[ Dream -- 4 ] Week Eight, Day Seven - Night into Morning [ A Family's Honor ]
Quiet, dark. Night had fallen and even the footsteps that had stalked outside his room had stopped. They were no longer patrolling, certain he was asleep, that he would not be sneaking out of bed for any reason. They were quite mistaken.
In the dark night, youthful, stormy gray eyes stared at the ink painting of a samurai that hung on the wall, curled up under his blankets, lips curled into a perpetual smile of complete pride. He had intended to be asleep already, but the chance never came. Through his head danced little reminders about a meeting tomorrow, called personally by the Head of the Kuchiki clan. The mere thought of being called by his grandfather to do something to uphold the honor of the Kuchiki clan sent another shiver of barely restrained excitement up his spine.
Lost in his thoughts, he’d barely caught the sound of footsteps outside of the door, or the sound of it sliding open. He remained as still as possible, snaking his hand beneath the blankets to the cup of water he’d left beside him for quick reach. The moment those steps invaded the private sanctuary of his room, Byakuya made his move.
“Did you think you could fool me with the same trick twice, were-cat?” His fingers wrapped around it, and he hurled the cup in the direction of the intruder, holding back a scowl when the ceramic crashed into the floor.
Damn, I missed.
Rukia-
Thank god it isn’t Jii-sama…
-stood in the doorway, stunned beyond belief. He showed no signs of remorse. No one was to enter this room without permission. He was certain he made that clear. A boy’s privacy was to be maintained, after all!
“Rukia?”
She seemed to recover fairly quickly, staring down at the broken pieces from the cup and the puddle of water that it left behind. She did not look back up. “Forgive me for startling you, nii-sama. It was not my intent.”
“I wasn’t startled,” came the immediate, stubborn reply. Sitting up, he glared, trying to ignore the slight disheveled appearance that came with tossing and turning with thoughts churning constantly in his head. That wasn’t the problem here, though he did take a moment to fix his yukata, drag perfectly tended to fingers through his hair. “What do you want?”
Her eyes did not lift. He did not try and meet her gaze. The tension in the air couldn’t be cut by any sword created. So thick, so heavy, so imposing, like that of a reiatsu he was positive he’d feel if word got out about this. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. Please, you must get your rest.”
Byakuya did not huff in annoyance, no matter how tempting it sounded in that moment to voice his frustrations. “It’s nothing. What’s wrong?” His voice, still stuck in the times of youth, even now held nothing but command, the original intent lost in years of conditioning. He paid no heed to it.
“You don’t need to worry yourself over something so trivial-“
“I asked you a question.”
His stare was fierce, concentrated on that slight shadow still standing on the other side of that poorly aimed cup. He was already awake; why not simply finish and be done with it? He really did not have time to play these games.
Rukia’s silence seemed to go on forever and his impatience rose. He grit his teeth, count to ten in his head, waiting for her answer like a good Kuchiki heir would do. No matter how annoying, he could not simply wake the house because he was not in the mood to wait one simple moment for his answer. When it did not come by the time he finished his counting, he opened his mouth, deciding to send her away, when she finally spoke.
“Byakuya nii-sama. May I ask you a question?”
Stunned, his reprimand died on his tongue. He could only nod slowly, impatience fluttering away on the wind for curiosity and, yes, maybe a bit of concern. He was not surprised by her reluctance to speak with him. No one ever seemed to want to and he liked it that way. Less distractions. But sometimes… he wished Rukia did not recoil whenever he spoke.
The pregnant silence returned, but this time, Byakuya had found a way to manage his patience. Curiosity always won out over irritation.
“Would you think the same of me if someone told you not to?”
Those big, expressive eyes were unable to hide the surprise, the shock at that question. “Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s… I’m sorry. Forget it. It’s really nothing.” She lowered herself, reaching out for those sharp pieces of the ruined cup.
“Rukia.” Another command, though his hand extended, an invitation to sit beside him. “Leave that. Come.”
He didn’t bother to complain about the further hesitation or the awkward air that fell. Somehow, that awkwardness felt worse than all that tension that could suffocate someone if they weren’t used to it in this house. She moved carefully, over that mess he’d clean up later, her eyes still downcast, her steps uncertain.
