tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When; July 8, evening
Rating; Probably PG-13 for likely language
Characters; Kuchiki Rukia

juicebox_woes, Kurosaki Ichigo

strawberried
Summary; Worried (and fed up) because of Ichigo's sudden bout of moping in the wake of Isshin's confession, Rukia decides to find a way to break him out of his slump, whether it is comforting or beatings that needs to be doled out.
Log;

With a sigh that was part worry and part frustration because of that worry, Rukia looked up for what had to have been the eighteenth time from her manga to level eyes on the closed door across the room from where she sat sprawled on the couch, feet propped up on a rather haphazardly arranged stack of pillows. He was still holed up in there. And it was beginning to grate on her nerves. Ichigo didn't brood. Well... at least he didn't normally brood. He got angry, hit things, and yelled. And that....she knew how to deal with, knew how to approach. But this sort of quiet, deep sulking that he'd chosen to immerse himself in? That was outside the realm of "Ichigo-crap" that she normally had to deal with.

And sure, if she set aside her own pride, she really didn't mind dealing with it all that much. Well -- ok, so it was still irritating -- but it was a part of who he was, and she honestly wouldn't want him any other way. But it still pissed her off. And it pissed her off even MORE because of how worried she knew she was about him. This....this wasn't normal, and it unnerved her to see him like this. Grumbling to herself about idiots and stubbornness, she swung legs off of the couch and padded her way into the kitchen. Sticking the plate of chocolate-chip cookies she's got at the store into the microwave, she carefully studied the buttons, remembering the numerous times he'd shown her how to work it. Watching as the device buzzed and whirred, managing to jump only slightly at the sharp ding as it finished, she retrieved the plate of now-warm confections and headed over to the door, rapping sharply.

"Oi, open up."

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Ichigo was brooding. A lot. It wasn't everyday that you found out your dad had been a shinigami the whole damn time, and never told you. That meant Isshin knew about everything all along -- about his side job, the shinigami girl living in his closet, about what really happened the day his mother died.

His mom. Ichigo narrowed his eyes at the ceiling; he was sprawled on his bed, and had been for hours now, unmoving, staring unseeingly at the white, white ceiling. Something thick lodged in his throat, like when he used to eat his rice too fast and it got stuck in his larynx, burning down his throat, and all he could do was let the pain settle down. Just let the pain settle.

Isshin could've saved her. He was a shinigami, he knew about hollows, he knew about his son's gift, he knew. But Mom had still died, her body heavy, soaked through by raindrops and blood.

Ichigo didn't hate his dad. He'd thought he did, he wanted to hate Isshin, just like he used to want his family to hate him -- it would be easier that way, easier to deal.

But he couldn't. It was that feeling of betrayal he hated instead.

The sharp rap on his door nearly made him jump, his eyes widening for a moment before he heard Rukia's voice. He didn't want her here -- she wouldn't understand. She didn't even know the whole story behind his mom's death.

"Go away."

Frowning, she rapped again, harder this time.

"No, dumbass. Now open the door or I'll open it myself."

Mentally, she couldn't help but feel as though she was being a little mean. He'd been through a lot, that was a definite surety. And while normally he tended to respond rather well -- well ok, as much as one could say he "responded" -- to her better when she was blunt and to the point, was that really the best way to approach a situation like this?

Honestly, she couldn't say. This wasn't like anything else they had dealt with, or like anything else she could say she herself understood. How did one deal with a loss like he'd suffered? Not to mention with the knowledge that someone else so close to him had been hiding such a thing for so long?

Shifting the plate of cookies to the other hand, she pounded yet another time.

"All right, I'm counting to three and then I'm coming in, one way or the other. You've been in here all damn day."

Glancing over at the closed door, Ichigo sighed, brows pulling together. She was angry with him -- it was obvious in the tone of her voice, the way she pounded on his door -- and he wasn't even sure why.

Well, okay, so he'd been giving her the cold shoulder lately, completely brushing past her when he walked into his room.

It was just... it hurt, even just to think about it, let alone talk about it.

