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tampered2009-03-24 12:18 am
anti-buttons.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2009-03-24 12:18 am
[LOG] [COMPLETE]
When; March 22nd, late morning?
Rating; PG-13 idk, stump...
Characters; Ishida Uryuu (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anti_buttons) & Kurotsuchi Nemi (sciencedaughter)
Summary; The morning after his arrival. She can't help but feel protective. TL;DR, as always with me/us 8).
Log;
The night before. With every minute - every second, the sound of which he could hear without hearing as he moved farther from Kurosaki - exhaustion weighed on him. It had been long. It wasn't over. Or it was - here, but that did not satisfy. The weight made it especially trying to think of it, and so he did not. He had walked into the closest building, and into the first apartment that opened when he turned the knob, that smelled faintly of dust and absence, with undisturbed sheets and no fingerprints.
Uryuu had considered a bath, or a shower. But he made the mistake of sitting down. He had sunk, as steadily as possible, into the couch. The cushions were not very soft; he raised his hand to his face and for a long, long minute, sat hunched, face in his hand. The clock ticked.
After, he took an inventory of his belongings. Everything was in place: his pendant, his Seele Schneiders, his portable first aid kit, the spare cape, the portable sewing kit. He ticked each item off slowly, laid them down on the coffe table, his fingers leaving smudges of white dirt and brownish red. In the bathroom he removed his tunic, the tattered, staine sleeve clinging to what was left of his arm. It was there that he let himself look at it. It was there, with his reflection pale and strained, that he ran his fingers down his arm, over the bone of his elbow, the considerable muscle, and the end.
It was difficult, to set bandages one-handed. He had stopped the bleeding, but could not be sure it would do as he slept. Using his kit, and another found in the bathroom cabinet, he had cleansed and wrapped the wound to the best of his limited ability. Uryuu had splashed some water on his face, walked back to the couch, and without quite meaning to, found himself seated upright and dead asleep.
Hours passed; it felt like a minute when he opened his eyes.
Kurotsuchi Nemu disagreed.
She did not often do that. Disagreeing was contrary to her very nature, to what she had been made for, to Mayuri-sama. But then again, she had been long without him. It had been more than two long years in this place, and for all that time, less than three months of her creator. Oh, she had once returned to his side, but that had been long ago as well, and once more, she had settled in to an unfortunate and unsettling state of independance. One that made disagreeing, asserting her own opinions, to be easier.
So she had disagreed,and she had found Ishida Uryu. He would not remember, she noted with a small feeling. A feeling she was wary to identify, but if pressed, might call... disappointment. He would not remember her in the context she remembered him- the city. But he still knew her. She still knew him. He had still said those things to her, in the past, when she was slumped against a wall and he was dying from slow poison.
He was... more injured than she'd expected. He'd tried, and yet- Silently, without waking him, she had seen to it. A medical kit by her side, and she'd done all of it. Administered a powerful painkiller, injected sedative in to his veins, and seen to him more thoroughly than he could himself. A more thorough cleaning of the wound, a more thorough antiseptic, and then... bandaging, neat, and careful.
Her job done, her obligation fulfilled... but she couldn't, couldn't leave. A soft expression, troubled, conflicted, until she'd gently eased him down- his muscles would cramp if he sat up, pressed a pillow beneath his head, and stood. Stood, until she found it impractical, and then sat. Knees tucked beneath her, hands folded gently in her lap, her eyes closed.
She waited for him to wake. And perhaps, she herself slept.
It should have hurt more. Thought it felt as if seconds and not hours had gone, waking was a process of sorting while groggy, while thick with what he could not know were the lingering effects of the sedative. Though time had seemed fleeting, immediacy of the moment was not yet granted to him - in part, possibly, because he was not in precisely the same position, with precisely the same condition, as he had been when he fell.
But when he raised his arms, one to grab for the spectacles he could not feel on his face, the other to claw through his hair, press finger on eyes, memory rushed with a rollicking nausea. His left arm moved and fell, stiff and quick, to his side. Pain jolted, sharp and definite and with a persistent thrust from the end of his severed arm, up bone and nerve, to vibrate in his spine. His teeth clenched. But it wasn't as bad as it should have been; he could see that, or begin to see it.
He stared, blearily, down, and shifted his fuzzy gaze. Reaching out, he groped along the table, the logical place for it, and stopped with the seizure of every muscle in his hand. Uryuu went tense, able to make out the shape of the person. How could he have taken so long to notice? (Only, it was obvious how.)
His mouth parted, "You," he started, with a troubling rasp, and two things happened at once: he recognized the reiatsu, and his fingers closed over cold frames.
Uryuu put them on, with care, not clumsily.
"Kurotsuchi-san?" He looked at her, sitting up with a rush, and found his attention drawn inevitably to his arm as it rubbed against the couch back. She'd done it. He knew at once.
"That..." he sought through the words to use, the phrases, cool, grateful but nonchalant - there were too many, but they didn't quite cover it. He trailed off.
