Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Reminiscence ❯ 09 -- Home ( Chapter 10 )

Title: Reminiscence

Memory: 09 -- Home

Author: La Loba de Mibu

Rating: PG

Characters: Ikkaku and Yumichika

Warnings: Fluff?

Summary: Without a place or family to call one's own, where is home?

Notes: The number of the chapter does not reflect the chronological order of the present storyline, rather the flashback portrayed therein.

Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

Beta'd by: jamminbison, sennawalker

 

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~ Series Timeline

~ Series Index: Chapters 1-8 & Interlude

 

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Check out Yachiru's Bleach Wiki and applaud the cuteness of Kubo's canon!! ^_^

 

Goho-taichou: I think most people know, taichou = captain. Goho is the Japanese sound effect of a really bad wet cough.

 

Nee-chan: Yumi doesn't have his feathers yet, so this is the nickname Yachiru will call him until then. It means “elder sister;” she's poking fun at his feminine looks.

 

Okaeri/Tadaima: the traditional greetings exchanged when someone returns after having been gone, meaning “Welcome back” and “I'm back” respectively. However, these greetings are usually only exchanged between people who are family and live in the same home, essentially giving these words the meaning “Welcome home” and “I'm home,” and making it a much more intimate exchange. For two people who aren't family and have no home to use it . . . infers some serious (and heartwarming) connotations. ^.^

 

--Loba

 

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“Mou~~” Yachiru whined as she hovered in front of the man tinkering with her zanpakutou, “Don't break it, Pachinko head!”

 

“Shut the hell up, and quit calling me that!!” Ikkaku snapped, a vein in his forehead twitching, “And stop yer hovering!”

 

He swiped at her half-heartedly with the sheath of her own zanpakutou. Still wondering how someone who didn't even come up to his knees could not only have her own zanpakutou, but also be his vice-captain. In a division of big tough brawny men, that defied all logic.

 

“Don't worry so much, Yachiru-chan,” Yumichika placated the little girl, clapping his hands together as he suddenly remembered, “Oh! I forgot to tell you! I got some new sweets for us to try yesterday!”

 

The pink-haired demon known as the 11th Division's lieutenant promptly threw herself at Yumichika with a loud cheer. The slight young man caught her easily with a chuckle, gathering her in his arms as he stood gracefully, winking at Ikkaku over her shoulder. Ikkaku threw him a grateful look before Yumichika turned to walk across the room with Yachiru in his arms to get the aforementioned sweets, consequently allowing Ikkaku to work on his project unhindered.

 

“Hurry up, Nee-chan!!”

 

“Don't call me that! Ow! Stop pulling, I'm moving, I'm moving!”

 

Ikkaku looked up at the spectacle to see that Yachiru had grabbed a fistful of short dark hair and was busy tugging it to encourage the only other member of the 11th Division who didn't quite fit the mold to move towards their destination faster, much to the his chagrin. He smiled to himself, and focused on his work again as the odd pair quietly rummaged through Yumichika's closet.

 

Taking some measurements, he set about carefully drilling two small holes at bottom of Yachiru's sheath. He lifted it to his face to double check the symmetry when Yumichika broke the brief silence.

 

“Aha! There it is!” he cried in triumph.

 

“This?” Yachiru held up a painted, oval shaped box that looked worn with age.

 

“No. Do be careful of that. I'll take that,” Yumichika warned, taking it gently from her hands and handing her a much newer looking box, “The sweets are in this one.”

 

That made Ikkaku look up in curiosity, watching as Yumichika set the old comb box down on the table as they returned to where Ikkaku sat still tinkering. His gaze stood fixed in genuine surprise at the beat up thing.

 

“Ya still got that piece of crap?” Ikkaku asked with a raised brow, turning to Yumichika.

 

“Of course I do. And it's not crap!” Yumi cried indignantly, “Don't insult your own work!”

 

“Hooooh, Baldy made this?” Yachiru said, drawing close enough that her nose was almost touching the wooden box as she examined it carefully.

 

“Oi! Quit calling me bald!” Ikkaku couldn't contain the instinctive gripe as he waved a fist half-menacingly.

 

Yachiru ignored him, drawing back from the small object with a finger thoughtfully resting on her lower lip. After a moment of quiet deliberation, she turned to Ikkaku in all seriousness and spoke.

 

“Hnnnn . . . You'd better not do such a piss poor job on my zanpakutou, Baldy.”

 

Ikkaku gaped, then sputtered in rage. Yumichika's eyes widened comically before his head thumped down onto his arm on the table, shoulders shaking with laughter. Ikkaku growled wordlessly at him, before turning back to an innocently blinking Yachiru.