So he ignored her. Maybe it was a little childish, giving her the silent treatment, but he really, really didn't want to talk to her right now, and he couldn't muster up the appropriate anger to yell at her. That probably would've been the best way to get her to go away -- or maybe not. You could never really tell with Rukia sometimes. Sometimes, yelling only made it worse.

Sighing again, he shifted back to staring blankly at the ceiling.

Rolling her eyes slightly, she turned the knob and opened the door, slipping inside. He was brooding, and she hated it when he brooded. Not just becuase he was a pain in the ass when he was doing so, but because....she hated to see him hurting. She always had, whether she was willing to admit it or not.

The fact that he hadn't yelled at her was also telling. It meant that yelling at him would probably not be the best course of action. Turning violet gaze to where he lay sprawled on his back across the bed, she held back a wince at the expression on his face. Blank, empty, but she wasn't fooled by that. She could read the pain in his eyes, even though he was trying to hide it. But....how did she deal with him when he was like this? Truly...she'd never had to.

With a slight sigh, she headed over and hooked a hand under his ankle, hauling one of his legs out of the way and dropping it beside the other one to sit down on the edge of the bed. Setting the cookies down she picked up one and held it out.

"Here. You need to eat something."

He looked away as she slipped into the room, resisting the urge to roll away from her. It felt a little cowardly, especially since she was the one he was supposed to trust. Supposed to. But then again, he was supposed to trust his father, too.

Shit. Rubbing his forehead, he let her commandeer one of his legs without so much as a peep, before setting down his hand on his chest. The bed barely shifted with the addition of her weight, but he found it a little comforting in spite of himself. Then she shoved a plate of cookies in his face, and that ruined it a little.

He was pretty hungry, though.

"You didn't make those, did you?" he blurted, then realized that probably wasn't the smartest thing to say.

He was answered with a scowl, a bop on the head from small fist, and the insertion of a chocolate-studded baked good between his lips. Crossing her hands over her chest, she rolled her eyes and huffed before picking up one of her own.

"No, for your information. I did not. I got them at the store because I know they're your favourite. It's called being nice, Ichigo. You should try it sometime."

A moment of silence, and her ire had faded. Reaching down to the tray beside her, she retrieved a glass of milk, handing it to him. "Here. Just eat them, ok? You need it."

Well, he hadn't thrown her out, and he was at least talking to her. That was a start. Munching on her own cookie, she regarded him out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see if he would relax. That seemed to be the key, at least...she asumed it was. Get him to relax, calm down. Then hope that he trusted her enough to let her in, let her help.

Ichigo gagged only slightly on the cookie, coughing and reflexively biting down, reaching up to pull the thing out of his mouth. Chewing on the piece of cookie she so unceremoniously shoved in his face, he scowled at the rest in his hand, glad she hadn't tried to make cookies. He really should've known she hadn't baked them -- one, he didn't smell anything burning, and two, they weren't blobby and only vaguely cookie-like.

He didn't respond to her, for the first time ever; by the time he'd thought to say something, he could already tell her anger had waned. No need to bring it back out again, especially since he really wasn't in the mood for arguing.

Silently, maybe a little sulkily, he took another bite of the cookie, staring back up at the ceiling.

"What d'you want?" Despite the way it could've come out, he said it softly, somberly, before letting his hand drop to his side, cookie and all. Time to cut to the chase, because dancing around the subject just wasn't going to work right now.

"I have to have a reason to want to be around you?"

Pausing for a moment, she pulled knees up to her chest, glancing back at him. He looked pretty rough, but she supposed that wasn't too surprising. At least he was eating the cookie. Sighing, she rested a hand softly on his arm.

"Would it help to tell me about it?"

She wanted him to tell her, wanted him to trust her. But...she knew him well enough to know that might not have been an option at this point. And if he couldn't...

"If you can't....it's all right. I'll just sit here with you. I think....it helps in these sorts of situations. Just...to have someone who cares be there."

It sounded unbelievably corny to her, but it was the truth. Unfortunately, she just wasn't very good at conveying it. At least...she didn't think she was.

Did he want to tell her about it? He'd never admit it out loud, but her presence was comforting, and he had to squash the urge to reach out for her. It would be so easy to do right now, in order to forget a little. He didn't allow himself that luxury.

