Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ 30Kisses ❯ Iroha ( Chapter 23 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
Living with Rukia was a trial. He see her walking through the garden in one of Hisana's favorite kimonos or catch a glimpse of the ribbons that she would tame her wayward hair with and it was if his wife was alive again. The same impulse that had made him give her all of Hisana's things: clothes, jewels, ornaments, also tethered him to the estate. He spent more time at home, now that he was taicho of the 6th division, discreetly watching his adopted sister, than he had when his wife was still living and he had only been a fukutaicho.

But one night she came down to dinner and things had changed. Gone was the flowery, pastel kimono and gone was the carefully wound ribbon. Instead Rukia was wearing a simple indigo yukata and her hair had been cut short to fall raggedly just below her chin. "Is something wrong?" he blurted out, then inwardly cursed his impulsive tongue.

She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Nothing is wrong, Niisama. Why do you ask?"

" . . . you changed your clothes." An inane answer, but the best he could come up with. Hopefully, his neutral face and tone would cover his confusion.

"Oh, that, I sent the maids away and chose this for myself." She looked down at her bare sleeves. "The kimonos they kept putting me in were beautiful, but I feel much more comfortable like this."

"And your hair?"

His sister smiled ruefully. "I'm not fond of long hair. It isn't practical on a battlefield." It isn't practical on the streets he heard underneath her statement.

"I see."

"If I may be so bold, how was your day, Niisama?"

That was the first conversation he had with his sister.

Byakuya liked to think that Hisana was happy with him, but he knew she was lonely when his duties called him away, which was often. So when he came back one afternoon and saw the same wistful look on Rukia's face, he immediately took steps. He already had Hisana's death on his hands, he would not let her sister pine away and die as well.

"Niisama what is it?"

"A kitten. I found it in the rain. I think it's an orphan." Actually, he had paid the taicho of the 12th Division to create the animal. His sister's health was too important to be left to the uncertain temperament of some mongrel from the streets.

"That's nice of you, to take it in. Are you going to keep it?"

"I'm not certain. Would you like to name it?" That's it, take the bait he thought.

"No thank you. But if it needs a home, the fukutaicho of the 10th Division is looking for a pet." She walked away, leaving him to deal with the animal. The cat looked at him. He looked at the cat. The cat went for his face.

"Oooh isn't he cute, he looks just like my taicho!" Matsumoto snuggled the green eyed, white furred demon into her chest, and the kitten just purred and licked her chin. "But if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your face Kuchiki-taicho?"

"It was a Menos Grande." She shot a skeptical look at the bandages, but fortunately didn't inquire further.

"Aren't you the most adorable little thing! I think I'll call you Shiro-chan!" Byakuya swore he felt the temperature drop at least ten degrees. "By the way, how did you know I wanted a pet?"

"Oh, Rukia mentioned it. I'm a little surprised that she didn't want to keep it for herself."

"Well, not everyone's a cat person. But Rukia-chan's always doodling these odd little bu-" Byakuya tuned the blonde out. Hisana had definitely been a cat person and he regretted not having got her one while she was alive. But if Rukia didn't like cats, what type of pet should he get her? Fish?

A flash of red brought his thoughts back to the present. His newest officer, the one who transferred from the 11th Division, who's name Byakuya couldn't remember, was out training the fresh graduates. Come to think of it, that hair looked somewhat familiar . . . now he had it. That was Rukia's friend, the one from the Academy. He noted the rough handling of the recruits and inwardly winced at the language the officer was using to berate one particularly clumsy member.

Still, he was Rukia's friend . . . maybe she liked dogs.

"Here." Byakuya unceremoniously dropped a leash into the hand of the pink-wearing taicho of the 8th Division.

"Ah Byakuya-bo, so glad to see you again. And while I believe sake would be a much better gift, still, I appreciate any tokens of respect that you chose to bestow upon your elders. But what is it?"

"A dog." He turned and left without anymore words.

Shunsui looked at the dog. The dog looked at Shunsui. Nanao looked at the dog. Shunsui stopped looking at the dog and leered at his fukutaicho instead. "I suppose we should have just told him that Rukia likes bunnies, instead."

The woman adjusted her glasses. "Our 15th seat, Rinko, has previously expressed a fondness for dogs. You can deliver it to her when you sneak into the women's dormitory tonight."

"Ah, what would I do without my sweet Nanao-chan!"

"And please sign these sir, before the Chamber 46 reduces our budget again!"

So Rukia doesn't like cats and she's allergic to dogs. So now what do I do? Byakuya's nightly ruminations had taken a distinctly pedestrian, but far less morbid turn. Faced with the challenge of finding a suitable pet for his sister, he had temporarily abandoned his usual self-recriminations. The head of the Kuchiki family was so deep in thought, he almost missed his sister sneaking out. Carefully hiding his reiatsu, he followed her until she reached the edge of the estate. There she set out some pieces of lettuce and carrot that she must have stolen from the kitchen. She waited a while until a white blob came out and began to feed. "There you are. Ooh, you're so white and fluffy, I could just eat you up!" He watched her snuggle the bunny, cooing and kissing it, before turning away.

At least he wouldn't have to go back to the 12th Division for a third time.

Hisana had always had the fragrance of camellias and roses about her. Camellias for the 6th Division, roses for her own tastes. Now that she was gone, he could never smell roses without remembering her long illness. When Rukia started wearing the same perfume, he again found himself drifting, holding his breath as if he could somehow stop time and suddenly she would be Hisana all over again. That heavy perfume invaded his sleep and all his dreams were about death and dying.

The change was as startling as when she had stopped wearing kimonos. One day the house had been filled with the heavy, gloomy perfume, the next had new scent, equally strong, but far more lively and sensual.

"I'm sorry, but we ran out of the old bottle, and I bought a new one while I was out. I hope you don't mind." The evening conversation gone from a rare occurrence to a daily habit.

"Not at all. But why did you choose a new scent, Rukia?"

She looked sheepish, then remembered her lessons. The fragile silhouette straightened and the pointed chin came up so that navy eyes could look into his gray ones. "I find the scent of roses morbid. Gardenias have much more pleasing connotations."

He almost smiled. "I agree."

Still, it wasn't until Rukia asked to become an officer that Byakuya finally separated the two women in his mind.

Hisana had not been a shinigami. To his family, she had been a servant in a lady's clothes; to the servants she had been a lady who couldn't manage the house. Hisana had always vacillated between the two extremes and the only time she could be herself was with him. And that time had grown less and less, between his increasing duties and her growing melancholia, until at last there had been nothing left of her.

Rukia's personality was much more forceful and adaptable than his wife's. She bent to the pressures of being the sister of the clan head, but continued to grow in her new form. She accepted what had been given her, but stamped it with her own personality. Rukia was not a hothouse debutante nor was she a mediocre peon.

And when Byakuya looked at her and realized that this terrible, wonderful, strange person who he had barely begun to know was asking for his permission to go off and die-there was only one thing he could do.