[Log] Ukitake, Ryuuken
Title: Cover Your Mouth, and Our Asses
Characters: Ukitake (lcpdragonslayer), Ryuuken (thenakedcat)
Timeline: July 5, 2007
Rating: PG
Summary: Even Ryuuken doesn't like berating a sick man...but he'll still do it.
Ryuuken wasn't generally didn't need to psyche himself up to be coolly efficient and blunt in the office--hell, it was what he lived for at work--but as he glided down the hall to the archives' section of the building, he was going over the speech he was about to make in his head. Jyuushirou Ukitake was a long-time employee, a sufferer of a serious medical condition, and quite a decent human being to boot; sometimes even Ryuuken had a little guilt about being brusque with him. However, city health inspectors could be even bigger bastards than assistant editors, so this had to be done right the first time.
He tugged his cuffs down in a nervous gesture as he stepped over the threshhold into the lair of the magazine's checkered past. The archivist was nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly surprising in the maze of filing cabinets and dusty shelves. He raised his voice enough to be heard even in the farthest stacks. "IT'S RYUUKEN. COULD I HAVE A WORD?"
He sauntered down the dimly lit corridor, four files in hand. He had taken them out a couple of days ago to compile some information for statistical purposes, and now he was returning them to their rightful places.
And seeing as they were taken over a spread of 6 years, finding where they originally came from was a real epic journey indeed.
Opening the filing cabinet, he slotted the manila folder back into a gap in the files, pushing the cabinet shut again. Three more to stash away.
As the last folder disappeared into a box, he heard a distinct, familiar voice ring out from outside in the main area. He lifted his head and turned to look in the general direction of where the voice came from. Mr. Ishida?
He made his way back out into the light, smiling at his boss. "Mr. Ishida," he greeted, inclining his head a little. "What a surprise," he added, his smile widening. "What can I do for you today?"
Ryuuken leaned back against one of the shelves, fingers tracing the outline of the pack of cigs in his pocket. He would have dearly loved to have one right now, just to give his hands something to do during this uncomfortable conversation, but that was a big no-no around piles of flammable paper and microfilm. Ryuuken was willing to break the no smoking policy in the bathroom or in his office, but not in the archive.
"Isshin sent his son to you earlier today on an errand. Would you please relate to me what took place after he arrived down here?" Not that he didn't already know, of course, but he needed to see how much Ukitake would admit to on his own.
His eyes widened a little in surprise. News sure travelled fast... "Uh..." Well, what did Mr. Ishida want to know? "Nothing much. He came down here to drop by a few reports. We talked... I offered him some candy... He is a very nice boy."
"He's not glucose-intolerant or anything, right?" An uneasy cough rose, but he managed to stifle it, tilting his head, smiling.
...so they were going to have to do this the hard way. Ryuuken took a cigarette from the pack--he could at least hold it in his mouth, even if he couldn't light it.
"No, I'm sure Ichigo can handle consuming a metric ton of sugar just like his father. What happened before you brought out the sweets?" His tone was still polite, but it carried a stern warning not to beat around the bush.
He managed a weak smile, recalling how much of a sugar addict Isshin was as well. Together, they had finished the entire box of sugar cubes in five days, and that was the only time the office tried stocking up on sugar cubes instead of getting the baking-sized 10 pound bags.
"Before?" He thought back... "Ah, well. I was in storage, as usual, looking for the meeting minutes... back in... 2nd of April, 1998, I believe... I know it was requested under urgent but it's not where it should be..."
His gaze darted back to his boss's serious, if only slightly intimidating face. "Ah! Didn't you request for it, Mr. Ishida? If that's what this is about, I'll find it. I'm sorry for the delay - it'll be on your desk in the morning, at the latest."
Ukitake...such a nice man...yet such a thick skull, Ryuuken thought with exasperation. Well, it appeared that a hint was in order.
"That's not what I came to talk to you about." As he spoke, he very pointedly directed his gaze to the faintly rust-colored smudge on the floor...the fresh smudge.
His gaze followed Mr. Ishida's, and soon he was duly reminded of the latest coughing fit he had. Actually, he had one after Ichigo had left, so... Second to last... coughing fit...
That didn't seem to be the main issue.
He averted his gaze guiltily, clearing his throat a little. "Yes... Well..." He scratched the top of his head. "That... Was... uh..." He was trying desperately for a nicer way to put it, but no words came to mind.
He sighed. "I'm really alright - I didn't... I don't... Er... Mm..."
Ryuuken straightened up, eyes narrowed and bladed. "You coughed blood onto the floor right in front of Ichigo. You did not follow standard operating procedure cleaning it up. You did not take the rest of the day off, despite your doctor's arrangement with HR. You offered food you had handled without any special precautions to Ichigo."