When he woke, she awoke. Clear as day, her eyes, unblurred and unfazed, her chin rose, and she focused on him, dark eyes soft and silent. She did not speak until he addressed her, and did not yet move. He was awake, and he... ah, no. He did not remember her from the city. She would have to remember that, have to take it in to account... might he question her familiarity, her... attitude.
"Ishida Uryu." The shinigami finally murmured, slowly, gracefully, rising to one knee beside him, moving to ever so gently lay hands upon his severed limb, cradling and moving away from the couch back.
"It would be most wise to minimize movement, if you please."
A proper expression of thanks, or even of greeting, or a question - all these things had occurred to him, all these he meant to say. But she reached to move his arm, and he flinched out of instinct, jerking the limb toward him, his body pulling back. It was a short, almost violent thing. It annoyed him; the loss of control.
"My -- apologies, I know, I--"
Kurotsuchi Nemu was kneeling in the living of an apartment, technically his apartment, but at the moment he felt more like a squatter. Perhaps it was Soul Society again. Inoue-san was in the bedroom, they had been found out -- but it hadn't gone like this at all and the existence of the delirious thought in and of itself was worrying, given that he had little inclination to it.
His hand met his face, palm sliding up to his damp forehead.
"It isn't... that is, why did you-- Why are you here?"
One hand moved to his shoulder, gently striving to press him back down to a reclining position. Less awkward jerking, less shirking, and more resting.
"I am here because your answer was not satisfactory." The creation murmured, her voice more than soft- eerily enough, it sounded almost warm. Gentle. He may not remember why. "I disagreed, if you recall."
She had disagreed, and Mayuri-sama was not here. And so, what stopped her from coming here, what stopped her from tending to a Quincy?
"How would you describe the pain at present? Shall I administer further medication?"
Uryuu had not been handled in this manner, guided with a physical, unrelenting force, at any time that he could remember. He had had no mother's vigil at his sickbed. He had been a healthy enough child, his few instances of sickness supervised by impersonal nannies and a colder father. As such, though there was little maternal about this, he didn't like it-- this attention, though not coddling.
But he was weaker than he thought, as he went back against the couch arm. It was, at least, easy enough to tell himself that he had yielded so to avoid fighting with her. It would have been petty, and mostly immature. And at her reply, as he tried to get comfortable and lie nice so that she would remove her very much female hand from his very much bare shoulder, Uryuu balked.
"I--" he managed, "recall." And Uryuu almost laughed. The shinigami had disagreed with his assessment, and so had tracked him down in this City of whatever size so to treat him herself, and ... sit by him? For how long? It was absurd. But looking at her, he could see that it was of perfect sense to her. He shook his head.
"It's small, I ... would wait."
"I see." She nodded, and yes, when he complied, she removed her hand from his shoulder. She was perceptive, and though he may not remember, she had learned to be more perceptive concerning social cues and emotions. When people showed discomfort, she was quicker to recognize, quicker to act.
"You do not have many amenities here." Noted, but... of course that would be so, he had "just moved in", so to speak. Standing, she gingerly brushed off her skirt, stepping back to allow him space.
"If you might excuse me for a moment." And she did not ask his permission, she merely flash-stepped, there one moment, and gone the next. Had not told him, but she had returned briefly to her residence. He would need cups.
Not having had the time to search the apartment to ascertain what of the essentials it lacked and what it possessed, nor that to then wonder how he would get the funds to purchase what was needed, Uryuu had to take her word for it. He could only stare at where she had been, quite able to follow the movement while it was still within this space.
The room was then empty. He shifted on the couch, taking in the blank, bland walls, the smallness of the space, where it branched into other rooms. It felt normal, though not familiar. Uryuu was sorely tempted to stand, and convinced to do it when his main reasons for not doing so were comprised of her reactions.
Pushing off and up, he stood, waiting to stabilize after another dizzy spell. He allowed it to be little - possibly connected to his cumulative blood loss. Uryuu made his way to the bathroom, where he eyed his tunic, the white coated in some parts by a rusted, crusted red. He closed the door, turned on the faucet.
It was not too shortly after she returned, with another bag in her hands, utensils and food neatly stacked and organized within. Always, she was neat like that, organized like that. More flash steps, and she was back, and he was not where she left him. A flash of something- irritation, crossed her features.
"I advised you be still." Nemu said, voice raised to just the right volume so as to be heard from where she could tell he was, before moving to the kitchen. Pot, tea, cups, bowls, food- All of it came out, on to the counter, and it seemed odd, but the shinigami gently pinned up her braid, tied back the sleeves of her haori, and turned on the stove and began boiling water.
Oddly domestic.
Her re-entry had been so quiet, her reiatsu so subdued, that he had barely noticed before her reprimand sounded through the door. His eyebrows arced at his reflection, which failed to mirror his bemusement, his irritation, his amusement.
"You did," he agreed, matching her volume as he soaped up his one hand, rinsed it. "But I have no intention of using a bedpan over this."