He stared long and hard at her resigned posture, her face trying so desperately to hide sorrow and shame. And, after a long scrutiny, he finally spoke. “Did you have a bad dream?” The faintly unimpressed tone could not be missed.
Rukia blinked, confusion dancing in those violet eyes, seen even in the darkness.
“You are a Kuchiki,” he said, just as resolutely as before. “Kuchiki are not upset by bad dreams. Whatever it was, it was nothing so forget about it and go back to sleep.”
“Yes, nii-sama…”
She stood, gracefully, arms wrapped around herself. His attempts had surely failed. He could only frown as she stopped, once more at those pieces and attempted to pick them up.
“What are you doing? I told you to leave them.”
“I know,” she replied, not looking back. “But nii-sama might hurt himself. I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”
Why… do you say these things?
A flash of sympathy. He stood, a rare moment where his state of dress was not much of a concern (oh, he made sure he was carefully covered) before he kneeled beside her, taking those pieces. “Don’t be foolish. I will not have someone else cleaning up my mistakes. Go to bed.” Almost a little grumpy.
“Nii-sama.”
“Didn’t I tell you to go to bed? I can clean up a little water. I’m not helpless.”
“Of course not…” She rose, stepped around the mess gently.
“Rukia.” His fingers halted over a large piece of the broken cup. He only continued when her steps stopped, not tearing his eyes from the mess in front of him. “If someone has caused you to question your place, your honor, tell me. I will correct their tainted eyes.”
It was as if the wind had flown in and rid the room of the stagnant air and, on its breath was the sound of two words being uttered so softly, like a gentle caress.
"Thank you."
===
Most of the day, spent indoors, reading was hard on anyone. He brought his hand up to cover his eyes, to block out that irritating sun, trying to glare through his fingers at its offensive rays. The sound of soft grunts and harsh pants drew his attention, and Byakuya peered around the corner with all the curiousness of a two-year old.
Rukia, practicing her swordsmanship. He might have had a bit of a smile for it, if it weren’t for the fact that her sword strikes looked more like a monkey throwing a fit.
“Rukia.”
She looked up, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Nii-sama?”
“You’re holding a sword, not a club.”
“But…” She looked down at the sword in her hands, grip tightening on the red hilt. “Renji says-“
“That’s your problem,” he muttered irritably, lifting his bokken (never leave the house without one, that were-cat is everywhere). “Simply because a baboon strikes a few weaklings by being wild, doesn’t mean you should mimic such poor actions. This is how you hold a sword.” He took a few moments to correct her posture, her grip, just like he had been taught, and proceeded to go through his own exercises, simple ones. “A Kuchiki is refined. He is controlled. Remember this whenever you consider taking that baboon’s advice.”
“Yes, Nii-sama.”
He hid a proud little grin as she followed his instructions. It was all a matter of opinion, really, but Renji was certainly not one to be teaching. Such an abrasive man should not have been anywhere near his sister.
Neither one seemed to pay mind to the silence that returned, thrusts of wood and steel through the air, practiced movements to slay a foe invisible to all but them. The wind whistled, steps light, polished, and Rukia followed his lead with the practiced patience and refinement one would expect from someone in the noble house of Kuchiki. He twisted, changing the rhythm of his strokes to throw her off, watching her stumble only to catch up, eyes full of concentration, determination, preparing to do anything he did.
“Impressive, Byakuya.”
A step missed didn’t throw him off much. His face lit up with that barely contained excitement and happiness from the night before, smile on his face before he could shun it away in the presence of Rukia. “Jii-sama!”
His sister bowed politely beside him.
“Will you be staying here tonight?” He left out the urgency about the request to speak with him. Never impose on him. If anyone got a first impression from Kuchiki Ginrei, it would have been that.
He gave a simple nod, a grunt of assent.
Byakuya lowered that wooden sword, Rukia forgotten.
