Bleach: "Fate of Almost"
Contents: Rukia+/Orihime, Renji/Rukia?, one-sided Ichigo/Orihime
Rating: PG
Warnings: very vague everything
Subject: 086, "weakness" at 100_women
NaNo Word Count: 1401
Rukia can take anything that anyone can dish out, but maybe that perseverance is why she won't say anything when she should.
.fate of almost.
Part of Rukia didn't think men could do anything right.
Like when Renji kissed her in a back alley in Rukongai, and stepped forward to try and be closer to her; he tripped over a stone and shoved her into the nearest wall and she cracked her head so hard she saw stars.
Or when Kaien mistook Miyako's reluctance to express physical affection around Rukia for shyness instead of compassion; he laughed it off, and kissed her right there in front of front of his newest subordinate.
And the time when Byakuya grew so ill with fever that he was bedridden for a week, and in his delirium he thought that his sister was his late wife.
But a little rough-housing, a little unrequited love, a knife or two to the weak parts of her heart -- she could live with those things. Rukia was strong, stronger than most women. She wasn't afraid to give back as good as she got and she wasn't afraid of being alone if that was what it took.
That was why Rukia only really hated men when they hurt other women. When Kiyone came back with bitter stories about how her sister had been crying, convinced that she would be alone forever because men didn't want to date taller women; then Rukia hated them. When she thought about Renji's friend Hinamori lying hopeless and broken in her hospital bed, the scar heavy on her stomach nothing compared to the one that had twisted its way across her heart; then Rukia hated them.
When she found Orihime in Urahara's doorway, crying because he, because Ichigo, because everyone had told her that she wasn't good enough, Rukia could have cheerfully done away with the whole lot of them.
Since she couldn't have that, and many of her friends were unfortunately men, she was going to teach Orihime to be strong.
"It's not just about knowing how to swing a sword," Rukia told her after the first time they practiced together. "You have to have an attitude about it."
Orihime looked puzzled, glanced down at Sode no Shirayuki's slim silver metal and then handed it back to its rightful owner. Apologetically, she said, "I don't think I'm going to be very good with a sword, and I think I'd be even worse at the attitude."
Rukia sheathed the zanpakutou and told her, "You have to fight with your own weapons -- don't worry about it. You don't need a sword to be a soldier. The attitude is something you'll have to learn whatever your weapon is."
"What if I'm not good at it?" Orihime murmured, tangling her fingers together nervously. "What if--"
What if they were right?
"They weren't," Rukia said firmly, and closed her own small hands over Orihime's. "If you can care enough about your friends to want to fight, then you can learn to be confident you're doing the right thing."
Orihime looked up at her finally and blinked, startled. "That kind of attitude?"
"Well -- yes. What did you think I meant?"
The taller girl laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck. "Like... I don't know! On TV, soldiers are always like, Yeah! I'll make you pay for what you've done, villain! And they wave their swords and bellow and charge the enemy--"
Rukia's lips quirked up. "Not that kind of attitude." Although she suspected that in Orihime's imagination, she was already charging her enemy.
Orihime sighed and stretched out, spreading herself out under the bright sun. She had skipped school to come here and practice. "I just don't know if I can be confident that I'm doing the right thing when that means hurting someone."
It was so tempting to curl up next to her and bask in the good weather and the easy, natural companionship, but it would be heartless to relax while Orihime was still distraught over yesterday. Rukia curled her legs beneath her and said instead, "Just keep in mind why you have to hurt people. If you think, 'I'm hurting someone,' you'll always hesitate. If you think, 'I'm saving someone,' you can do what you have to do. When you stood up to that Espada, you weren't worried about hurting him -- you were only protecting Arisawa, right?"
The redheaded girl stared up at the sky, her fingers fretting with the sleeves of her uniform sweater. "Yes," she said.
That was the start -- that was how they all started. A goal that must be reached, a person who must be protected... And then you learned to be confident in your ability, whenever and however.
Rukia said, "Just think about what you want to protect."
Orihime didn't move for long moments, staring up, and then she breathed, "Kurosaki-kun."
It was so raw, so wistful and sincere, that Rukia suddenly thought, Oh! and watched her, processing that. Orihime turned, looking equally startled, and stared back at her, then flushed and looked away and added hurriedly, "All my friends. Kurosaki-kun and Tatsuki-chan, and Sado-kun and Ishida-kun too -- and you, of course, Kuchiki-san. That's why I went to the Soul Society in the first place!"
But it was too late to take it back. It was as obvious as the too-bright smile plastered onto her pretty features. Kurosaki-kun, she had said, with that delicate longing.
She loved him.
Rukia would be kind -- obviously, Orihime hadn't meant to tell her, so she would just pretend not to have heard. "And I want to protect you, too," Rukia promised, tightening her fingers on Orihime's hand. "Even if it's only protecting you from underestimating yourself."