Uryuu stood a moment with the hand-towel, looked at the tunic on the rod. It wasn't clean, but then, neither were his trousers and he still wore those. Resigned to it, he took the garment. After a short, awkward struggle, he had it on, and left the bathroom. Freezing in the kitchen doorframe, or perhaps leaning there as subtly as he could, he watched her back.
Evidently, Kurotsuchi Nemu intended to cook. For him.
Evidently, she did. His voice did not raise a reaction from her that delineated from the current course of action- which was right now, making tea. Pot to boil, tea taken from the bag, prepared, waited for the boil, and then removed, added, all mechanical, sure motions. Perhaps she did this often. She did.
"I see." No, she didn't look at him, but the impression was still that her attention was all on him even as it seemed all on her task for tea, pouring in to two cups.
"However, please do refrain from all necessary movement." The cups, steaming and hot, now on the table, and she folded a soft towel, gently, on one side of it, taking one of the seats.
"And please get off your feet and drink something."
It smelled good. Even the water boiling. It had not been such a long time, that he had been in Hueco Mundo. But in this moment, standing in a strange kitchen, as tea leaves soaked into water and let loose their scent with the steam, heady and herbal, it felt as if it had been forever.
(Such thoughts were, of course, sentimental tripe, nonsense, and cast immediately from mind, half-formed and hazy as they had been.)
Uryuu knew - knew to keep still, knew that he ought to tread carefully. Her instruction did not chafe as much as it had in is initial, waking impatience, but he met it with silence. At he last command he shrugged, with both shoulders, and slid into the other seat. Cupping his hand around the glass, he let the heat seep into his palm. It was still too hot to drink; he almost didn't care, but he hardly needed a burnt tongue with everything else.
Waiting, he peered at the shinigami through the thin, wafting steam.
"I should thank you," he said, and it wasn't quite a thank you, because he had not asked for help. It was nearly, because it was that shinigami, and he found it very difficult to be cold with her.
"You needn't." Was the immediate response. It would always be, especially to him. She would always view herself as in his debt, perhaps, may never view herself as free of it. Maybe she did not want to be free of it.
Nemu pressed the folded towel at him, slim fingers spread over the top of it, a gesture that was subtle, but indicated she wished him rest his bandaged arm upon it, on cushion, not left to hard table, to lap, or air.
"I hope the tea proves satisfactory. I do not often take it with others." So forward, right now, because... he does not remember-
"Shall I brief you on your previous stay here?"
And that, there, that was it, wasn't it? In his memory, Uryuu had not had much dealing with her, but it had been enough. When he responded to gratitude with such a statement, it sounded different. It was different.. She said he needn't with such direct, blunt sincerity that he knew she believed it. She believed it because she believed, somehow, that she was not worthy of it.
That, of course, finished it. His hand jumped from the cup, fingers fumbling to push at his glasses.
"I do," he insisted, though unsure of how to word it without disparaging his previous attitude of self-sufficiency. She saved him (again?) from the predicament, with the cue to drink his tea. He did, lifting the cup to his mouth, sipping.
"It is more than satisfactory," he answered, before taking a much longer drink from it. Black and strong, hot. It took him a moment after he had swallowed to answer again, and even then, it was only a nod. Outside of being prepared for claims of preposterous friendships, what would it matter? Had he done them, had he forgotten? Was it better to know or not to know?
But the information was there. He would risk it.
And he accepted. Though, almost like a hen, she tapped the towel again, pushing him to rest himself there. It would be best.
A sip of her tea, and she began. Amazing, how mechanical she could sound, how like a computer spitting out information on a spread sheet.
Cirucci Thunderwitch, and all the events surrounding- the ones the shinigami was aware of. All culminating in the final confrontation, her power loss, only to be regained later, if not at a price, and more. His roommate, his cat, her cat, (she had a cat), his comings and goings, the status of the shinigami and the ryouka in the City, those he interacted with, in brief, occassional curse events, one involving torture and one burning witches at the stake, the presence of his father, Ishida Ryuuken- It went on.
Until she took a breath, and another sip of tea.
It would be best, but Uryuu could not obey everything so neatly. He looked at the towel, then returned his attention to his tea. He finished the contents of his cup well before she had finished. Once used to the drone of her voice, as regular, steady, and even monotonous as a machine, he had to exert some will to keep himself focused.
It didn't take much. Laundry-list tone or not, what could be more compelling that his own manic adventures? As with most things here, it sounded impossible. Which implied, unfortunately, that it was all quite true. After all, for its validity: Kurotsuchi Nemu.
Uryuu turned the cup on the table, his fingers sliding along the rim. The only way in which not to feel overwhelmed would be to disregard it, to tuck it away for later consideration and only possible filing. Aside from what could be gleaned from it, insofar as improving his current situation, the rest would unimportant.
After all, if he had lived here for so long, perhaps not all of his belongings from that time had been disposed of. Unless they faded with the person. He mused on this, turning his cup.
"Again, I must thank you for that." For Uryuu was not quite determined to thank her whenever possible. "Is the cat -- is it still alive?"