===
He stood beside his grandfather on the dusty, more-like-cliff-than-hill Soukyouku Hill, eyes on the ground, staring at bare feet and the hem of a white yukata. The words around were a dull murmur, distant, trying to reach through a sea of emotions. It took all that he had to restrain himself, stand obediently by his grandfather’s side, keeping his mouth shut, clamped tightly with resolve not to humiliate the Kuchiki house in front of relatives, no matter how distant the blood ties were, representatives of the 46 Chambers and, most of all, his grandfather’s colleagues, the captains and vice-captains that worked with him to protect the law and order of Soul Society.
The law… Rukia had broken the law. Byakuya didn’t know what that meant, exactly. A Kuchiki breaking the most important rules of society? No, he was more shocked by the fact that it was Rukia, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. Such a thing seemed impossible, but Yamamoto-soutaichou, with his long beard sweeping the ground, had declared this. He could not intervene as much as his heart spoke to him and begged.
“Kuchiki Rukia. Have you any last words?”
The feeling of eyes boring into him finally made him look up. Rukia’s eyes, calm, as if she wasn’t standing before the most reputable, most intimidating people of Soul Society, people who force him into submission with ranks and titles and propriety, were on him. Her expression gentle, reflecting that same sorrow and shame from that night, but this time, there was apology, too, more prominent than the others.
Don’t say anything. You’re… you’re a disgrace.
His thoughts and his feelings did not coincide.
“I’m sorry.”
His fists clenched, his teeth ground, his eyes narrowed and, again, he found interest in something else, something that would not allow him to betray himself. Did he really have to be here to watch her die? “Jii-sama-“
“Are you ready?” His grandfather’s words cut like hot steel through butter and his resolve wavered, just for the briefest of moments.
“Yes,” he replied automatically, thinking nothing of that word or the impact it would have.
A sword with a four-pane guard was extended by an aged hand. “Then take it and fulfill your duty.”
His stomach dropped, his breath caught. The pressure in the air that had nothing to do with the powered beings that gathered around the execution grounds intensified a thousand times, threatening to suffocate him, to crush him. The duty he’d been asked to carry out, the duty to the family that had been so important was… to run through his sister?
“Jii-sama…” He looked up, those eyes always cold, unresponsive to most things in the world shined with disapproval and the protest died in his throat, trapped with horror and an emotion he didn’t dare name. He couldn’t. If it was understood, it had a cure and he… he had no cure for these things coiling in his blood, poisoning his heart, tainting his mind.
A Kuchiki Head must not show emotion. He must not possess something so useless.
It was with an unsteady hand that he gripped that sword that felt so familiar, but he still could not move to make that strike. Rukia hadn’t moved. None of the spectators spoke a word. He held that heavy weight, his shoulders slumping, his head bowed. The mere thought of doing it, of being the one to kill family-
There are no familial bonds. Family comes second to the law, to duty.
His grandfather had no trouble offering him the blade that was supposed to cut through that tiny body. Kuchiki Ginrei, the man he wanted nothing more than to be just like, the man he wanted to see nothing but approval from, was prepared to kill one bearing the same name as he. He swore that, no matter what it took, he would hear those words ‘impressive’ or ‘good’ or ‘well done’. He would do whatever it took for his grandfather to look at him.
“Byakuya.” Stern. Unkind. “Will you disgrace the clan by disobeying an order?”
“Never, Jii-sama.” His answer was robotic. Hollow.
Do not disgrace the clan. Do not dishonor Jii-sama. Strike. Kill. Do whatever is necessary to protect the noble house of Kuchiki.
He gripped that blade tightly between his hands, stare cold and unforgiving. Rukia did not move. She still remained as calm and resigned as she had when he first dared to look at her, as if death was acceptable.
Rukia…
He shook his head, prepared himself and thrust forward with the speed and skill one would expect from the Kuchiki heir. That blade sliced through fabric, cut through her skin so easily, tearing apart muscles, and made it through its intended target on the first strike. The rush of the wind, a loud howl, the steady dripping of blood as her heart tried to beat around his blade and his own beating loudly in his ears… these were the only sounds he could hear, so lost in the numbness that soaked into his bones.
He hadn’t even been aware of the cry of frustration and sorrow that he gave when she breathed her last.
[The darkness is imposing, heavy as the weight he was reminded of the day he swore to cut her down himself.