He stalked over to Ukitake's desk and pulled a white box marked "Bodily Fluid Clean-Up Kit" from the drawer. "Use THIS to clean up blood, not tissues. If you don't want to use it, call Hanatarou. And GO HOME if your condition acts up, no matter how much time you've already taken off this week. And DON'T share food around."
The thin shoulders slumped forward as he reached the end of the tirade. "I KNOW no one else has ever become sick from contact with you, but we can't act like the risk doesn't exist. Not if we want to keep you on--and trust me, we do. You know how bad the archives were when you got here, and look how much that's changed."
With every accusation, he wilted away just that little bit more. Mr. Ishida could be very intimidating if he wanted to be. He chewed down on his bottom lip, his gaze still downcast.
He probably knew the risks of his own condition better than Mr. Ishida did. And he supposed he was in the wrong. But he had a responsibility with his job, and he really was okay - as alright as someone with multitudes of chronic illnesses and unstable tuberculosis could be.
"I'm sorry," he said, softly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. It wasn't the first time he had been told off by Mr. Ishida, and he would listen and be good for maybe the next week or so. And then the ruckus would start again.
"I... I'll-" something in his gut twisted, cutting him off, and he turned away, coughing into his hand. Bad time for his body to be acting up. A really, really bad time.
And there was the problem with actually getting the point across to Ukitake: victory only lasted until he started choking, and then you felt guilty for the next week for distressing him. Right up until he started disobeying again.
Ryuuken had his cell phone out instantly, texting like a fiend. When the fit subsided enough for Ukitake to attend to him, he said, "There's a cab on the way to pick you up. You are going HOME, and staying there until you've recovered enough not to scare the living daylights out of Isshin."
Something in his voice and his expression softened, moving on to a different tactic, something that required a bit of confession on his own part. "He worries about you, you know...he's got a paranoia about overworking his employees. Because long before you ever worked here I had a nervous breakdown in the elevator, right in front of his eyes."
He waved his hand in the air, trying to tell Mr. Ishida that he really was okay, even though he was doing his best to keep his lung back down inside his body. "No, please - R-" He started coughing again, barely staying upright.
"I'm... Really, I'm... alright..." he managed to say between heaving his breaths. He hated other people worrying for him - it was his sickness - his burden to bear, and yet for some reason everyone else got entangled in his illnesses too.
He gazed up to Mr. Ishida, eyes widened slightly in surprise. A nervous breakdown? Elevator? He wasn't aware... It must have been a really long time ago, when he wasn't even in New York.
He wanted to say something, but he turned away, coughing again. He'd taken so much time off, he was sick of having to stay at home, or in hospital, sitting there doing absolutely nothing - he was sick of being sick. And he really didn't want to go home.
He pulled his hand away from his mouth, and speckles of blood tainted his palm. Curling his hand, lowering it to his side, he looked away, sighing.
Ryuuken took one of the sterilizing wipes from the Cleanup Kit and lifted the blood-flecked hand to clean it off. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you're a lousy liar, Jyuushirou? I'd rather not see anyone else spend a month in bed from overwork."
He picked up the coat draped over the back of the desk chair and held it out for the other man to put on. "While you're home, I have an assignment for you. The magazine's 25th anniversary issue will be upon us soon. There's going to be some sort of retrospective piece written...and I don't trust anyone under the age of 30 to do it. You're going to be lead on the project."
He hesitated when Mr. Ishida touched him, casting his gaze down to one side. A lousy liar, huh? He chuckled. "Well, I've heard that once or twice..." But he only ever lied about his sickness.
He took the offered coat, and slung it around his back, slipping his arms through it. He perked up at the offer. A... retrospective piece? Project? Lead?
He waved his hands in the air again, smiling nervously, defensive. "I... Uh... I couldn't handle something... so big..."
Ryuuken, relentless, prodded Ukitake towards the exit. "You don't have to do the actual writing if you don't want to--that's what we hire yahoos like my son for--but you're the only one who actually knows enough about what's down here to be able to find what's interesting."
He stumbled towards the elevator, even though he always took the stairs up since it was only one floor. Sighing, he lifted his hand and pushed the 'Down' button, waiting for the elevator to arrive.
He looked around behind him a little, a weak smile playing on his face. "I..." He went quiet again, trying to articulate his words.
"Thank you, Mr. Ishida," he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. He turned away, back to facing the elevator.
Ryuuken shook his head, watching the light over the elevator run down through the floors. "Don't bother thanking me...just go get some rest." It really didn't require thanks, after all. This was part of his job, just as looking after his health was part of Ukitake's.
A soft 'ding' from the elevators, and the doors slid open. He sighed and wandered in, his gaze lingering on the panel of buttons. He wanted to say... Well, he wanted to say something like, 'Don't worry about me, I'll be fine', or 'I'll come back to work as soon as possible', but both were equally likely to get him taken out the back and shot.