"I..." he began, because he felt like he had to give her an answer to something, even if he couldn't answer them himself. A part of him wanted to tell her, though. But that meant revealing the whole story, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. It was his burden -- well, it wasn't really his anymore, was it?

Was it?

"I don't know." The cookie all but forgotten, he looked away from her, sighing quietly to himself.

Her fingers slid down his arm, curling around his own with a soft squeeze. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but she just had the sense that it would help.

"Maybe...just tell me what you're comfortable with? I'll listen, Ichigo. Even...if all you can tell me is that....it hurts."

Glancing away, she set her own cookie down, pushing the plate aside. "I know what happened, Ichigo. At least...some of it. Your dad told me a little bit. That...she died and...everything changed."

Well, that was at least part of it. But she didn't think that telling him she knew the entire story would necessarily be a good idea. But maybe if he knew that she at least had some idea of what happened, it would make it easier for him to open up. Tugging on his arm slightly, she slipped underneath it, curling up beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it, I just...want you to know that it's ok. That you don't have to face it alone."

Ok, so maybe she wasn't so bad at this whole "comfort" thing. Or...at least not as bad as she might have been.

Ichigo felt her fingers thread in his, her small hand squeezing his larger one, even as he stared at the wall. He winced a little at her words; he hoped he didn't have to tell her anything without that being obvious.

That his dad told her a little about his mom, though, surprised him.

"He did?" What did he tell her? Everything? Did Isshin really know what happened that day, about Grand Fisher and everything? Knowing now what he didn't then, it seemed like a distinct possibility. Or did she just know what happened after, the complete 180 that they all turned after his mom was killed?

Running a hand through his hair, he turned his head towards her, instinctively stiffening as she fit herself into his side. What did she know? His hand found its way to the small of her back, fingers pressing into her skin, maybe a bit harder than necessary.

Nodding, she winced a little bit as his fingers pressed into her back, hard. She could feel him stiffen as she curled up next to him, sighing inwardly and reminding herself that they still had a ways to go before they'd be back to what they once had.

"Yeah....he did. I think he thought....it would help me understand you a little bit. Knowing....how much things changed."

Biting her lower lip and taking a deep breath, she contemplated her next words, whether they would have the desired effect. He needed to know that he wasn't alone in his feeling of guilt. That someone understood that lonely path he'd forced himself to walk. But... to show him that, meant she had to put herself out on a limb, and visit her own painful memories.

And it wasn't... that she was unwilling to tell him. Rukia was ready to tell him, to bare her own pain if that would help ease his. She just...hoped he'd understand.

"And....that you blame yourself." Glancing away, she swallowed before continuing quietly. "I know how that feels...to blame yourself for the loss of someone close to you, because....it happened to me too."

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with her presence -- it was actually kind of nice -- he just wasn't exactly comfortable with her knowing stuff about his past that he hadn't told her himself. It meant he had no idea what she'd been told, and if it was something he really didn't want her to know.

Then again, if it was his dad that spilled the beans, then it was definitely something he didn't want her to know. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, or didn't want her to know eventually. It was that he didn't know if he was entirely ready to tell her.

Finally realizing his hand was still pressing into her back, he let it drop to the mattress, glancing back up at the ceiling.

He was surprised by her admission, even if it wasn't exactly surprising to think about. Of course Rukia had some deep, guilty secret; he knew that, if only by the way she carried herself, by the strange look in her eyes she got sometimes, one he actually found he related to on some lever or another.

"... Aa," he said finally, not probing, and not pushing it away either. She would tell him if she wanted to.

Without hardly a thought as to her actions, she reached around behind her and snagged his wrist, tugging his arm up and around her waist to rest small hand on top of hers, curling fingers through his. Licking her lips slightly, she nodded.

"My fukutaichou. Shiba Kaien."

Glancing up for a fraction of an instant, blue-violet eyes met his brown ones. "You met his family, you know. Shiba Ganju and Shiba Kuukaku. You remember, right?"

She didn't really wait to see if he answered her question or not, it was mostly rhetorical anyway. Just a jog to his memory, though she was rather certain it worked perfectly well. At least... in some instances.