He calms himself, certain not to give himself away to anyone living in this house that his mind has been troubled. He says nothing. He does nothing. He lies awake, like the boy in that dream, staring at the wall to soothe the tumultuous waters that are his emotions.]
In the dark night, youthful, stormy gray eyes stared at the ink painting of a samurai that hung on the wall, curled up under his blankets, lips curled into a perpetual smile of complete pride. He had intended to be asleep already, but the chance never came. Through his head danced little reminders about a meeting tomorrow, called personally by the Head of the Kuchiki clan. The mere thought of being called by his grandfather to do something to uphold the honor of the Kuchiki clan sent another shiver of barely restrained excitement up his spine.
Lost in his thoughts, he’d barely caught the sound of footsteps outside of the door, or the sound of it sliding open. He remained as still as possible, snaking his hand beneath the blankets to the cup of water he’d left beside him for quick reach. The moment those steps invaded the private sanctuary of his room, Byakuya made his move.
“Did you think you could fool me with the same trick twice, were-cat?” His fingers wrapped around it, and he hurled the cup in the direction of the intruder, holding back a scowl when the ceramic crashed into the floor.
Damn, I missed.
Rukia-
Thank god it isn’t Jii-sama…
-stood in the doorway, stunned beyond belief. He showed no signs of remorse. No one was to enter this room without permission. He was certain he made that clear. A boy’s privacy was to be maintained, after all!
“Rukia?”
She seemed to recover fairly quickly, staring down at the broken pieces from the cup and the puddle of water that it left behind. She did not look back up. “Forgive me for startling you, nii-sama. It was not my intent.”
“I wasn’t startled,” came the immediate, stubborn reply. Sitting up, he glared, trying to ignore the slight disheveled appearance that came with tossing and turning with thoughts churning constantly in his head. That wasn’t the problem here, though he did take a moment to fix his yukata, drag perfectly tended to fingers through his hair. “What do you want?”
Her eyes did not lift. He did not try and meet her gaze. The tension in the air couldn’t be cut by any sword created. So thick, so heavy, so imposing, like that of a reiatsu he was positive he’d feel if word got out about this. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. Please, you must get your rest.”
Byakuya did not huff in annoyance, no matter how tempting it sounded in that moment to voice his frustrations. “It’s nothing. What’s wrong?” His voice, still stuck in the times of youth, even now held nothing but command, the original intent lost in years of conditioning. He paid no heed to it.
“You don’t need to worry yourself over something so trivial-“
“I asked you a question.”
His stare was fierce, concentrated on that slight shadow still standing on the other side of that poorly aimed cup. He was already awake; why not simply finish and be done with it? He really did not have time to play these games.
Rukia’s silence seemed to go on forever and his impatience rose. He grit his teeth, count to ten in his head, waiting for her answer like a good Kuchiki heir would do. No matter how annoying, he could not simply wake the house because he was not in the mood to wait one simple moment for his answer. When it did not come by the time he finished his counting, he opened his mouth, deciding to send her away, when she finally spoke.
“Byakuya nii-sama. May I ask you a question?”
Stunned, his reprimand died on his tongue. He could only nod slowly, impatience fluttering away on the wind for curiosity and, yes, maybe a bit of concern. He was not surprised by her reluctance to speak with him. No one ever seemed to want to and he liked it that way. Less distractions. But sometimes… he wished Rukia did not recoil whenever he spoke.
The pregnant silence returned, but this time, Byakuya had found a way to manage his patience. Curiosity always won out over irritation.
“Would you think the same of me if someone told you not to?”
Those big, expressive eyes were unable to hide the surprise, the shock at that question. “Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s… I’m sorry. Forget it. It’s really nothing.” She lowered herself, reaching out for those sharp pieces of the ruined cup.
“Rukia.” Another command, though his hand extended, an invitation to sit beside him. “Leave that. Come.”
He didn’t bother to complain about the further hesitation or the awkward air that fell. Somehow, that awkwardness felt worse than all that tension that could suffocate someone if they weren’t used to it in this house. She moved carefully, over that mess he’d clean up later, her eyes still downcast, her steps uncertain.