 

“Oi! You little—”

 

Yumichika glared pointedly at Ikkaku, preventing a would-be violent confrontation, before facing the little girl with a sweet smile, “Lieutenant! You say the most surprising things! But you know, a young lady shouldn't speak so vulgarly!”

 

“But Ken-chan says it all the time to the no good lazy fucktard excuses for new recruits,” she complained with a slight frown.

 

It was Ikkaku's turn to laugh at Yumichika's appalled expression as their little lieutenant's mouth spilled forth more foul language. He soon recovered from his shock as an uncharacteristic frown darkened his features.

 

“Yachiru-chan, do not use such ugly words anymore,” Yumichika scolded, but when

Yachiru pouted, his tone softened and he smiled before continuing in a conspiratory whisper, “You and I are the beauties of this division. We must take care not to sully that beauty with the ugly behavior of our comrades, ne?”

 

Ikkaku watched Yachiru blink, then nod with a thoughtful hum. It never ceased to amaze him how well Yumichika handled the child. He was the only one besides the Captain who could get away with using a reprimanding tone with her. The angry demands for cessation of her demented nicknames and annoying antics were a reaction she enjoyed provoking, and thus never held against her subordinates, however anyone else trying to seriously chastise her as Yumi had just done would have ended up with a few cheerfully delivered bone fractures.

 

It irked Ikkaku that Yumichika trumped him in that privilege. The first and last time he tried to scold his lieutenant he'd ended up with a furious toddler chomping savagely on his head. It was his most embarrassing trip to the 4th Division to date, and one he never intended on repeating. Unfortunately, the little lieutenant seemed to have developed a taste for his scalp, as now she liked to harass him every once in while by drooling all over it, much to his fury and disgust. Just then, Yachiru struck her open palm with her little fist, as if she had experienced some kind of epiphany.

 

“Hoh! It's like that human story that Goho-taichou told me about! Beauty and the Beets!”

 

“Eh?” Yumichika shared a confused look with Ikkaku, before recalling the story they had found Ukitake telling the little girl as they sat on the veranda of the 13th Division compound, when they'd lost track of in a game of hide and seek some days ago, “Do you mean beast perhaps?”

 

“That's what I said! `Cept there's two of us so let's see . . . If I'm one beauty, then,” she explained while giggling, “Then Ken-chan is my beast!! And if Nee-chan,” she ignored the violent twitch of Yumichika's eye, “is the other beauty, then Pachinko-head is your bea—”

 

“Aren't these sweets just heavenly?” Yumichika stuffed a soft chewy candy into her mouth before she could finish, but it seems he wasn't fast enough.

 

He winced as he felt Ikkaku's reiatsu suddenly fill the room, annoyance twisting it sharply until it felt as if a thousand daggers were pricking their skin; though habit left them mostly unaffected by it. Ikkaku's face had also darkened murderously, and his smile was anything but kind or amused as he held his zanpakutou at the ready.

 

“Ne, Yumichika,” his tone promised death, “Let her finish.”

 

“Hoooooh,” Yachiru giggled, “Why you so mad, Baldy?”

 

Yumichika stuffed another candy into her mouth, slipped the small coffer full of sweets into her hands and hoisted her up with him as he stood. Seeing Ikkaku had half drawn his sword when he heard his hated nickname, he sighed tiredly and promptly grabbed the old box from the table to smack him none too lightly on the head.

 

“Put that away, idiot!” he hissed before inspecting the box, adding sweetly, “Actually one of the hinges on this is loose, why don't fix this while you're at it too? Ne, Yachiru, let's leave Ikkaku to his work!”

 

He stuffed another candy in her mouth before she could stick her foot in it again, heading out of the room through the open shogi and out onto the veranda. Ikkaku growled, watching them leave with a scowl, but couldn't help a smirk as soon as he heard Yumichika complaining at another one of their lieutenant's nicknames. With a huff, he turned his attention back to the comb box now in his hands.

 

He snorted; it was such a pathetic piece of work really. But it warmed something deep within him that Yumi would treasure and use it even now, when he had much better things to guard his precious combs in . . .

 

. . . . . .

 

“Oh no!” Yumichika tsked softly as he finished pulling open the cloth wrapping from a small bundle, “Dammit.”

 

Ikkaku looked up, slightly surprised at the curse. In all the time he'd known the other man, he very seldom used foul or vulgar language of any kind. Yumichika was cradling a broken comb in his hands, his brow creased in monumental disillusionment. He joined two pieces along the break briefly, clicking his tongue once more when he parted them, his shoulders slumping in saddened defeat.