"When the Kuchiki clan adopted me....it changed everything. I was graduated from Academy and given a position in the Gotei-13 without even having to take an examination for it. Most people... didn't understand that I didn't ask for that. I went from a nobody of Rukongai, to a member of one of the nobility, in an instant."

He might not have understood what it was like to have everyone suddenly treat you differently, when it felt like nothing about you -- not anything that really made you you, at least -- had changed. But, for him to understand her story, he would have to understand the story behind it.

"Kaien-dono....was different. He treated me like anyone else. Not like a Kuchiki, just... like any other unseated shinigami. And... I admired him."

Ichigo didn't even pay much attention to her as she reached around and took his hand in hers, and he instinctively threaded his fingers with hers. There was no way he would've been so comfortable with it anytime before he came to the City, but now it was like a knee jerk reaction, having her close, touching her in a way that didn't involved violence.

Turning his head towards her, he nodded in response to her question, brows pulling together.

He knew that Kuukaku and Ganju had lost their brother, and he knew that Kaien was Rukia's vice captain. The pieces were all there -- Rukia's apology, Ganju's hate of shinigami, and, maybe unrelated, how much he looked like Kaien. The pieces had just never been put together for him, a puzzle without the picture on the box. Ichigo wondered briefly if his resemblance to Kaien had anything to do with Rukia's treatment of him, since she appeared to really look up to her vice-captain. Maybe more.

He hoped not.

Frowning thoughtfully, Ichigo didn't offer an answer, letting her continue at her own pace.

For a moment, a faint smile curved her lips as his fingers laced so easily with hers. God, but she loved being close to him like this, regardless of what they might have been talking about. Sure, the violence was comfortable, familiar, as odd as that might have seemed to anyone who didn't know them, but this...this was different. This was nice.

Watching his thoughtful frown, she pictured his thoughts in her head, or at least as much as she suspected she could. Obviously, she couldn't read his mind, but knowing him as well as she did, Rukia felt fairly confident in her ability to gauge his expressions. Whatever he might think about it, she knew his own strong resemblance to her long-dead mentor was likely spinning around in his skull. Probably alongside thoughts about why his death was her fault, and memories of the remnants of the Shiba family and of the happenings that had surrounded her rescue. Squeezing his hand, she nuzzled a bit closer to him and continued.

"Kaien-dono taught me...almost everything I know. All the while, treating me no differently than he had anyone else. And I looked up to him so much for that. He and his wife, Miyako-dono. Our third seat. They were both so.... so strong, so confident. Everything I didn't feel like I was. In a way, it was like having a family like yours. A family where there was warmth and joking and laughter."

Smiling slightly at the happy memories, she felt her throat thicken slightly, knowing her next words would be anything but. At least for her.

"One night... Miyako-dono's squad didn't return from their patrol. And we found...that they'd all been killed. By the Hollow they had been hunting."

She was putting together the pieces for him. Things started to come together, a picture of a past that came far before him, and he had to wonder if things would've been different -- he'd never met Rukia, never gotten stabbed through the chest, never become a shinigami -- if none of this had ever happened. Whatever it was, it had been enough to shape Rukia into the person she was today, enough to bring them together.

Ichigo had met Kaien, and he'd seemed friendly enough. Ichigo hadn't gotten to know him all that well, but he found -- beneath a pang of jealousy, that Kaien had been so important to her, and that he'd been a part of her life Ichigo had never seen -- that he was grateful to him, anyway, if for nothing else than making Rukia happy.

His expression softened at mention of his family. He'd been in the Shiba household, and it was just as chaotic and crazy as his own. It made him comfortable, like the Shibas were his family.

But his expression closed again as she continued, brow furrowing. Killed by a hollow? It hit a little closer to home than he liked to admit.

Eyes shifting, expression growing harder, she kept on with her story. It wasn't easy to tell, wasn't easy to share this, even with him. And she trusted him far more than anyone else, trusted him with things she would never have shared with others.

"Kaien-dono was devastated, understandably. But...the worst hadn't come yet. Miyako-dono....wasn't dead. It was several hours later, the alarm was risen by some of the other members of the division. Miyako-dono....was attacking them, but...she wasn't Miyako-dono anymore."