He stared long and hard at her resigned posture, her face trying so desperately to hide sorrow and shame. And, after a long scrutiny, he finally spoke. “Did you have a bad dream?” The faintly unimpressed tone could not be missed.
Rukia blinked, confusion dancing in those violet eyes, seen even in the darkness.
“You are a Kuchiki,” he said, just as resolutely as before. “Kuchiki are not upset by bad dreams. Whatever it was, it was nothing so forget about it and go back to sleep.”
“Yes, nii-sama…”
She stood, gracefully, arms wrapped around herself. His attempts had surely failed. He could only frown as she stopped, once more at those pieces and attempted to pick them up.
“What are you doing? I told you to leave them.”
“I know,” she replied, not looking back. “But nii-sama might hurt himself. I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”
Why… do you say these things?
A flash of sympathy. He stood, a rare moment where his state of dress was not much of a concern (oh, he made sure he was carefully covered) before he kneeled beside her, taking those pieces. “Don’t be foolish. I will not have someone else cleaning up my mistakes. Go to bed.” Almost a little grumpy.
“Nii-sama.”
“Didn’t I tell you to go to bed? I can clean up a little water. I’m not helpless.”
“Of course not…” She rose, stepped around the mess gently.
“Rukia.” His fingers halted over a large piece of the broken cup. He only continued when her steps stopped, not tearing his eyes from the mess in front of him. “If someone has caused you to question your place, your honor, tell me. I will correct their tainted eyes.”
It was as if the wind had flown in and rid the room of the stagnant air and, on its breath was the sound of two words being uttered so softly, like a gentle caress.
"Thank you."
===
Most of the day, spent indoors, reading was hard on anyone. He brought his hand up to cover his eyes, to block out that irritating sun, trying to glare through his fingers at its offensive rays. The sound of soft grunts and harsh pants drew his attention, and Byakuya peered around the corner with all the curiousness of a two-year old.
Rukia, practicing her swordsmanship. He might have had a bit of a smile for it, if it weren’t for the fact that her sword strikes looked more like a monkey throwing a fit.
“Rukia.”
She looked up, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Nii-sama?”
“You’re holding a sword, not a club.”
“But…” She looked down at the sword in her hands, grip tightening on the red hilt. “Renji says-“
“That’s your problem,” he muttered irritably, lifting his bokken (never leave the house without one, that were-cat is everywhere). “Simply because a baboon strikes a few weaklings by being wild, doesn’t mean you should mimic such poor actions. This is how you hold a sword.” He took a few moments to correct her posture, her grip, just like he had been taught, and proceeded to go through his own exercises, simple ones. “A Kuchiki is refined. He is controlled. Remember this whenever you consider taking that baboon’s advice.”
“Yes, Nii-sama.”
He hid a proud little grin as she followed his instructions. It was all a matter of opinion, really, but Renji was certainly not one to be teaching. Such an abrasive man should not have been anywhere near his sister.
Neither one seemed to pay mind to the silence that returned, thrusts of wood and steel through the air, practiced movements to slay a foe invisible to all but them. The wind whistled, steps light, polished, and Rukia followed his lead with the practiced patience and refinement one would expect from someone in the noble house of Kuchiki. He twisted, changing the rhythm of his strokes to throw her off, watching her stumble only to catch up, eyes full of concentration, determination, preparing to do anything he did.
“Impressive, Byakuya.”
A step missed didn’t throw him off much. His face lit up with that barely contained excitement and happiness from the night before, smile on his face before he could shun it away in the presence of Rukia. “Jii-sama!”
His sister bowed politely beside him.
“Will you be staying here tonight?” He left out the urgency about the request to speak with him. Never impose on him. If anyone got a first impression from Kuchiki Ginrei, it would have been that.
He gave a simple nod, a grunt of assent.
Byakuya lowered that wooden sword, Rukia forgotten.
===
He stood beside his grandfather on the dusty, more-like-cliff-than-hill Soukyouku Hill, eyes on the ground, staring at bare feet and the hem of a white yukata. The words around were a dull murmur, distant, trying to reach through a sea of emotions. It took all that he had to restrain himself, stand obediently by his grandfather’s side, keeping his mouth shut, clamped tightly with resolve not to humiliate the Kuchiki house in front of relatives, no matter how distant the blood ties were, representatives of the 46 Chambers and, most of all, his grandfather’s colleagues, the captains and vice-captains that worked with him to protect the law and order of Soul Society.
