry into his life - were more or less guarding an intention of the Kuchiki elders to badger him into marrying, disowning Rukia, and other such things he had stridently been avoiding doing. Mostly because he planned not to and it was rather difficult to tell any Kuchiki “no.”

 

His grandmother was placidly sipping tea as he entered and thumbing through an old and likely valuable book of haiku. He had heard rumors that she was an avid reader of poetry. For a moment, Byakuya was surprised by her solitary presence, wondering when the rest of the elders will appear. He even found himself glancing around suspiciously, as though the other Kuchiki would do something as low as lie in wait. He caught himself before his grandmother did, however, and after an internal chastising moment, he lowered himself to the cushion across the table from her.

 

Kuchiki Midoriko was a stern woman, her age-lined face somehow always appearing perfect and poised. Make-up carefully applied and kimono pressed until each crease looked immaculate, if not brand new. He searched his memories, trying to find a single instant where he could recall her smiling, but he drew a blank. Either that or it had happened so long ago he simply couldn't remember that far back.

 

For the most part, his grandmother ignored him for several seconds, taking one final sip of her tea and lightly returning it to the saucer with nary a sound to pierce the unnerving silence. A page turned with a faint swish, her eyebrows lifting in appreciation of the fine wording. And then, she carefully marked her place and set it to the side. Eyes practically the same shade as his own regard him curiously.

 

“Good afternoon, Byakuya-sama,” she began in a voice that might have been pleasant if not for the hard edge to her tone. “I was pleasantly surprised to learn that you had accepted my invitation.”

 

As if he'd had any choice in the matter. One of his grandmother's servants represented a persistent individual, and he didn't want to be followed around by the messenger girl until he gave an answer to her liking. Midoriko surely knew how to make certain her own wishes were obeyed with never a mind to anyone else.

 

Byakuya's hands lay placidly in his lap, palms across the top of his thighs, and under her piercing stare, it took every effort not to twitch. She always had the ability to make him feel like a child again.

 

“It seemed urgent,” he replied politely. “Therefore, I made certain to put aside my other duties to make myself present for your invitation.”

 

It was a subtle way of expressing his displeasure. He knew she would understand. It was how the war began, carefully chosen words and phrases. How he hated it.

 

“Ah, yes, your duties,” Midoriko repeated, and then, her lips twitched as though she were barely repressing her sneer. “And here, I had thought you had forgotten them.”

 

Touché, dear woman.

 

Byakuya found himself sitting straighter, eyes growing colder. “I have neglected nothing that requires my attention,” he stated stiffly and made no move to touch anything that might have possibly been laid out for his visit. He would not allow himself to get comfortable nor could he even be interested with his stomach in knots.

 

His grandmother sniffed, making the reaction somehow regal. “Only on the surface,” she countered and shifted position, making herself comfortable as she fully prepared to dive into her usual spiel. “The matter of your sister--” The title was spoken as though a bad taste had just entered her mouth, the lines around her lips deepening “--has yet to be handled. And it was brought to your attention weeks ago.”

 

His eyes did narrow, stance on that particular matter something he didn't even have to think about. “I am not disowning Rukia.”

 

“No, of course not,” Midoriko dismissed with a small and dainty wave of her hand.

 

And the smile that stretched her lips eerily made him think of Ichimaru. It was poisonous and just a tad greedy, hiding her true intentions behind fake joviality. It was meant to unnerve. But he also thought that not only was Ichimaru's smile miles more pleasant, but that he would rather be discussing anything with the traitor right now than sitting before his grandmother. At least, Ichimaru's intentions would be mostly clear.

 

“And lose such a fine addition to the Kuchiki household,” his grandmother continued and clucked her tongue in disagreement. “No, I have convinced the council that allowing Rukia to remain listed as a member of this family is more blessing than curse.”

 

Byakuya froze, paling a bit as the undercurrent of her words washed over him. It didn't take a political genius to jump to the next conclusion, especially knowing how much of a nefarious plotter his grandmother was.

 

“Are you implying,” he started slowly, choosing his every word before he lost his composure, “ that you will only continue to support her adoption despite recent circumstances because of the identity of her husband?” His voice dangerously approached a growl, but she didn't seem to notice. Either that or she was ignoring it in favor of the conversation. If one even wanted to call it that.

 

“Widower,” Midoriko reminded him and lifted her cup to her lips, sipping primly at the tea. “Kurosaki-taichou is now a widower.”