"There is still no need." Once again, automatic, and truly believed. She would always believe that. Quiet eyes, and she sipped tea gone lukewarm. He would process it later, she was sure. When she had gone, when he was alone. Alone, with himself, and the great loss. It was sobering to her- and it was almost apparently, overtly, that she was sad. A rare thing, for her face.
"It is." Managed a small smile, for that. "Your former roommate is in possession of it."
The cup turned on, his fingers twisting, wrist revolving. The sound of the glass against the wood produced a clear, soft grinding. He expected that he would keep at it until it became annoying. Until should have happened by now. It helped to keep his hand occupied, to keep him in place.
Kurotsuchi-san would refuse his gratitude, as queer as it was. A hypocritical feeling in Ishida Uryuu, of all people, but given what she had already done, it could only be queer to dismiss it. And yet, he had no intention of playing the pig-headed role, of butting his head constantly at a wall and waiting for it to give way -- of acting like Kurosaki might. He let it lie.
"Doumeki Shizuka?" he asked, knowing already that it was correct. He would need to contact him again, a slightly unwelcome prospect, given the way Doumeki-san's friend had lectured him. Doumeki-san seemed a far more reasonable type; though reasonable or not, it was hard for him to think of having a roommate.
"Irresponsible," he scoffed, then, the cup's turn halted, "of me, wasn't it? To have a cat. And now I won't remember her at all."
"Yes." The sound did not annoy her, she was only aware of it. Not many things, admittedly, annoyed her. She was hard to bother, hard to upset, and hard to faze. Otherwise, she would be useless to Mayuri-sama, after all.
"I assume," She assumed, she said, but perhaps she knew. No, she still assumed. She was not the type to be clear, with this sort of thing, to be sure in something so subjective, so- removed, from the realm of scientific fact.
"That the cat remembering you, despite, is one of the supposed positive traits of an animal companion in general."
Bending his fingers against the cup, he straightened them, in doing so pushing it away.
"She might be able to tell," he noted. Strange; without thinking for or against it, without making the decision, Uryuu already knew he would take in the cat. If she would take him - no doubt she was quite comfortable with his previous roommate, and that one's cat. Cats. Pets. As if he had already given it up, and thought to settle. It was more, he told himself, that his little experience with the ticking had told him it would be a nuisance best avoided.
Uryuu leaned back, only a little. His spine still felt stiff against the chair's back. Now what? He closed his eyes, only meaning to blink, really, they stayed. He didn't really care about the cat. Uryuu stared at the red behind his eyelids and wondered, with a kind of vacant disinterest, if it made him a bad person.
"Perhaps." A non committal answer, and Nemu was good with those, soft and without condemnation or condoning. She was not one who found herself worthy or experienced enough to judge others, and if there was anything about his demeanor that she noticed, or found odd, it did not show, nor did she mention it.
Slowly, however, she stood, and took his empty cup to the sink, hers, and with a blank gaze, emptied it. He would not recall her, and so, he would be more bothered by her presence, this she knew. Because she was shinigami, and even before, he had problems with that fact.
"I will leave this food here." And she would, would leave the prepared foodstuffs in the bag, standing beside it and undoing the ties that had kept her sleeves back while over the stove.
"I will also return come nightfall to check your bandages." There was no room for argument in her statement: unusual, for her.
Eyes still closed, Uryuu listened to the sounds she produced. Light foot falls, the chinking of glass. He could still smell the tea, but only faintly, and perhaps more from his own breath. He wondered if she wore perfume, if she smelled like anything. Then, he realized that he would need to buy or find soap; the weak, hotel-wrap bar in the bathroom wouldn't last long, and he still smelled like sweat. Only just.
He considered asking where she would go, but had barely thought it before dismissing it as none of his business. Uryuu almost made a protest against her returning, but stopped himself. If he intended to postpone, indefinitely, the hospital, there was no use in persisting with his unpracticed, inadequate treatment.
"Thank you," he said, meaning both, and he held up his hand in a staying motion. His eyes opened, barely, narrow fields to find her, "...don't say it."
He knew, because Nemu had already opened her mouth to say it. There is no need to thank me. A moment, hanging there like she would still do it, but-
She kept quiet.
All organized, all items returned neatly to a place, or arranged in order on the counter, before she took her medical supplies in hand, stood straight, attention.
"In that case, I will be going now. Please do not strain yourself overly, I will bring further amenities upon my return." She remembered, he did not, that she'd know he didn't like hospitals. And she hoped herself a reasonable alternative. Hoped.
"Until then," Uryuu replied. Perhaps she would eat with him. It wasn't as if he craved or required the company; it was more natural to eat alone. To live alone, to be alone. And perhaps later he would be hungry. He waited, watching until she left in the same quiet, swift way as she had come. Once the ticking began, a low throb he could feel, a drumming in his skull, he stood up.
Walking to the living room, he looked at the couch, at his belongings spread on the coffee table. He moved on to the bedroom, where he stripped slowy, awkwardly down to his briefs, and pulled back the covers, got into bed. One-handedly pulling the covers over his head. When he was a child, doing so protected him from the monsters under the bed. But he'd grown out of that, and into real monsters.