 

Ikkaku had seen Yumichika get upset over the ruin of his things before, most often his kimono, or even his geta now and then, but there was a deep sadness about his small form now that made Ikkaku uncomfortable. When he failed to produce one of his usually long and whining monologues about the spoiled item, Ikkaku's own brow creased. He got up from where he had been rummaging through his own pack and crouched in front of Yumi, looking over the broken comb. Yumichika held the two largest pieces in his hands, but there were several small ones still in the bundle among the few other combs laying there.

 

“Lemme see,” Ikkaku requested quietly, holding out his hands for the broken pieces.

 

Yumichika looked at him, hesitating only a moment before he passed him the pieces. Ikkaku inspected them carefully, picking up a smaller piece from the bundle and bringing the edges together. He hummed to himself in confirmation.

 

“The breaks are mostly clean. I think it can be fixed.”

 

“Really?”

 

The almost desperate hope in the simple inquiry made Ikkaku frown. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Yumichika was close to tears over a comb. He returned the pieces, sitting properly on the floor, looking over the other combs in the bundle. They were beautifully ornate and lacquered pieces of art. Even without knowing a thing about such delicate kinds of items, Ikkaku could tell they'd fetch an amazing price if pawned.

 

They had gone through some pretty desperate times together and while on his own, Ikkaku knew Yumichika had suffered worse still. That he still held onto these combs despite it all was a testament to their importance.

 

“So,” he scratched the back of his neck, daring to pry for once, motioning toward the combs, “What gives?”

 

Yumichika looked up at him then, expression going cold and blank as it so often did when he thought over something from his past. Ikkaku almost regretted asking, but then Yumichika spoke, picking up an unbroken red lacquered comb decorated with golden bamboo leaves and inlaid mother-of-pearl cherry blossoms.

 

“They belonged to my only friend from before,” he meant before they'd met, and he hesitated there as his fingers brushed over the designs lovingly; eventually, he continued a bit cryptically, “He was very popular, so he had the most beautiful things. He was the only one there who was ever kind to me. He always took care of me, whenever clie— whenever things went out of hand . . .”

 

When Yumi paused again, Ikkaku found himself distantly surprised at the amount of anger roiling up in him, and the strange desire to travel back in time and pummel someone. Not that it would be necessary, he was fully confident that Yumichika was strong enough now to go back and do it himself. Ikkaku had taught him the way of the sword, precisely so he'd have no need to wait or hope for knights in shining armor. Still, he couldn't help thinking that Yumichika looked awfully small and frail whenever he spoke of his past. Yumi continued then, his voice softer and forlorn.

 

“I was the one who found him. I don't know how I didn't see it coming . . . He'd tied one of his obi to a ceiling rafter . . . Anyway, I took them when I left. I wanted something to remember him by.”

 

Yumichika fidgeted as he tended to do whenever he spoke of his past and busied himself picking out all the pieces of the broken comb. Ikkaku sighed and clicked his tongue.

 

“Wrap `em up,” he said simply. Taking the small cloth wrapped bundle from Yumi, he made his way out of their room, calling over his shoulder, “Be back later.”

 

He didn't wait for Yumichika to protest, heading nonchalantly down the hall and out of the inn they were lodged at. It wasn't long before he found the fine goods shop he'd asked around town for; he entered without preamble, grumpily inquiring about having the comb set. The vendor tried to suggest that it would be simpler and more economical to buy a new one, and even went so far as to produce a tray of shiny new combs for him to look over. Fortunately, Ikkaku's displeased frown quickly changed his mind.

 

“Well then sir, it'll be ready this evening. Not to worry, your lady friend will not be able to tell her comb was ever broken!” the vendor assured too happily.

 

Ikkaku snorted, wondering what the man would think if Yumichika had come with him. He turned, about to head out when a display caught his eye, one covered with small ornate lacquer boxes.

 

“These fer combs?” he asked looking over the varying sizes.

 

“Yes sir. These will certainly keep you from having to repeat this sad experience,” he gestured to the broken comb, “Would you like to see one?”

 

Ikkaku pointed out a smaller one, and soon had it in his grasp, opening it up and inspecting its design. It was beautiful; he could imagine Yumichika beside himself to have something so lovely. But the price was ridiculous. He openly scoffed at it before returning it to the vendor's hand and exiting the shop. No way he was going to spend that much to spoil his companion.