 

Byakuya squared his shoulder, feeling both enraged and indignant on Ichigo's behalf. “Rukia is my sister,” he stated with no argument allowed in his tone. “No matter what the council may decide. And I will not use Ichigo as a... a bargaining chip.” And just saying the phrase tasted sour on his tongue, as though he had swallowed a very bitter fruit. “He is not your pawn to be played, obaa-sama. And neither am I.”

 

She lifted one carefully manicured brow, almost surprised by his insolence. And he knew that she must be remembering other times. When he fought for Hisana's hand. And again, when he fought for Rukia's adoption. Byakuya was just as clear now as he was then; in this matter, he would not be easily swayed. In fact, he would not be swayed at all.

 

“Very well,” she acquiesced a bit too smoothly and easily for his comfort. “On one condition.”

 

Suspicious now, he regarded her warily. “And that would be?” he demanded, lips firming into a thin line of stubbornness. He had a feeling, however, that he knew exactly where her line of thought was heading.

 

“Marriage,” she declared.

 

Byakuya sighed internally. He knew it.

 

“I have several beautiful ladies, all of respectable lineages. It is time that you produced an heir, Byakuya-sama.”

 

It was to the credit of his control that his reiatsu didn't slam against the walls of the expansive room. To put it frankly, Byakuya was tired. Of running, of butting up against stubborn walls and trying to make them understand. The word play held little interest for him anymore, and he had better things to do than participate in their games. It was time he made his stand.

 

“I will say this now and only once,” he put in sharply. “I am not marrying a woman of your choosing. Not now and not in the future.”

 

He pinned her with a gaze carefully crafted to force his subordinates in line. It was one few had ever managed to disobey, if any. Not that Byakuya could recall a single one, Renji notwithstanding. There was an idiot complex that tended to block his former vice-captain's sense of survival.

 

Her mouth dropped, likely to say something, some rebuttal. But Byakuya cut her off before she could even get out so much as a syllable.

 

“I realize my duty and responsibility to the Kuchiki family. And I understand it. But I am also not the only Kuchiki within this clan. There are other options.”

 

It was his turn to watch her grow a little perturbed, aged fingers tightening around her cup. “And so you plan to be alone for the rest of your existence?” she demanded sharply, a shrill edge in her tone. “Or have you another piece of Rukongai trash to throw in our faces? Are you determined to destroy this family?”

 

In retrospect, he should have held onto his control a bit better. But she had not only insulted Hisana but Rukia as well. And both were not only dear to him but departed from his world. It was like poking at a raw wound to see how much more she could make it bleed.

 

Byakuya's reiatsu spiked high enough to rattle the teapot and cups in the room. His grandmother paled significantly, though she somehow maintained her composure and stiffened her shoulders. The pressure of his power must have felt like a weighted cloak, pushing down on her. And yet, she somehow managed to stay straight. Kuchiki pride, after all.

 

“You will not,” he returned frostily, grey eyes hardening with barely suppressed fury, “refer to Hisana and Rukia in that manner ever again.” He took a breath and rose to his feet, glaring down at her. “I have endured your petty attempts at matchmaking, your sly manipulations both behind my back and to my face, and I have given years in service to this family. But I will not sit here and let you mock two of the most important people in my life.”

 

She sat there in a stunned sort of silence before highs spots of red dotted her cheeks, a direct contrast to the bloodless tint of the rest of her expression. “You are abandoning the Kuchiki?” Midoriko demanded, voice a terrible rasp that she quickly attempted to remedy by sipping on her tea. A perfect play at composure that she did not contain.

 

Her true intentions were so very pathetic. Ichigo was little more than Rukongai trash, actually less because he had once been human and a ryoka. Even if his father was related to the captain-commander and the fallen Shiba clan. But his grandmother and the Kuchiki elders would accept him far before they would Hisana and Rukia because he had power. He had strength and respect. He was a captain, a hero; he was a face that nearly every one could recognize. He was to them a badge of honor and pride. They could overlook something small like his origins if it meant they could have him within their clutches. And Byakuya would not stand for that.

 

“I said no such thing,” Byakuya replied and the icy tone of his voice surprised even himself. “I have merely come to realize a few important details. I may have had the misfortune to be born a Kuchiki, but I have also always been proud to be one.”

 

His grandmother would never be able to understand his rationality, but it didn't matter to him. So long as he knew what he wanted for himself.