Uryuu pushed the covers down, and tried to sleep. Grandfather, he thought, gone before finishing.
Rating; PG-13 idk, stump...
Characters; Ishida Uryuu (
anti_buttons) & Kurotsuchi Nemi (sciencedaughter)Summary; The morning after his arrival. She can't help but feel protective. TL;DR, as always with me/us 8).
Log;
The night before. With every minute - every second, the sound of which he could hear without hearing as he moved farther from Kurosaki - exhaustion weighed on him. It had been long. It wasn't over. Or it was - here, but that did not satisfy. The weight made it especially trying to think of it, and so he did not. He had walked into the closest building, and into the first apartment that opened when he turned the knob, that smelled faintly of dust and absence, with undisturbed sheets and no fingerprints.
Uryuu had considered a bath, or a shower. But he made the mistake of sitting down. He had sunk, as steadily as possible, into the couch. The cushions were not very soft; he raised his hand to his face and for a long, long minute, sat hunched, face in his hand. The clock ticked.
After, he took an inventory of his belongings. Everything was in place: his pendant, his Seele Schneiders, his portable first aid kit, the spare cape, the portable sewing kit. He ticked each item off slowly, laid them down on the coffe table, his fingers leaving smudges of white dirt and brownish red. In the bathroom he removed his tunic, the tattered, staine sleeve clinging to what was left of his arm. It was there that he let himself look at it. It was there, with his reflection pale and strained, that he ran his fingers down his arm, over the bone of his elbow, the considerable muscle, and the end.
It was difficult, to set bandages one-handed. He had stopped the bleeding, but could not be sure it would do as he slept. Using his kit, and another found in the bathroom cabinet, he had cleansed and wrapped the wound to the best of his limited ability. Uryuu had splashed some water on his face, walked back to the couch, and without quite meaning to, found himself seated upright and dead asleep.
Hours passed; it felt like a minute when he opened his eyes.
Kurotsuchi Nemu disagreed.
She did not often do that. Disagreeing was contrary to her very nature, to what she had been made for, to Mayuri-sama. But then again, she had been long without him. It had been more than two long years in this place, and for all that time, less than three months of her creator. Oh, she had once returned to his side, but that had been long ago as well, and once more, she had settled in to an unfortunate and unsettling state of independance. One that made disagreeing, asserting her own opinions, to be easier.
So she had disagreed,and she had found Ishida Uryu. He would not remember, she noted with a small feeling. A feeling she was wary to identify, but if pressed, might call... disappointment. He would not remember her in the context she remembered him- the city. But he still knew her. She still knew him. He had still said those things to her, in the past, when she was slumped against a wall and he was dying from slow poison.
He was... more injured than she'd expected. He'd tried, and yet- Silently, without waking him, she had seen to it. A medical kit by her side, and she'd done all of it. Administered a powerful painkiller, injected sedative in to his veins, and seen to him more thoroughly than he could himself. A more thorough cleaning of the wound, a more thorough antiseptic, and then... bandaging, neat, and careful.
Her job done, her obligation fulfilled... but she couldn't, couldn't leave. A soft expression, troubled, conflicted, until she'd gently eased him down- his muscles would cramp if he sat up, pressed a pillow beneath his head, and stood. Stood, until she found it impractical, and then sat. Knees tucked beneath her, hands folded gently in her lap, her eyes closed.
She waited for him to wake. And perhaps, she herself slept.
It should have hurt more. Thought it felt as if seconds and not hours had gone, waking was a process of sorting while groggy, while thick with what he could not know were the lingering effects of the sedative. Though time had seemed fleeting, immediacy of the moment was not yet granted to him - in part, possibly, because he was not in precisely the same position, with precisely the same condition, as he had been when he fell.
But when he raised his arms, one to grab for the spectacles he could not feel on his face, the other to claw through his hair, press finger on eyes, memory rushed with a rollicking nausea. His left arm moved and fell, stiff and quick, to his side. Pain jolted, sharp and definite and with a persistent thrust from the end of his severed arm, up bone and nerve, to vibrate in his spine. His teeth clenched. But it wasn't as bad as it should have been; he could see that, or begin to see it.
He stared, blearily, down, and shifted his fuzzy gaze. Reaching out, he groped along the table, the logical place for it, and stopped with the seizure of every muscle in his hand. Uryuu went tense, able to make out the shape of the person. How could he have taken so long to notice? (Only, it was obvious how.)
His mouth parted, "You," he started, with a troubling rasp, and two things happened at once: he recognized the reiatsu, and his fingers closed over cold frames.
Uryuu put them on, with care, not clumsily.
"Kurotsuchi-san?" He looked at her, sitting up with a rush, and found his attention drawn inevitably to his arm as it rubbed against the couch back. She'd done it. He knew at once.
"That..." he sought through the words to use, the phrases, cool, grateful but nonchalant - there were too many, but they didn't quite cover it. He trailed off.