 

But as he headed back towards the inn, he remembered the sad slump of Yumichika's shoulders, and the uncharacteristic crease to his brow. It wasn't a look that suited him, but it was one that would keep coming back every time another comb broke during their rough travels. Yumi's shoulders would slump a little more each time and develop into a hump, and that crease in his brow would cause wrinkles; and then Ikkaku would have to put up with a woeful Yumichika bewailing his lost beauty, which was unthinkable and precisely why when he passed the town's woodshop, he stopped and went inside. No other reason, really.

 

There he picked up materials and borrowed some tools for a fraction of the cost of the box he'd looked at earlier. He soon found himself a quiet spot under a maple, reddening with the onset of autumn, and spent the longs hours from mid-morning until sunset carving and tinkering, stopping only to eat some lunch halfway through.

 

With his product finished, he arrived just in time to pick up the restored comb from the fine goods shop before it closed. He returned to the inn then and ordered up a late dinner, arriving back at the room to find Yumichika gone, but an empty dinner tray by the door attesting to his recent presence. The long-haired man returned shortly, humming pleasantly as he entered before noticing Ikkaku eating his meal quietly by his futon.

 

“Ah, Ikkaku! I was just thinking I'd have to go looking for you. Okaeri,” Yumichika greeted carelessly, with a half smile.

 

Ikkaku choked on his rice, and had to wash it down with some tea before he could breathe properly again. He looked up at Yumichika to find the other young man busying himself with the futon which needed no real tending. His hair fell in a long inky curtain obscuring his face, which Ikkaku knew by the fidgeting and the stiff set of his shoulders was probably flushed. He hadn't meant to embarrass Yumi for his choice of words, but they had honestly shocked him.

 

Just then Yumichika made a soft noise of surprise as his hands found the small wooden box that Ikkaku had spent most of the day making. Yumi looked up then, eyes questioning, but face not as red as he had imagined. Ikkaku cleared his throat to break the slightly awkward silence.

 

“It's uh, for yer combs. You know, so's to keep anymore of `em from breakin',” he explained, picking at his yams as Yumichika inspected his work.

 

“You made this?” his voice held a hint of awe, as long pale fingers glided over the smooth sanded wood.

 

“Mmya,” Ikkaku mumbled through a deliberate mouthful. He stabbed at his fish with extra vigor, and kept watching Yumichika out of the corner of his eyes.

 

Yumichika finally opened it and gasped softly to find his broken comb, newly fixed, tucked neatly into one of the small compartments inside. With a smile, he hurried over to his pack to get out the bundle with the rest of his combs, returning to the futon with it and transferring each one with utmost loving care into his new comb box. When he finished, he shut the lid then secured the latch before tracing the etched pattern of blossoming plum branches across the lid.

 

Ikkaku had gulped down the last of his rice when Yumichika looked up at him with the warmest smile he'd ever seen.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Ikkaku scratched his head and grunted something unintelligible in reply, getting up to gather his things for a bath. He collected everything and was halfway out the door when he paused and looked over his shoulder.

 

Yumichika sat on his futon fiddling with the box like a child with a new toy; hands running over it, turning it this way and that, opening it once more with a delighted gasp. He'd apparently missed the small mirror in the lid beforehand, and now hurriedly grabbed a comb, running it through his bangs as he watched his reflection with a haughty little smile.

 

This was the man Ikkaku had spent nearly every waking moment with for over three decades; whom he had walked and fought beside; whom often nursed and healed him; whom irritated and argued with him; whom could piss and moan at him better than a nagging wife; whom trusted and followed him; whom had made a life without that quiet, graceful, beautiful presence beside him suddenly very hard to imagine with four little syllables, okaeri.

 

A small eternity passed as he hesitated in the doorway before he finally spoke over his shoulder in his usual gruff tone.

 

“Tadaima.”

 

Ikkaku had continued down the hall, snickering at the way Yumichika had nearly dropped the comb box.

 

. . . . . .

 

When he finished Yachiru's zanpakutou, he set about tightening the hinges that had loosened with time and wear. At some point during their travels that Ikkaku couldn't recall, Yumichika had the small comb box stained and painted decoratively to imitate the fancy lacquered boxes they'd see in shops all the time. The once pale wood was now black, the etchings of the plum branches painted gold, and the plum blossoms stained a deep red.

 

No sooner had he put the now decorated box down on the table, did he hear the thunderous pitter patter that could only be his lieutenant's footsteps rushing back at top speed; within moments she was through the door and flying straight at him, smile splitting her face.

 

“Baldy! Are you done? Are you done?”

 

She ignored his warning growl and looked around for her zanpakutou. Ikkaku pulled the small sword from behind his back and tapped her on the head with it, a small retaliation for her annoying nicknames.