"Kuchiki-san," Orihime whispered, and her expression relaxed into sweet, grateful lines. "Thank you."
You're such a good friend.
But Rukia found herself dwelling on it later, as she prowled the grounds of her home, trying to hunt down the place Renji had said he would meet her. (At the bridge? what bridge! there were three bridges on the Kuchiki estate alone.) Was she really a good friend? If she were a good friend, wouldn't she have mentioned these doubts?
Orihime loved Ichigo -- Ichigo who had made her cry, who had left her behind, who didn't seem to notice or confide in her at all -- Ichigo, to whom Orihime was just another friend, instead of a beautiful girl whose life force sparkled like a gem in bright light, whose imagination and compassion were fathomless and wondrous.
He should treat her better, Rukia thought, even though she knew it wasn't fair; Ichigo didn't know, couldn't know, and he was even more hopeless than most men.
Renji was waiting for her at the bridge near the koi pond, his arms folded over his chest. "What took you so long?" he demanded.
Rukia scowled at him. "You aren't allowed to ask that," she said. "Now listen. There's something I want to talk to you about."
Maybe it was wrong to tell someone a secret Orihime hadn't even told her, but it was so easy to just open her mouth and talk, say everything to Renji the way she always used to. And he listened, expression sober and eyes focused, listened to her like no one else ever had before or since.
Finally he said, "Why does this bother you so much? It's not like she's the first person who'd ever have fallen for someone they can't have. You have. I have," he added, soft as new snow. He wasn't looking at her.
Rukia thought that maybe it was fate. After as far as the two of them had come, a hopeless love was the only thing they had left to seek -- the only thing left to dream for. But it didn't have to be that way for Orihime. She murmured, "I don't want her to get hurt. I want her to be... happy. If Ichigo would make her happy, I want that for her. I just wonder if Ichigo is really -- what's best for her."
Renji shrugged a little, and leaned on the railing next to her. He only said, "We don't always want what would make us happy."
She wondered if he still meant them as much as Orihime, and smiled slightly. "People like you and me aren't meant for nice things."
Renji snorted. "Tell that to your brother."
"You should've told him, coward," she accused him, and he bristled until she laughed.
They'd missed a lot of chances, suffered through a lot of love, and they were okay. But Rukia didn't want that to happen to Orihime.
I hope you're happy, she thought.
Even if it meant that Rukia was still fated to want what she couldn't have.
Rating: PG
Warnings: very vague everything
Subject: 086, "weakness" at 100_women
NaNo Word Count: 1401
Rukia can take anything that anyone can dish out, but maybe that perseverance is why she won't say anything when she should.
.fate of almost.
Part of Rukia didn't think men could do anything right.
Like when Renji kissed her in a back alley in Rukongai, and stepped forward to try and be closer to her; he tripped over a stone and shoved her into the nearest wall and she cracked her head so hard she saw stars.
Or when Kaien mistook Miyako's reluctance to express physical affection around Rukia for shyness instead of compassion; he laughed it off, and kissed her right there in front of front of his newest subordinate.
And the time when Byakuya grew so ill with fever that he was bedridden for a week, and in his delirium he thought that his sister was his late wife.
But a little rough-housing, a little unrequited love, a knife or two to the weak parts of her heart -- she could live with those things. Rukia was strong, stronger than most women. She wasn't afraid to give back as good as she got and she wasn't afraid of being alone if that was what it took.
That was why Rukia only really hated men when they hurt other women. When Kiyone came back with bitter stories about how her sister had been crying, convinced that she would be alone forever because men didn't want to date taller women; then Rukia hated them. When she thought about Renji's friend Hinamori lying hopeless and broken in her hospital bed, the scar heavy on her stomach nothing compared to the one that had twisted its way across her heart; then Rukia hated them.
When she found Orihime in Urahara's doorway, crying because he, because Ichigo, because everyone had told her that she wasn't good enough, Rukia could have cheerfully done away with the whole lot of them.
Since she couldn't have that, and many of her friends were unfortunately men, she was going to teach Orihime to be strong.
"It's not just about knowing how to swing a sword," Rukia told her after the first time they practiced together. "You have to have an attitude about it."
Orihime looked puzzled, glanced down at Sode no Shirayuki's slim silver metal and then handed it back to its rightful owner. Apologetically, she said, "I don't think I'm going to be very good with a sword, and I think I'd be even worse at the attitude."
Rukia sheathed the zanpakutou and told her, "You have to fight with your own weapons -- don't worry about it. You don't need a sword to be a soldier. The attitude is something you'll have to learn whatever your weapon is."
"What if I'm not good at it?" Orihime murmured, tangling her fingers together nervously. "What if--"
What if they were right?