 

He could never throw away the fact that he was a Kuchiki. And though it came with this headache, this mantle he was required to wear and the family politics, he could not abandon his pride. It was both a blessing and a curse, but Byakuya could not simply toss it aside either. The Kuchiki were as much a part of him as Senbonzakura, a piece of his very being, and though he hated certain aspects of it, he would never abandon it.

 

It was that dilemma which had been lingering in the back of his mind, but he believed he'd found something like a solution now. He didn't have to be one or the other, do one or the other. So long as he could balance both out in the end.

 

Byakuya met her gaze firmly, proving that he had found his stance. That he would no longer let her influence his decisions. While he would accept her advice, every choice would be his and his alone in the end. He was the head of the Kuchiki clan, after all; it was time he started acting on that.

 

“I will do as I see fit for the Kuchiki, obaa-sama. This I do swear.” His reiatsu simmered around him in a controlled manner. “But I will no longer allow you or anyone else to dictate my life for me. Am I clear?”

 

Silence swept through the room, blanketing it in a tense layer of expectation. The two Kuchiki stared at each other with eyes only shades from one another. And just when Byakuya wondered if he had finally made his grandmother speechless, the silence broke.

 

Midoriko slowly returned her cup to the saucer. “My dear Byakuya-sama,” she said, and he could not read the emotion in her voice, it was so perfectly hidden and so perfectly bland. “I do believe that you have matured. Have I met my true opponent at last?”

 

Byakuya, despite his own composure, blinked. He wasn't sure what to make of her seemingly random statement.

 

She continued as though being on the receiving end of his cold disregard was something she endured every day. “This may prove interesting,” she added, rising to her feet in a very elegant motion, expensive robes swishing around her. “I shall watch your attempts with an unwavering eye. And should you fall, well, I shall see that, too. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

 

His grandmother parted on that note, sweeping from the room with an air of complete dignity and aplomb. Yet, Byakuya somehow felt as though he had won some battle or simply came out on a draw. He had come through relatively unscathed, and in that confusing mix of words, he just might have gained Midoriko's approval. Though he hadn't the slightest idea how.

 

He didn't labor under any misconceptions, however. He knew better than to believe she was fully on his side just yet.

 

He stood there for several more moments, pondering her words and actions, before excusing himself from the manor and heading home. Stranger things had happened, he supposed, than a Kuchiki acquiescing to much of anything.

 

Stranger things, indeed.

 

- - -

 

Byakuya suppressed a shiver as a gust of chilly wind swept over him, brushing his hair out of his face and creeping down the nape of his neck. Winter was approaching with a vengeance, despite the fact that autumn had barely begun. He had the feeling it was going to be a rough season.

 

“Cold?” Ichigo asked, perched beside him on the blanket set out on the ground.

 

In his arms, a wriggling Mikan kept reaching for something only her eyes could see. A gurgle occasionally slipped past her lips, eyes sparkling happily.

 

The noble shook his head, shifting to adjust the sleeping Ryuu, snuggled up tight against his chest. Both infants were practically swaddled in clothes to keep away the chill of the evening, a contrast to their elder brother who wore only hakama and a haori. Kaien had long since abandoned his overcoat, the exertion of running around making him overheated. He was currently fascinated by the abilities of his sparkler and kept teasing his sister with it.

 

“I am fine,” Byakuya responded, gaze shifting to the dark sky where they were all patiently awaiting the display to begin.

 

“Tou-chan,” Syaoran began, a pout on her lips as her gaze flickered between her uncle and her father. “When's it going to start?”

 

Ichigo chuckled and gave a shrug. “Whenever it starts, Syaoran. You know how Kuukaku can be.”

 

The look on his daughter's face clearly said all that needed to be said. Kuukaku was considered the “crazy” aunt of the family, and all of Ichigo's children held that belief. Byakuya didn't blame them. She was a lot to take in at once. Kami-forbid that she and Yoruichi should get together for some of their usual mischief.

 

An elbow nudged him in the side, dragging his attention back to Ichigo. “You've got that look on your face,” he explained teasingly. “I'm sure they didn't mean to blow up one wing of your manor.”

 

Byakuya barely held back on his sigh of aggravation. “They never intend their mischief; it just follows them,” he replied, preferring not to think about that particular incident.

 

The other man merely snickered, however, finding the incident funny even now. Of course, anything that tended to disrupt Byakuya's stoicism Ichigo found amusing. For once, Byakuya didn't really mind. Ichigo chuckling over his irritation was better than Ichigo walking around as if the weight of all the worlds rested on his shoulders, shadows beneath his eyes, and early age-lines marring his usually youthful appearance.