 

“Here ya go, Shortie. Test it out.”

 

She grabbed it at once, inspecting the two small wheels now attached to the end of the sheath. She set it down on the ground, and took hold of the strap around the hilt, taking a few experimental steps. The small zanpakutou which was still too long for her now rolled easily behind her on the floor with its new additions. With a cheer she threw herself at Ikkaku, climbing over his shoulder and onto his back, settling just behind his neck between his shoulders where it would be hard to get a good grip on her.

 

“Thank you so much, Pachinko-head!” she wrapped tiny arms around his head and snuggled her cheek against his scalp.

 

“Don't you da--- AUGH!” Ikkaku cried in disgust and tried to pull her off as Yachiru unceremoniously began to drool and gnaw at his head in what was no doubt her idea of gratitude.

 

“Lieutenant, you don't know where that's been!” Yumichika suddenly scolded from the doorway where he was standing with a plate of riceballs; he resolutely ignored the scowl Ikkaku pinned him with.

 

“Nee-chan!! Look! Look!” Yachiru hopped off immediately, delighted to show off her new and improved zanpakutou. She ran excited circles around Yumichika as he clapped to express the awe that was demanded of him. Yachiru giggled and headed toward the door with a wave of the hand, “I'm gonna show Ken-chan now, ok? Bye!”

 

Yumichika chuckled and sat at the table, setting down the plated riceballs before taking a bite of one, idly brushing short dark hair behind an ear. It had lost its distinctive length some months ago, but no one was quite use to it yet. Still, Ikkaku found that it suited his companion, though he knew Yumichika was still covertly self-conscious about it. Without a word, he slid the comb box across the table towards the other man and grabbed a riceball for himself.

 

“Ah! You fixed it, thanks,” Yumi's smile was always extra warm whenever handling things Ikkaku had gifted him.

 

He observed silently as Yumichika experimentally opened and closed the lid, testing the newly tightened hinges. Finding it satisfactory, he left the lid open and fiddled casually with the combs inside as a comfortable silence surrounded them while they ate. A thought struck Ikkaku as he stared at Yumichika playing with the treasured combs one-handed, the other still occupied by a riceball.

 

“Huh. You never wear your combs anymore,” he commented nonchalantly, but watched Yumi closely. As he expected, the young man took hold of the riceball with both hands and began taking tiny nibbles.

 

“They don't look right. My hair is too short now,” he mumbled between bites. There was a sad note to Yumichika's voice, confirming Ikkaku's suspicions.

 

He sighed, scratching his head briefly before reaching inside the box, pulling out a pretty red lacquered comb and unceremoniously slipping it into Yumichika's hair, pinning one side up in a simple knot he'd seen Yumi do enough times to have figured out how to do it himself. He slipped his fingers carelessly through the rest of the other's hair, brushing aside the short curtain of silk and creating a messy side part.

 

Yumichika blinked up at him, eyes almost crossing in an effort to follow movements he couldn't really see. Ikkaku snorted softly, gaze slipping down Yumichika's soft pale cheek to a jaw much more delicate then his own, unconsciously followed by his fingertips. He noticed a grain of rice stuck over Yumi's bottom lip and before he could think about what he was doing he found his thumb gently swiping it away.

 

The soft intake of surprised breath broke whatever spell had taken over Ikkaku, and he looked up suddenly into widened disbelieving eyes, noticing that Yumichika's pretty face was quickly flushing red. He felt a blush of his own coming on and fought it down fiercely, clearing his throat and racking his brain for an excuse.

 

“Ya uhh . . . had some err . . . rice, yea . . . right there,” he brushed a finger over his own lips, pointedly looking away but glanced at Yumi out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Ah,” was the other's unintelligent response, lifting a hand to his lips as he turned his reddened face slowly towards the mirror, blinking dumbly for a moment at his reflection.

 

Yumichika's hand moved then, brushing over Ikkaku's work, following the path his hand had taken through his hair, blush deepening as he followed that path down his cheek and stopping once more at his lips. Violet eyes met his in the mirror then, and Ikkaku forced himself not to fidget.

 

“I guess . . . I could wear them more often,” his voice was soft, as if coming from a trance.

 

“Che, of course ya could. Honestly, you'd look beautiful even if ya were bald as me.”

 

That broke Yumichika out of his daze, making his face contort into a horrified expression; and Ikkaku couldn't help laughing, even as he was pelted with a half-eaten riceball and his ear drums were split by an indignant screech.

 

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~*Owari*~