When he woke, she awoke. Clear as day, her eyes, unblurred and unfazed, her chin rose, and she focused on him, dark eyes soft and silent. She did not speak until he addressed her, and did not yet move. He was awake, and he... ah, no. He did not remember her from the city. She would have to remember that, have to take it in to account... might he question her familiarity, her... attitude.
"Ishida Uryu." The shinigami finally murmured, slowly, gracefully, rising to one knee beside him, moving to ever so gently lay hands upon his severed limb, cradling and moving away from the couch back.
"It would be most wise to minimize movement, if you please."
A proper expression of thanks, or even of greeting, or a question - all these things had occurred to him, all these he meant to say. But she reached to move his arm, and he flinched out of instinct, jerking the limb toward him, his body pulling back. It was a short, almost violent thing. It annoyed him; the loss of control.
"My -- apologies, I know, I--"
Kurotsuchi Nemu was kneeling in the living of an apartment, technically his apartment, but at the moment he felt more like a squatter. Perhaps it was Soul Society again. Inoue-san was in the bedroom, they had been found out -- but it hadn't gone like this at all and the existence of the delirious thought in and of itself was worrying, given that he had little inclination to it.
His hand met his face, palm sliding up to his damp forehead.
"It isn't... that is, why did you-- Why are you here?"
One hand moved to his shoulder, gently striving to press him back down to a reclining position. Less awkward jerking, less shirking, and more resting.
"I am here because your answer was not satisfactory." The creation murmured, her voice more than soft- eerily enough, it sounded almost warm. Gentle. He may not remember why. "I disagreed, if you recall."
She had disagreed, and Mayuri-sama was not here. And so, what stopped her from coming here, what stopped her from tending to a Quincy?
"How would you describe the pain at present? Shall I administer further medication?"
Uryuu had not been handled in this manner, guided with a physical, unrelenting force, at any time that he could remember. He had had no mother's vigil at his sickbed. He had been a healthy enough child, his few instances of sickness supervised by impersonal nannies and a colder father. As such, though there was little maternal about this, he didn't like it-- this attention, though not coddling.
But he was weaker than he thought, as he went back against the couch arm. It was, at least, easy enough to tell himself that he had yielded so to avoid fighting with her. It would have been petty, and mostly immature. And at her reply, as he tried to get comfortable and lie nice so that she would remove her very much female hand from his very much bare shoulder, Uryuu balked.
"I--" he managed, "recall." And Uryuu almost laughed. The shinigami had disagreed with his assessment, and so had tracked him down in this City of whatever size so to treat him herself, and ... sit by him? For how long? It was absurd. But looking at her, he could see that it was of perfect sense to her. He shook his head.
"It's small, I ... would wait."
"I see." She nodded, and yes, when he complied, she removed her hand from his shoulder. She was perceptive, and though he may not remember, she had learned to be more perceptive concerning social cues and emotions. When people showed discomfort, she was quicker to recognize, quicker to act.
"You do not have many amenities here." Noted, but... of course that would be so, he had "just moved in", so to speak. Standing, she gingerly brushed off her skirt, stepping back to allow him space.
"If you might excuse me for a moment." And she did not ask his permission, she merely flash-stepped, there one moment, and gone the next. Had not told him, but she had returned briefly to her residence. He would need cups.
Not having had the time to search the apartment to ascertain what of the essentials it lacked and what it possessed, nor that to then wonder how he would get the funds to purchase what was needed, Uryuu had to take her word for it. He could only stare at where she had been, quite able to follow the movement while it was still within this space.
The room was then empty. He shifted on the couch, taking in the blank, bland walls, the smallness of the space, where it branched into other rooms. It felt normal, though not familiar. Uryuu was sorely tempted to stand, and convinced to do it when his main reasons for not doing so were comprised of her reactions.
Pushing off and up, he stood, waiting to stabilize after another dizzy spell. He allowed it to be little - possibly connected to his cumulative blood loss. Uryuu made his way to the bathroom, where he eyed his tunic, the white coated in some parts by a rusted, crusted red. He closed the door, turned on the faucet.
It was not too shortly after she returned, with another bag in her hands, utensils and food neatly stacked and organized within. Always, she was neat like that, organized like that. More flash steps, and she was back, and he was not where she left him. A flash of something- irritation, crossed her features.
"I advised you be still." Nemu said, voice raised to just the right volume so as to be heard from where she could tell he was, before moving to the kitchen. Pot, tea, cups, bowls, food- All of it came out, on to the counter, and it seemed odd, but the shinigami gently pinned up her braid, tied back the sleeves of her haori, and turned on the stove and began boiling water.
Oddly domestic.
Her re-entry had been so quiet, her reiatsu so subdued, that he had barely noticed before her reprimand sounded through the door. His eyebrows arced at his reflection, which failed to mirror his bemusement, his irritation, his amusement.
"You did," he agreed, matching her volume as he soaped up his one hand, rinsed it. "But I have no intention of using a bedpan over this."
Uryuu stood a moment with the hand-towel, looked at the tunic on the rod. It wasn't clean, but then, neither were his trousers and he still wore those. Resigned to it, he took the garment. After a short, awkward struggle, he had it on, and left the bathroom. Freezing in the kitchen doorframe, or perhaps leaning there as subtly as he could, he watched her back.