The law… Rukia had broken the law. Byakuya didn’t know what that meant, exactly. A Kuchiki breaking the most important rules of society? No, he was more shocked by the fact that it was Rukia, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. Such a thing seemed impossible, but Yamamoto-soutaichou, with his long beard sweeping the ground, had declared this. He could not intervene as much as his heart spoke to him and begged.
“Kuchiki Rukia. Have you any last words?”
The feeling of eyes boring into him finally made him look up. Rukia’s eyes, calm, as if she wasn’t standing before the most reputable, most intimidating people of Soul Society, people who force him into submission with ranks and titles and propriety, were on him. Her expression gentle, reflecting that same sorrow and shame from that night, but this time, there was apology, too, more prominent than the others.
Don’t say anything. You’re… you’re a disgrace.
His thoughts and his feelings did not coincide.
“I’m sorry.”
His fists clenched, his teeth ground, his eyes narrowed and, again, he found interest in something else, something that would not allow him to betray himself. Did he really have to be here to watch her die? “Jii-sama-“
“Are you ready?” His grandfather’s words cut like hot steel through butter and his resolve wavered, just for the briefest of moments.
“Yes,” he replied automatically, thinking nothing of that word or the impact it would have.
A sword with a four-pane guard was extended by an aged hand. “Then take it and fulfill your duty.”
His stomach dropped, his breath caught. The pressure in the air that had nothing to do with the powered beings that gathered around the execution grounds intensified a thousand times, threatening to suffocate him, to crush him. The duty he’d been asked to carry out, the duty to the family that had been so important was… to run through his sister?
“Jii-sama…” He looked up, those eyes always cold, unresponsive to most things in the world shined with disapproval and the protest died in his throat, trapped with horror and an emotion he didn’t dare name. He couldn’t. If it was understood, it had a cure and he… he had no cure for these things coiling in his blood, poisoning his heart, tainting his mind.
A Kuchiki Head must not show emotion. He must not possess something so useless.
It was with an unsteady hand that he gripped that sword that felt so familiar, but he still could not move to make that strike. Rukia hadn’t moved. None of the spectators spoke a word. He held that heavy weight, his shoulders slumping, his head bowed. The mere thought of doing it, of being the one to kill family-
There are no familial bonds. Family comes second to the law, to duty.
His grandfather had no trouble offering him the blade that was supposed to cut through that tiny body. Kuchiki Ginrei, the man he wanted nothing more than to be just like, the man he wanted to see nothing but approval from, was prepared to kill one bearing the same name as he. He swore that, no matter what it took, he would hear those words ‘impressive’ or ‘good’ or ‘well done’. He would do whatever it took for his grandfather to look at him.
“Byakuya.” Stern. Unkind. “Will you disgrace the clan by disobeying an order?”
“Never, Jii-sama.” His answer was robotic. Hollow.
Do not disgrace the clan. Do not dishonor Jii-sama. Strike. Kill. Do whatever is necessary to protect the noble house of Kuchiki.
He gripped that blade tightly between his hands, stare cold and unforgiving. Rukia did not move. She still remained as calm and resigned as she had when he first dared to look at her, as if death was acceptable.
Rukia…
He shook his head, prepared himself and thrust forward with the speed and skill one would expect from the Kuchiki heir. That blade sliced through fabric, cut through her skin so easily, tearing apart muscles, and made it through its intended target on the first strike. The rush of the wind, a loud howl, the steady dripping of blood as her heart tried to beat around his blade and his own beating loudly in his ears… these were the only sounds he could hear, so lost in the numbness that soaked into his bones.
He hadn’t even been aware of the cry of frustration and sorrow that he gave when she breathed her last.
[The darkness is imposing, heavy as the weight he was reminded of the day he swore to cut her down himself.
He calms himself, certain not to give himself away to anyone living in this house that his mind has been troubled. He says nothing. He does nothing. He lies awake, like the boy in that dream, staring at the wall to soothe the tumultuous waters that are his emotions.]