So he kept quiet, save for the sigh, and pressed the first floor button.
Characters: Ukitake (lcpdragonslayer), Ryuuken (thenakedcat)
Timeline: July 5, 2007
Rating: PG
Summary: Even Ryuuken doesn't like berating a sick man...but he'll still do it.
Ryuuken wasn't generally didn't need to psyche himself up to be coolly efficient and blunt in the office--hell, it was what he lived for at work--but as he glided down the hall to the archives' section of the building, he was going over the speech he was about to make in his head. Jyuushirou Ukitake was a long-time employee, a sufferer of a serious medical condition, and quite a decent human being to boot; sometimes even Ryuuken had a little guilt about being brusque with him. However, city health inspectors could be even bigger bastards than assistant editors, so this had to be done right the first time.
He tugged his cuffs down in a nervous gesture as he stepped over the threshhold into the lair of the magazine's checkered past. The archivist was nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly surprising in the maze of filing cabinets and dusty shelves. He raised his voice enough to be heard even in the farthest stacks. "IT'S RYUUKEN. COULD I HAVE A WORD?"
He sauntered down the dimly lit corridor, four files in hand. He had taken them out a couple of days ago to compile some information for statistical purposes, and now he was returning them to their rightful places.
And seeing as they were taken over a spread of 6 years, finding where they originally came from was a real epic journey indeed.
Opening the filing cabinet, he slotted the manila folder back into a gap in the files, pushing the cabinet shut again. Three more to stash away.
As the last folder disappeared into a box, he heard a distinct, familiar voice ring out from outside in the main area. He lifted his head and turned to look in the general direction of where the voice came from. Mr. Ishida?
He made his way back out into the light, smiling at his boss. "Mr. Ishida," he greeted, inclining his head a little. "What a surprise," he added, his smile widening. "What can I do for you today?"
Ryuuken leaned back against one of the shelves, fingers tracing the outline of the pack of cigs in his pocket. He would have dearly loved to have one right now, just to give his hands something to do during this uncomfortable conversation, but that was a big no-no around piles of flammable paper and microfilm. Ryuuken was willing to break the no smoking policy in the bathroom or in his office, but not in the archive.
"Isshin sent his son to you earlier today on an errand. Would you please relate to me what took place after he arrived down here?" Not that he didn't already know, of course, but he needed to see how much Ukitake would admit to on his own.
His eyes widened a little in surprise. News sure travelled fast... "Uh..." Well, what did Mr. Ishida want to know? "Nothing much. He came down here to drop by a few reports. We talked... I offered him some candy... He is a very nice boy."
"He's not glucose-intolerant or anything, right?" An uneasy cough rose, but he managed to stifle it, tilting his head, smiling.
...so they were going to have to do this the hard way. Ryuuken took a cigarette from the pack--he could at least hold it in his mouth, even if he couldn't light it.
"No, I'm sure Ichigo can handle consuming a metric ton of sugar just like his father. What happened before you brought out the sweets?" His tone was still polite, but it carried a stern warning not to beat around the bush.
He managed a weak smile, recalling how much of a sugar addict Isshin was as well. Together, they had finished the entire box of sugar cubes in five days, and that was the only time the office tried stocking up on sugar cubes instead of getting the baking-sized 10 pound bags.
"Before?" He thought back... "Ah, well. I was in storage, as usual, looking for the meeting minutes... back in... 2nd of April, 1998, I believe... I know it was requested under urgent but it's not where it should be..."
His gaze darted back to his boss's serious, if only slightly intimidating face. "Ah! Didn't you request for it, Mr. Ishida? If that's what this is about, I'll find it. I'm sorry for the delay - it'll be on your desk in the morning, at the latest."
Ukitake...such a nice man...yet such a thick skull, Ryuuken thought with exasperation. Well, it appeared that a hint was in order.
"That's not what I came to talk to you about." As he spoke, he very pointedly directed his gaze to the faintly rust-colored smudge on the floor...the fresh smudge.
His gaze followed Mr. Ishida's, and soon he was duly reminded of the latest coughing fit he had. Actually, he had one after Ichigo had left, so... Second to last... coughing fit...
That didn't seem to be the main issue.
He averted his gaze guiltily, clearing his throat a little. "Yes... Well..." He scratched the top of his head. "That... Was... uh..." He was trying desperately for a nicer way to put it, but no words came to mind.
He sighed. "I'm really alright - I didn't... I don't... Er... Mm..."
Ryuuken straightened up, eyes narrowed and bladed. "You coughed blood onto the floor right in front of Ichigo. You did not follow standard operating procedure cleaning it up. You did not take the rest of the day off, despite your doctor's arrangement with HR. You offered food you had handled without any special precautions to Ichigo."