Evidently, Kurotsuchi Nemu intended to cook. For him.
Evidently, she did. His voice did not raise a reaction from her that delineated from the current course of action- which was right now, making tea. Pot to boil, tea taken from the bag, prepared, waited for the boil, and then removed, added, all mechanical, sure motions. Perhaps she did this often. She did.
"I see." No, she didn't look at him, but the impression was still that her attention was all on him even as it seemed all on her task for tea, pouring in to two cups.
"However, please do refrain from all necessary movement." The cups, steaming and hot, now on the table, and she folded a soft towel, gently, on one side of it, taking one of the seats.
"And please get off your feet and drink something."
It smelled good. Even the water boiling. It had not been such a long time, that he had been in Hueco Mundo. But in this moment, standing in a strange kitchen, as tea leaves soaked into water and let loose their scent with the steam, heady and herbal, it felt as if it had been forever.
(Such thoughts were, of course, sentimental tripe, nonsense, and cast immediately from mind, half-formed and hazy as they had been.)
Uryuu knew - knew to keep still, knew that he ought to tread carefully. Her instruction did not chafe as much as it had in is initial, waking impatience, but he met it with silence. At he last command he shrugged, with both shoulders, and slid into the other seat. Cupping his hand around the glass, he let the heat seep into his palm. It was still too hot to drink; he almost didn't care, but he hardly needed a burnt tongue with everything else.
Waiting, he peered at the shinigami through the thin, wafting steam.
"I should thank you," he said, and it wasn't quite a thank you, because he had not asked for help. It was nearly, because it was that shinigami, and he found it very difficult to be cold with her.
"You needn't." Was the immediate response. It would always be, especially to him. She would always view herself as in his debt, perhaps, may never view herself as free of it. Maybe she did not want to be free of it.
Nemu pressed the folded towel at him, slim fingers spread over the top of it, a gesture that was subtle, but indicated she wished him rest his bandaged arm upon it, on cushion, not left to hard table, to lap, or air.
"I hope the tea proves satisfactory. I do not often take it with others." So forward, right now, because... he does not remember-
"Shall I brief you on your previous stay here?"
And that, there, that was it, wasn't it? In his memory, Uryuu had not had much dealing with her, but it had been enough. When he responded to gratitude with such a statement, it sounded different. It was different.. She said he needn't with such direct, blunt sincerity that he knew she believed it. She believed it because she believed, somehow, that she was not worthy of it.
That, of course, finished it. His hand jumped from the cup, fingers fumbling to push at his glasses.
"I do," he insisted, though unsure of how to word it without disparaging his previous attitude of self-sufficiency. She saved him (again?) from the predicament, with the cue to drink his tea. He did, lifting the cup to his mouth, sipping.
"It is more than satisfactory," he answered, before taking a much longer drink from it. Black and strong, hot. It took him a moment after he had swallowed to answer again, and even then, it was only a nod. Outside of being prepared for claims of preposterous friendships, what would it matter? Had he done them, had he forgotten? Was it better to know or not to know?
But the information was there. He would risk it.
And he accepted. Though, almost like a hen, she tapped the towel again, pushing him to rest himself there. It would be best.
A sip of her tea, and she began. Amazing, how mechanical she could sound, how like a computer spitting out information on a spread sheet.
Cirucci Thunderwitch, and all the events surrounding- the ones the shinigami was aware of. All culminating in the final confrontation, her power loss, only to be regained later, if not at a price, and more. His roommate, his cat, her cat, (she had a cat), his comings and goings, the status of the shinigami and the ryouka in the City, those he interacted with, in brief, occassional curse events, one involving torture and one burning witches at the stake, the presence of his father, Ishida Ryuuken- It went on.
Until she took a breath, and another sip of tea.
It would be best, but Uryuu could not obey everything so neatly. He looked at the towel, then returned his attention to his tea. He finished the contents of his cup well before she had finished. Once used to the drone of her voice, as regular, steady, and even monotonous as a machine, he had to exert some will to keep himself focused.
It didn't take much. Laundry-list tone or not, what could be more compelling that his own manic adventures? As with most things here, it sounded impossible. Which implied, unfortunately, that it was all quite true. After all, for its validity: Kurotsuchi Nemu.
Uryuu turned the cup on the table, his fingers sliding along the rim. The only way in which not to feel overwhelmed would be to disregard it, to tuck it away for later consideration and only possible filing. Aside from what could be gleaned from it, insofar as improving his current situation, the rest would unimportant.
After all, if he had lived here for so long, perhaps not all of his belongings from that time had been disposed of. Unless they faded with the person. He mused on this, turning his cup.
"Again, I must thank you for that." For Uryuu was not quite determined to thank her whenever possible. "Is the cat -- is it still alive?"
"There is still no need." Once again, automatic, and truly believed. She would always believe that. Quiet eyes, and she sipped tea gone lukewarm. He would process it later, she was sure. When she had gone, when he was alone. Alone, with himself, and the great loss. It was sobering to her- and it was almost apparently, overtly, that she was sad. A rare thing, for her face.