"They weren't," Rukia said firmly, and closed her own small hands over Orihime's. "If you can care enough about your friends to want to fight, then you can learn to be confident you're doing the right thing."
Orihime looked up at her finally and blinked, startled. "That kind of attitude?"
"Well -- yes. What did you think I meant?"
The taller girl laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck. "Like... I don't know! On TV, soldiers are always like, Yeah! I'll make you pay for what you've done, villain! And they wave their swords and bellow and charge the enemy--"
Rukia's lips quirked up. "Not that kind of attitude." Although she suspected that in Orihime's imagination, she was already charging her enemy.
Orihime sighed and stretched out, spreading herself out under the bright sun. She had skipped school to come here and practice. "I just don't know if I can be confident that I'm doing the right thing when that means hurting someone."
It was so tempting to curl up next to her and bask in the good weather and the easy, natural companionship, but it would be heartless to relax while Orihime was still distraught over yesterday. Rukia curled her legs beneath her and said instead, "Just keep in mind why you have to hurt people. If you think, 'I'm hurting someone,' you'll always hesitate. If you think, 'I'm saving someone,' you can do what you have to do. When you stood up to that Espada, you weren't worried about hurting him -- you were only protecting Arisawa, right?"
The redheaded girl stared up at the sky, her fingers fretting with the sleeves of her uniform sweater. "Yes," she said.
That was the start -- that was how they all started. A goal that must be reached, a person who must be protected... And then you learned to be confident in your ability, whenever and however.
Rukia said, "Just think about what you want to protect."
Orihime didn't move for long moments, staring up, and then she breathed, "Kurosaki-kun."
It was so raw, so wistful and sincere, that Rukia suddenly thought, Oh! and watched her, processing that. Orihime turned, looking equally startled, and stared back at her, then flushed and looked away and added hurriedly, "All my friends. Kurosaki-kun and Tatsuki-chan, and Sado-kun and Ishida-kun too -- and you, of course, Kuchiki-san. That's why I went to the Soul Society in the first place!"
But it was too late to take it back. It was as obvious as the too-bright smile plastered onto her pretty features. Kurosaki-kun, she had said, with that delicate longing.
She loved him.
Rukia would be kind -- obviously, Orihime hadn't meant to tell her, so she would just pretend not to have heard. "And I want to protect you, too," Rukia promised, tightening her fingers on Orihime's hand. "Even if it's only protecting you from underestimating yourself."
"Kuchiki-san," Orihime whispered, and her expression relaxed into sweet, grateful lines. "Thank you."
You're such a good friend.
But Rukia found herself dwelling on it later, as she prowled the grounds of her home, trying to hunt down the place Renji had said he would meet her. (At the bridge? what bridge! there were three bridges on the Kuchiki estate alone.) Was she really a good friend? If she were a good friend, wouldn't she have mentioned these doubts?
Orihime loved Ichigo -- Ichigo who had made her cry, who had left her behind, who didn't seem to notice or confide in her at all -- Ichigo, to whom Orihime was just another friend, instead of a beautiful girl whose life force sparkled like a gem in bright light, whose imagination and compassion were fathomless and wondrous.
He should treat her better, Rukia thought, even though she knew it wasn't fair; Ichigo didn't know, couldn't know, and he was even more hopeless than most men.
Renji was waiting for her at the bridge near the koi pond, his arms folded over his chest. "What took you so long?" he demanded.
Rukia scowled at him. "You aren't allowed to ask that," she said. "Now listen. There's something I want to talk to you about."
Maybe it was wrong to tell someone a secret Orihime hadn't even told her, but it was so easy to just open her mouth and talk, say everything to Renji the way she always used to. And he listened, expression sober and eyes focused, listened to her like no one else ever had before or since.
Finally he said, "Why does this bother you so much? It's not like she's the first person who'd ever have fallen for someone they can't have. You have. I have," he added, soft as new snow. He wasn't looking at her.
Rukia thought that maybe it was fate. After as far as the two of them had come, a hopeless love was the only thing they had left to seek -- the only thing left to dream for. But it didn't have to be that way for Orihime. She murmured, "I don't want her to get hurt. I want her to be... happy. If Ichigo would make her happy, I want that for her. I just wonder if Ichigo is really -- what's best for her."
Renji shrugged a little, and leaned on the railing next to her. He only said, "We don't always want what would make us happy."
She wondered if he still meant them as much as Orihime, and smiled slightly. "People like you and me aren't meant for nice things."
Renji snorted. "Tell that to your brother."
"You should've told him, coward," she accused him, and he bristled until she laughed.
They'd missed a lot of chances, suffered through a lot of love, and they were okay. But Rukia didn't want that to happen to Orihime.
I hope you're happy, she thought.
Even if it meant that Rukia was still fated to want what she couldn't have.