He stalked over to Ukitake's desk and pulled a white box marked "Bodily Fluid Clean-Up Kit" from the drawer. "Use THIS to clean up blood, not tissues. If you don't want to use it, call Hanatarou. And GO HOME if your condition acts up, no matter how much time you've already taken off this week. And DON'T share food around."
The thin shoulders slumped forward as he reached the end of the tirade. "I KNOW no one else has ever become sick from contact with you, but we can't act like the risk doesn't exist. Not if we want to keep you on--and trust me, we do. You know how bad the archives were when you got here, and look how much that's changed."
With every accusation, he wilted away just that little bit more. Mr. Ishida could be very intimidating if he wanted to be. He chewed down on his bottom lip, his gaze still downcast.
He probably knew the risks of his own condition better than Mr. Ishida did. And he supposed he was in the wrong. But he had a responsibility with his job, and he really was okay - as alright as someone with multitudes of chronic illnesses and unstable tuberculosis could be.
"I'm sorry," he said, softly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. It wasn't the first time he had been told off by Mr. Ishida, and he would listen and be good for maybe the next week or so. And then the ruckus would start again.
"I... I'll-" something in his gut twisted, cutting him off, and he turned away, coughing into his hand. Bad time for his body to be acting up. A really, really bad time.
And there was the problem with actually getting the point across to Ukitake: victory only lasted until he started choking, and then you felt guilty for the next week for distressing him. Right up until he started disobeying again.
Ryuuken had his cell phone out instantly, texting like a fiend. When the fit subsided enough for Ukitake to attend to him, he said, "There's a cab on the way to pick you up. You are going HOME, and staying there until you've recovered enough not to scare the living daylights out of Isshin."
Something in his voice and his expression softened, moving on to a different tactic, something that required a bit of confession on his own part. "He worries about you, you know...he's got a paranoia about overworking his employees. Because long before you ever worked here I had a nervous breakdown in the elevator, right in front of his eyes."
He waved his hand in the air, trying to tell Mr. Ishida that he really was okay, even though he was doing his best to keep his lung back down inside his body. "No, please - R-" He started coughing again, barely staying upright.
"I'm... Really, I'm... alright..." he managed to say between heaving his breaths. He hated other people worrying for him - it was his sickness - his burden to bear, and yet for some reason everyone else got entangled in his illnesses too.
He gazed up to Mr. Ishida, eyes widened slightly in surprise. A nervous breakdown? Elevator? He wasn't aware... It must have been a really long time ago, when he wasn't even in New York.
He wanted to say something, but he turned away, coughing again. He'd taken so much time off, he was sick of having to stay at home, or in hospital, sitting there doing absolutely nothing - he was sick of being sick. And he really didn't want to go home.
He pulled his hand away from his mouth, and speckles of blood tainted his palm. Curling his hand, lowering it to his side, he looked away, sighing.
Ryuuken took one of the sterilizing wipes from the Cleanup Kit and lifted the blood-flecked hand to clean it off. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you're a lousy liar, Jyuushirou? I'd rather not see anyone else spend a month in bed from overwork."
He picked up the coat draped over the back of the desk chair and held it out for the other man to put on. "While you're home, I have an assignment for you. The magazine's 25th anniversary issue will be upon us soon. There's going to be some sort of retrospective piece written...and I don't trust anyone under the age of 30 to do it. You're going to be lead on the project."
He hesitated when Mr. Ishida touched him, casting his gaze down to one side. A lousy liar, huh? He chuckled. "Well, I've heard that once or twice..." But he only ever lied about his sickness.
He took the offered coat, and slung it around his back, slipping his arms through it. He perked up at the offer. A... retrospective piece? Project? Lead?
He waved his hands in the air again, smiling nervously, defensive. "I... Uh... I couldn't handle something... so big..."
Ryuuken, relentless, prodded Ukitake towards the exit. "You don't have to do the actual writing if you don't want to--that's what we hire yahoos like my son for--but you're the only one who actually knows enough about what's down here to be able to find what's interesting."
He stumbled towards the elevator, even though he always took the stairs up since it was only one floor. Sighing, he lifted his hand and pushed the 'Down' button, waiting for the elevator to arrive.
He looked around behind him a little, a weak smile playing on his face. "I..." He went quiet again, trying to articulate his words.
"Thank you, Mr. Ishida," he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. He turned away, back to facing the elevator.
Ryuuken shook his head, watching the light over the elevator run down through the floors. "Don't bother thanking me...just go get some rest." It really didn't require thanks, after all. This was part of his job, just as looking after his health was part of Ukitake's.
A soft 'ding' from the elevators, and the doors slid open. He sighed and wandered in, his gaze lingering on the panel of buttons. He wanted to say... Well, he wanted to say something like, 'Don't worry about me, I'll be fine', or 'I'll come back to work as soon as possible', but both were equally likely to get him taken out the back and shot.
So he kept quiet, save for the sigh, and pressed the first floor button.