The Island - contest entry
Contest Entry to IchiRuki Annual Fanworks Contest - Fanfiction - The Island by Laurie Bunter
I'm really nervous about this though. As a rule I don't join contests. I'm shy that way. But I guess I wanted to challenge myself this time around, and hey -- talk about pressure, I spent a week writing this.
I know I should edit it to be shorter, but I couldn't figure out which details to cut out. Argh. Anyway, here goes. Grab a Coke and some tissues if you get weepy at character deaths. Sit back and relax, because this is a long story.
Title: The Island
Author: Laurie Bunter
Category: Fanfiction
Theme: Tempest
Genre: Psychological / Romance / Angst
Rating: M (or Y) for implied sexual situations and swearing.
Length: 8074 words (sorry, it's really long!)
Timeline: Set ten years after main storyline. The outcome of the Winter War is discussed in long, dark detail. Character deaths. Some spoilers for the manga abound. This work diverges with a plot point mentioned in Chapter 289.
Fair Warning: The first part, Aftermath of the Storm, is angsty but has most of the sexual references. The second part Banishing the Clouds contains all the sweetness.
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite and all the corporations he deals with. I hope said corporations pay him well in royalties, because he’s a great mangaka.
Summary: When life is a shipwrecked boat, it’s better not to be Kurosaki Ichigo. Exile and isolation has gotten the better of our former Shinigami representative. Doctor, heal thyself - or else your fiancée will do it for you. :)
The Island By Laurie Bunter
I. Aftermath of the Storm
Kurosaki Ichigo was concerned that he had finally outgrown Shakespeare. He tried to re-read the Sonnets last night and found himself bored with the Bard. A pity, really, now that Rukia was plodding dutifully through A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
At least she hadn’t started on King Lear yet. She was curious about it ever since they saw the Kurosawa Akira version on cable. Ichigo was going to have to find a polite way to tell her to drop it and go back to reading Delilah: Lily of the Slums instead.
A deafening clang came through his opened bedroom window. What the hell was that?
“Rukia… there are bells ringing,” he said, turning to her. Her ebony head was leaning against the bed as she sat on the floor.
“Silly,” she replied, not looking up from her book. “Of course they are ringing. Someone’s getting married at the church.”
Ichigo concentrated until he found them, at least five blocks away. She was right. There were two ecstatic spirits, bursting with joy, and several other duly happy humans. Wedding guests, no doubt, on their way to the reception hall.
“I’ve never noticed the bells before,” he said. “They’re quite… loud.”
She snorted. “I told you that you would go deaf listening to rock music,” she said. “They ring those bells every Sunday at seven o’clock. It wakes me up. More, if there’s a wedding or a funeral.”
Ichigo shrugged. Sunday morning was his single time to loll in bed. Had he been so tired that he never heard them before? Perhaps his mind was just preoccupied.
Lately he’s been reading John Donne when he had a rare moment to spare for himself. Now that he was living in a small apartment on his own, he was swamped with his own cooking, laundry, and cleaning up. He now bowed down to Yuzu’s superior management of their own household years ago, and wished he had been more grateful that the Kurosaki Clinic didn’t go out of business for having a pig sty attached to it.
John Donne wasn’t a requirement in college, but then hardly any work of a literary nature was assigned in medical school, unless you counted The Lancet or Pediatrics in Review. One day, exhausted with exams, Ichigo found an abandoned paperback on a park bench and took it home with him.
…All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again….
There was once a time when he felt the burden of every soul in the universe rested solely on his shoulders. Ichigo was much younger then. He thought it was his responsibility to be in the eye of every tempest and it was his duty to call up the furies of his soul to beat down his adversaries, one at a time.
He was up to the task, of course. He just didn’t realize how much of himself he would have to sacrifice in order to defeat them all. Every triumph chiseled away at his human self until there was almost nothing left behind.
In the end Ichigo became his father’s child: he forced himself to let go in order to be with the one person who mattered most, especially since she had almost perished in battle along with him.