 

“There you are.”

 

The voice, emerging from behind Byakuya, caused both adults to turn and look over their shoulders. Jyuushiro was approaching from behind, a broad smile on his face as he was accompanied by his husband. And between them, her hands clutched by both of her fathers, was a little girl. The infamous Miharu.

 

“We thought we'd walk forever up this stream bank looking for you,” Jyuushiro continued, the same goofy-grin on his lips that he'd been carrying for the past few days since he and Kira had successfully brought their daughter home with them.

 

The poor thing looked bundled up beyond belief, as though it were snowing rather than just a bit chilly. Bright green eyes and a pert nose were the only features visible behind the fuzzy hat and scarf wrapped around her head. Her fingers even had gloves on them, and Byakuya couldn't help but think that it was just like his senpai to overreact like that.

 

Byakuya gestured for the two men and their daughter to join them. “Ichigo chose the location,” he explained with a pointed look around their selected spot.

 

Twenty feet away was the bank of a river, flowing calmly within its banks. And just behind them, a string of trees made it seem very closed in. Lanterns dotted both sides of the banks, proof of others awaiting the same fireworks display that happened every year at this time of the season. A tradition of which whose origins Byakuya still wasn't entirely certain.

 

The curve of the river they'd chosen, however, was mostly empty of others save for the couple beyond hearing range and a rowdy group of Academy students on the other side. Byakuya suspected that Ichigo preferred it that way, far from prying eyes that liked to create painful rumors.

 

“It's a great spot,” Izuru commented, surreptitiously trying to loosen Miharu from some of her extra bundles when his husband wasn't looking.

The look of sheer gratefulness that the little girl kept shooting him amused Byakuya greatly, though he didn't let it show. Ichigo, however, held no reservations. He laughed, and with a pointed look at Jyuushiro, he shook his head.

 

“Can she even breathe under all that fabric?” He wondered just how many coats the poor thing was buried under.

 

Jyuushiro squared his shoulders, only vaguely affronted. “I just wanted to be careful. I don't want Miharu to be sick her first week at home.”

 

“There's careful, and then, there's paranoid,” Ichigo countered but waved dismissively. “Don't worry. In enough time, you'll realize what's necessary and what's not.” He should know; he had four children, after all.

 

Tipping his head to the side, Ichigo smiled softly at the little girl. “Evening, Miharu. Nice to finally meet you.”

 

The small smile she gave him in return was just a bit shy. “Nice to meet you, too, Ichigo-san,” Miharu replied quietly, her voice soft and almost delicate, like a little china doll. She was absolutely adorable.

 

Byakuya greeted her also as Ichigo called Kaien over, the boy having been watching their exchange with something like apprehension. It had been the first time he'd seen his Jyuu-ojii-chan since the disastrous dinner a week ago. Undoubtedly, he was feeling particularly guilty.

 

Unable to wipe away his goofy smile, Jyuushiro briefly turned his attention to his other favorite young ones. “Syaoran, Kaien, are you having fun tonight?”

 

“Of course,” Syaoran chirped, completely forgetting that she had just been impatient for the fireworks to begin.

 

Kaien mumbled something that could have been taken as an affirmative, gaze shifting to the side as he toed the ground with his sandal. He couldn't seem to look at Jyuushiro, all interest in his quickly dying sparkler entirely forgotten. A moment which could have only been described as awkward swept through the tiny group. Byakuya and Ichigo exchanged knowing glances.

 

“You know,” Izuru cut through the awkwardness smoothly as he stepped forward, one hand clasped around Miharu's. “We passed a taiyaki vendor a few minutes back. Is anyone interested?”

 

He had spoken the magic words. Syaoran's brown eyes lit brightly as she surged to her feet, struggling for a brief moment with the folds of her robes but managing anyway.

 

“I would,” she declared, only briefly pausing to ask for her permission. “Could I, tou-chan?”

 

As if either of them could resist that pleading expression, a look of childish hope on her face. It was a well-known fact amongst their family that Syaoran loved taiyaki in the same way as a kitsune did udon. Renji had always found that particularly amusing.

 

Ichigo waved a hand in a shooing motion. “It's fine with me,” he replied. “Just don't forget your scarf,” he added as she moved to take Izuru's other hand, only to backtrack to recover said item.