Swallowing against the memories, knowing the hardest part was yet to come, she forced herself to continue, to form the words, give breath to them, let go of what she had kept hidden for so long.

"We went after her. Myself, Ukitake-taichou, and Kaien-dono. The Hollow....had taken over her body. Kaien-dono wanted to fight it alone, I tried to join in, to help him. But Ukitake-taichou wouldn't let me. He told me it was a fight that Kaien-dono had to face alone."

A part of Ichigo was touched in spite of himself, that she would share this with him; he could tell it was hard, and he understood why. But despite the fact that it hurt her to drag this up again, she did it anyway. Because she trusted him. Or, at least, he hoped so, because he didn't think he could handle having her spill her deepest secrets out of pity.

Her eyes were a little glazed as she lost herself in memory, her voice halting and wavering a bit, and reflexively, he gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture to comfort her, hopefully. Let her know he was still there.

He narrowed his eyes in sympathy, as if her pain was his. In a way, it was.

It wasn't hard to tell that a small part of her still wanted to fight with Kaien, but Ichigo understood why Ukitake-san had stopped her. Some fights were meant to be fought alone.

Nodding almost inperceptibly at his squeeze of her hand, she tightened her grip in response, drinking in his presence, the comfort that closeness to him always gave her.

She could tell, somehow, that he understood, that he knew the reasons why her taichou had kept her from desperately entering the fight when it had seemed that the man she admired so greatly was faltering.

Swallowing, she ignored the tremor in her voice, the slight tremble that shuddered through her frame as thoughts of Kaien's face, twisted and distorted by the Hollow, pranced through it gleefully, laughing at her in her mind. "It....the Hollow made his zanpakutou disappear somehow, when it touched it. And then....it took him. He stood there, and....started laughing. This....this sick laughter. And then he attacked us. Ukitake-taichou told me to run, and at first I did, but...."

Biting her lip, she continued, voice tense and wooden, lost in the memories that were replaying in her mind, seeing it happen again as it had years ago. "I couldn't run, couldn't just leave things like that. He...he was my mentor. My friend, my....on some level, maybe I even loved him. But....it doesn't matter. He....he attacked me, and....then there was blood, so much blood and it was all over my hands and all over me, and him, and.......he was smiling at me and thanking me, but it was my blade through his chest, my hands that....that killed him."

Ichigo listened quietly, resisting the urge to wince as her voice faltered, determined to hear everything she needed to say. It was like she had to get this off her chest, almost, and he would let her.

Something ached in his chest for her as she continued, almost amazed that she'd managed to keep this to herself for so long, eating away at her for... decades, it must be. Her age hit him again, which was always a weird thing, since he knew she was old, at least somewhere in the back of his mind. But this was an old pain, older than him.

He stiffened a little when she mentioned she loved Kaien, and that pang of jealousy came back, more acutely, despite the fact that he knew, as she said, that it didn't matter anymore. She loved him now, but... still.

It was then he decided that he would never, ever hurt her the way Kaien had.

Rolling halfway onto his side, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, tucking her head under his chin and tightening his hold on her.

Rukia wouldn't have necessarily expected it -- well, she should have, anyway -- but the feel of his arms wrapping around her, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, feeling the pulse in his throat beat against the side of her face....it made all the difference in the world.

Curling fingers into his shirt slightly, she let out the breath she wasn't really aware she'd been holding. That...wasn't as hard as she's thought it might have been. Probably because it was him. And she trusted him completely, even with something like this.

".......thank you..."

Ichigo shook his head, because she didn't need to thank him for anything. He hadn't even done the hard part.

Burying his face in her hair, he ran a hand down the line of her spine, as soothing a gesture as he could come up with. He was glad she could tell him this, and it... it made him understand her just a little better. And he knew he could tell her.

He could tell her.

"My mom," he began softly, swallowing down a sudden lump in his throat. He closed his eyes for something longer than a blink, lifting his lips out of her hair. "The hollow, Grand Fisher, he has that... girl. That day... I saw her, standing on the bank of the river. It'd been raining for days, and the river was overflowing... it was raining that day too."