"It is." Managed a small smile, for that. "Your former roommate is in possession of it."
The cup turned on, his fingers twisting, wrist revolving. The sound of the glass against the wood produced a clear, soft grinding. He expected that he would keep at it until it became annoying. Until should have happened by now. It helped to keep his hand occupied, to keep him in place.
Kurotsuchi-san would refuse his gratitude, as queer as it was. A hypocritical feeling in Ishida Uryuu, of all people, but given what she had already done, it could only be queer to dismiss it. And yet, he had no intention of playing the pig-headed role, of butting his head constantly at a wall and waiting for it to give way -- of acting like Kurosaki might. He let it lie.
"Doumeki Shizuka?" he asked, knowing already that it was correct. He would need to contact him again, a slightly unwelcome prospect, given the way Doumeki-san's friend had lectured him. Doumeki-san seemed a far more reasonable type; though reasonable or not, it was hard for him to think of having a roommate.
"Irresponsible," he scoffed, then, the cup's turn halted, "of me, wasn't it? To have a cat. And now I won't remember her at all."
"Yes." The sound did not annoy her, she was only aware of it. Not many things, admittedly, annoyed her. She was hard to bother, hard to upset, and hard to faze. Otherwise, she would be useless to Mayuri-sama, after all.
"I assume," She assumed, she said, but perhaps she knew. No, she still assumed. She was not the type to be clear, with this sort of thing, to be sure in something so subjective, so- removed, from the realm of scientific fact.
"That the cat remembering you, despite, is one of the supposed positive traits of an animal companion in general."
Bending his fingers against the cup, he straightened them, in doing so pushing it away.
"She might be able to tell," he noted. Strange; without thinking for or against it, without making the decision, Uryuu already knew he would take in the cat. If she would take him - no doubt she was quite comfortable with his previous roommate, and that one's cat. Cats. Pets. As if he had already given it up, and thought to settle. It was more, he told himself, that his little experience with the ticking had told him it would be a nuisance best avoided.
Uryuu leaned back, only a little. His spine still felt stiff against the chair's back. Now what? He closed his eyes, only meaning to blink, really, they stayed. He didn't really care about the cat. Uryuu stared at the red behind his eyelids and wondered, with a kind of vacant disinterest, if it made him a bad person.
"Perhaps." A non committal answer, and Nemu was good with those, soft and without condemnation or condoning. She was not one who found herself worthy or experienced enough to judge others, and if there was anything about his demeanor that she noticed, or found odd, it did not show, nor did she mention it.
Slowly, however, she stood, and took his empty cup to the sink, hers, and with a blank gaze, emptied it. He would not recall her, and so, he would be more bothered by her presence, this she knew. Because she was shinigami, and even before, he had problems with that fact.
"I will leave this food here." And she would, would leave the prepared foodstuffs in the bag, standing beside it and undoing the ties that had kept her sleeves back while over the stove.
"I will also return come nightfall to check your bandages." There was no room for argument in her statement: unusual, for her.
Eyes still closed, Uryuu listened to the sounds she produced. Light foot falls, the chinking of glass. He could still smell the tea, but only faintly, and perhaps more from his own breath. He wondered if she wore perfume, if she smelled like anything. Then, he realized that he would need to buy or find soap; the weak, hotel-wrap bar in the bathroom wouldn't last long, and he still smelled like sweat. Only just.
He considered asking where she would go, but had barely thought it before dismissing it as none of his business. Uryuu almost made a protest against her returning, but stopped himself. If he intended to postpone, indefinitely, the hospital, there was no use in persisting with his unpracticed, inadequate treatment.
"Thank you," he said, meaning both, and he held up his hand in a staying motion. His eyes opened, barely, narrow fields to find her, "...don't say it."
He knew, because Nemu had already opened her mouth to say it. There is no need to thank me. A moment, hanging there like she would still do it, but-
She kept quiet.
All organized, all items returned neatly to a place, or arranged in order on the counter, before she took her medical supplies in hand, stood straight, attention.
"In that case, I will be going now. Please do not strain yourself overly, I will bring further amenities upon my return." She remembered, he did not, that she'd know he didn't like hospitals. And she hoped herself a reasonable alternative. Hoped.
"Until then," Uryuu replied. Perhaps she would eat with him. It wasn't as if he craved or required the company; it was more natural to eat alone. To live alone, to be alone. And perhaps later he would be hungry. He waited, watching until she left in the same quiet, swift way as she had come. Once the ticking began, a low throb he could feel, a drumming in his skull, he stood up.
Walking to the living room, he looked at the couch, at his belongings spread on the coffee table. He moved on to the bedroom, where he stripped slowy, awkwardly down to his briefs, and pulled back the covers, got into bed. One-handedly pulling the covers over his head. When he was a child, doing so protected him from the monsters under the bed. But he'd grown out of that, and into real monsters.
Uryuu pushed the covers down, and tried to sleep. Grandfather, he thought, gone before finishing.