 

Jyuushiro chuckled. “Now, who's been overly careful?” he questioned as the three disappeared back towards the main street, Syaoran happily jabbering at the both of them and trying to include Miharu into the conversation.

 

“I learn from the master,” Ichigo deadpanned, a faint shiver attacking him as the wind kicked up a notch, slapping gently on the side of his face.

 

The older captain laughed again, but it was clear he was distracted, the uncomfortable awkwardness still hanging over them. Kaien was circling in the background, hands shoved in his pockets. His face was filled with a nervous sort of indecision as the adults continued to converse around him.

 

Mikan shifted in Ichigo's arms, tugging on the folds of his kimono as though she could sense the uneasiness in the air. And Ichigo looked for a topic while his son gathered the courage to make his apology.

 

“How's Miharu settling in?”

 

“Just fine,” Jyuushiro answered with a fond smile. “She's such a quiet child.”

 

Byakuya resisted the urge to snort. “She won't be for long if Syaoran has her way,” he commented with a thought to how well Yachiru and Syaoran got along. When the two of them got to babbling, it was enough to make his head hurt.

 

“Good point,” Ichigo grumbled good-naturedly. “And whatever you do, don't let Yumichika watch over her. His influence needs to spread no further.” Thoughts of his daughter and the Yumichika-charm she had been exhibiting made him shake his head in exasperation.

 

“Quite,” Jyuushiro agreed.

 

“Jyuu-ojii-chan,” Kaien suddenly blurted out, voice slipping into the lull in the conversation.

 

All adult eyes turned towards the boy, who flushed but managed to hold his ground.

 

“Could I talk to you? Alone?”

 

A hopeful glint entered dark brown eyes. “Of course, Kaien. Shall we go over there?” He gestured over to the right where there was an empty patch of riverbank near one of the many slowing thinning trees.

 

The boy nodded. The two departed, Ichigo and Byakuya sharing a look of understanding.

 

“That's a relief,” Ichigo sighed, shifting Mikan in his arms as he felt the fingers of one hand beginning to grow numb. “If it isn't one thing, it's another.”

 

Byakuya arched one brow, his own burden luckily rather docile. Ichigo had always joked that Ryuu took after Yuzu most of all and Byakuya didn't doubt it.

 

“Would you really expect any different?” he asked, trying to politely avert his gaze and ignore the curiosity poking at his mind.

 

“I really shouldn't.” Ichigo replied, and his voice sounded just this side of tired. Which was really no surprise.

 

The last few months - no, years most likely - had been really trying for Ichigo and his family. Exhaustion was probably the least of his sufferances. And yet, he simply bore it all with the same endurance as everything else he'd weathered in his entire life. From his teenage years to his adult life, one hurdle after another. Sometimes, Byakuya had caught himself wondering how Ichigo had managed it all without going mad.

 

He found himself unexpectedly saying something positive. “Perhaps you should,” he suggested, the words falling from his lips before he entirely chose to speak them. And only belatedly did he realize that it could be taken to convey something else entirely. Not necessarily something he didn't actually mean, just something he hadn't intended to say at that precise moment.

 

By Kami, Byakuya was confusing himself.

 

“Was that optimism I heard?”

 

Ichigo shifted his gaze towards him, momentarily taking it away from where Jyuushiro and Kaien were talking. The boy uneasily twisted his fingers together with an apologetic look on his face.

 

The Kuchiki noble resisted the urge to squirm, glad that Ichigo's ability to grasp subtlety remained as absent as usual. “Or something like it.” He played off with a dismissive shrug, tilting his eyes down towards the infant beginning to wake in his arms.

 

The other man gave him a strange look but choose to divert his attention to his son, who was looking at Jyuushiro earnestly. The older man had lowered himself to one knee to be at eyelevel with Kaien, and there was a forgiving smile on his face as Kaien spoke with definite awkwardness. Apologies did not come easily to his son.

 

He watched as Kaien lowered his head in shame, eyes cast towards the ground. Jyuushiro reached out and patted him on the shoulder, clasping him kindly, and Kaien looked up at him. Jyuushiro said something that Ichigo couldn't make out, but he gathered it was some sort of acceptance because Kaien abruptly grinned and hugged his adopted grandfather.

 

It seemed all was well again.

 

Ichigo smiled a bit himself, glad that his son and Jyuushiro were no longer on at odds. Beside him, Byakuya gave the smallest of shivers for the second time that night. Ichigo couldn't help but roll his eyes at Kuchiki stubbornness. He just knew that Byakuya's fine robes probably weren't warm enough, but the obstinate bastard wouldn't admit it.