She was about to say something else, to tell him how glad she was to have him, how he didn't have to say anything, share anything and that would be alright. But then... he started talking, and she fell silent, every sense focused on his words.

Maybe it would have been a simple thing for someone else, but Rukia knew firsthand how hard opening up about something like this was, and so she just nodded slightly, nuzzling her face against his chest and silently telling him that she was there, she was listening.

Hearing him mention Grand Fisher, it made yet another few pieces fall into place for her. She'd known, to a degree, that that particular Hollow had played a part in his mother's death. It was the only explanation for how venehemntly he had fought against it, how recklessly he'd tried to keep going, keep fighting, even when his body had given out in the rain.

"Back then, I couldn't tell the living from the dead."

Ichigo didn't even really know what he was saying; he'd been going over that moment countless times over the years, and so the words had just started to say themselves now, now that he'd decided to say them. His hands fisted in her shirt.

"It looked like she was gonna fall in, so I took off after her. My mom... she screamed, but... I wanted to save the little girl. I wanted to save her so bad." He closed his eyes, the memory flashing behind his eyelids, and he had to resist the urge to hide his face in her hair, because it was his mistake. His fault, and he couldn't run from it.

"When I woke up, my mom... she was lying on top of me, and her blood was... everywhere."

All she could do was nod slightly, arms slipping easily around his waist, tightening in comfort, trying to offer him what support she could. Hell, she'd give him anything he asked, anything he wanted, if she could just take away that pain. But then, that was wishful thinking. Noble, to a degree. But wishful thinking nonetheless.

It had to have been awful, to be just a child, and feeling as though your mother died because of you.

She couldn't understand it, but she could understand the guilt.

Burying her face in his chest, she breathed in that familiar scent, trying to simply comfort him as best she could by simply being there.

There. He'd gotten it out. It hurt a little, deep in his chest, but to his surprise, it actually made him feel a little better. Like a small part of the burden had been lifted off his shoulders. They'd shared their pasts now, and were no less stronger for it. Maybe even more stronger.

Tilting his head down, he rested his chin against her forehead, staring blindly across the room, at the closed door.

"I was the one who killed her," he said, though possibly without the same amount of conviction he held before.

"But now... knowing that Dad was a shinigami that whole time..." He let the sentence hang, not even questioning that she knew about his Dad. Isshin had posted it on the whole network after telling Ichigo.

Shaking her head, she raised it slightly to look at his face, the pained expression she saw there almost harder to handle than her own hurt. She reached up with one hand to trace fingertips down the side of his face.

"It wasn't your fault, Ichigo. You...were just trying to do something good. You couldn't have known, you were so young."

She didn't really know what to say in regards to his dad. He obviously felt betrayed, hurt, as though the one person he probably felt should have protected his mother had failed her.

It didn't help. Ichigo knew she meant well, and it did feel nice, knowing that she cared, but it didn't really help. He had seven years of guilt piling on him, and there wasn't much that could dislodge it.

"No, it is my fault," he said dully; it was the same argument he'd repeated to himself, over and over. "I killed her."

But even as he said it, he realized that it wasn't quite that simple anymore. His dad being a shinigami complicated things, and prompted questions he wasn't sure he could answer. Could Isshin have saved his mom? Was it his fault, then, if he didn't? Not to mention everything that had happened since that day, how Isshin claimed not to see ghosts -- hell, what was going on the night his family was attacked? Did he know about Rukia the moment she stepped in Ichigo's room?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

"No you didn't."

It was probably pointless, trying to convince him otherwise, to convince him that it wasn't his fault. But still, she felt she at least needed to try, to attempt to alleviate some of his pain if she could.

"Ichigo, things would have been the same, even if it had been a real child. You would still have wanted to save her, still wanted to because it was the right thing to do. I think....I think if she'd known...your mother would have been proud of you for wanting to save someone like that. I don't think....the sort of mother she was...would have wanted you to blame yourself for this."

She knew that wasn't the whole of the issue, that a lot of his mood right now had to do with his father's recent admission and the repercussions from that. But one thing at a time.

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Log: Ongoing

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