 

“You know,” he began, pretending nonchalance as he lifted Mikan underneath her shoulders and watched her giggle as he held her aloft. “It's okay to admit when you're cold, Kuchiki-taichou-sama.”

 

Byakuya stiffened as the wind blew a gust of hair into his face, but he ignored the temporary nuisance. “I'm not--”

 

In perfect Kurosaki stubbornness, Ichigo easily interrupted his denial by lowering Mikan and grabbing a chunk of the blanket he had placed in his lap. Brought along for the children more than anything.

 

“Look,” he declared, waving it demonstratively. “I'll even share a corner of my blanket.”

 

Despite himself, Byakuya felt his lips twitch towards a smile. “Your generous offer is most appreciated,” he stated as Jyuushiro and Kaien came trudging back towards them, the boy looking just a bit chilled now that he had stopped running around. “But I think someone else has laid claim to that cover.” He tried to ignore the surge of disappointment that threaded through him, reminding himself that they'd yet to have that discussion.

 

As if on cue, Kaien flopped down onto the open blanket in front of his father, cuddling up towards both men. “It's cold,” he complained, reaching for the warm cover.

 

Without a word, Ichigo handed it over and watched his son fondly as the boy swaddled himself in the blanket. Chuckling to himself, Jyuushiro carefully lowered himself to a corner of the large blanket that Ichigo had brought for them all.

 

“I wonder how much longer Izuru will be?” he said aloud, making himself comfortable as he adjusted the folds of the extra haori he had hanging over his shoulders to combat against the chilly wind.

 

As if summoned by his very question, the sound of giggling floated to their ears. The adults shifted to see Izuru returning, each hand clasped around one of his charges. Syaoran was clutching a half-eaten taiyaki wrapped in one fist, and Miharu carried a bag that seemed to have several more.

 

“I hope you didn't eat too many,” Ichigo commented, eyeing the half-devoured treat with the firm gaze of a father.

 

His eldest daughter grinned at him, bits of paste sticking cutely to her cheeks. “Just one,” she answered cheerfully. “Miharu had two!”

 

Jyuushiro lifted a brow. “Two?” he repeated as he shifted to make room for the final three of their little family gathering.

 

His husband smiled sheepishly. “How could I resist those big green eyes?” Izuru posed, guiding his new daughter to sit in his lap as he dropped down beside Jyuushiro.

 

Syaoran, giving her brother a disgusted look when she noticed that Kaien was hogging all of the blanket, winnowed down between Ichigo and Byakuya. The grace with which she managed the move was almost to be envied. She had been learning well from her uncle.

 

“Is it almost time?” she inquired, pulling out a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and dotting daintily at her mouth with it. Damn Yumichika; Ichigo was sure his vice-captain was the culprit behind that particular notion.

 

Tucking her against his side with a free arm, Ichigo shifted his gaze across the water where other families and groups of friends were beginning to settle down. “Soon,” he promised, shifting an increasingly energetic Mikan around; perhaps she was getting hungry.

 

“Did you bring me one?” Kaien demanded, rolling over to look at his sister accusingly.

 

She eyed him with true sibling rivalry, nose nearly turned towards the air. “Miharu did,” Syaoran replied and gestured towards the bag that sat in front of Izuru and his daughter. “And make sure you thank her.”

 

Ichigo chuckled as his eldest son grumbled under his breath, something about stingy, bossy siblings, and proceeded to make puppy eyes at Miharu. She took pity on him and pushed the bag his direction, a shy smile on her face. Kaien nearly whooped as he dug in, pulling out one that was still warm.

 

“He eats like an animal,” Syaoran commented, wrinkling her nose as she leaned her head against her uncle's shoulder.

 

Byakuya's lips twitched, close to a smile. “He is your brother, Syaoran,” he responded with amusement. “He'll learn manners.”

 

He could tell by the look on her face that she didn't quite believe him. He was saved from making any further explanation as the first firework suddenly exploded in the sky above them, a shimmering and bright ball of blue light. Immediately, their eyes shifted upwards, that first flare more of a call to attention than the beginning of the show.

 

The lights exploded above them in an array of dazzling colors and effects, the perfect culmination to the time spent waiting.

 

 

 

AN: Uchikake is the traditional, formal robe. Currently, it's considered wedding attire, but in the Edo era, it was originally worn only by court nobles. Thus the reason I used it.