Ichigo could have lived with himself if he had died in the Winter War. Reincarnation wasn’t such a bad deal. But he knew his soul would carry the scars of letting Rukia die since she followed him willingly into Hueco Mundo, ready to share his fate. It would have been akin to killing her with his bare hands. He could not live with that thought, in this lifetime or the next.
If he hadn’t been so impetuous and pig-headed, if Ichigo had stopped to think that their enemies wanted him to engage in a full-frontal attack on Hueco Mundo, the lives of so many would not have been sacrificed. It was a miracle that they managed to get out alive to fight in all the sorties that followed.
It would have all been useless if he had helped save the world only to find himself alone, an eternity stretching out without her.
O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall
Ichigo never wanted to be selfish. But after the Winter War dragged to its conclusion - the war took so long its very name was a misnomer - he made a fateful decision.
On a chilly autumn evening, he returned the Shinigami Representative badge to Captain Ukitake. Ichigo didn’t need to explain himself.
The good captain had been kind enough not to argue with him. Instead, the head of the 13th division offered him a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. They then walked together, with the older man entertaining him with stories of his extended family. When they reached the Kuchiki grounds, Captain Ukitake snapped to attention and gave him a gallant salute, and then turned to go.
Ichigo knew he was leaving Soul Society for good. At least, he swore to himself it was his last visit for the duration of this lifetime. He would be back, at the end of it, but not before his natural end.
He chose self-imposed exile over being the center of the spiritual universe, celebrated by many, hated and feared by a handful, and owned by everyone. He was sick of his own importance. Ichigo decided he wanted to be an island onto himself.
He did not stop and ask Rukia what she wanted. That was selfish of him, too. But he did not want to influence her decision with any words: if she loved him, as he suspected she did, then things would come out all right.
Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
At the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned deaths to die.
It was the most risky gambit he had ever played. Ichigo was his mother’s child, after all: Masaki did not demand the same sacrifice from Isshin. Who was he to make Rukia sacrifice her comfortable life and her familiar duties in Soul Society? Who was he to divide her from her brother, now that they learned to share each other’s thoughts?
Rukia didn’t even need to stop and think about it. There was an odd glint of exasperated fondness in her eye while he paced in front of the Kuchiki estate for a quarter of an hour, asking himself these very questions, unable to gather the courage to come inside.
“Give me a couple of hours to talk to Nii-sama, and pack some things,” was all she said, after she finally opened the door for Ichigo and let him in herself.
Ichigo was elated by her decision. He was glad he didn’t have to beg; all words were superfluous. She knew his heart so well.
He waited in the courtyard as he heard the muffled sound of discussion coming somewhere from the bowels of the house. There was no yelling, only a well-bred and steady murmur of voices. Watching the old family retainer rake the pebbles of the rock garden in swirl patterns calmed his thoughts. It was past sunset when Rukia emerged with her brother in tow.
For a split moment Ichigo thought his brains was going to be splattered on the neat rocks of the courtyard, as the captain of the 6th division came out to say farewell.
Byakuya raised a regal eyebrow at him. “Is there anything you wished to ask me?”
Ichigo frowned. “No,” he stammered, confused by the question. “Not really. I only came to say good-bye to Rukia.”
“But she’s coming with you,” Byakuya answered. This time it was his brow that furrowed and deepened. “So farewells are unnecessary.”
Rukia grasped her brother’s arm, as if in warning. “I will be fine, Nii-sama,” she breathed.
Kuchiki Byakuya nodded to his sister, but his piercing gaze never moved from Ichigo’s face. “Good-bye, Kurosaki Ichigo. I entrust my sister to your care. If you should hurt her, I shall hear of it.”
Ichigo was shocked into utter politeness. “Thank you, Kuchiki-sama.”
Byakuya stalked away, his white scarf trailing in the light breeze. He felt uneasy. The young man’s demeanor irked him. He hoped Rukia knew what she was doing; he couldn’t talk her out of it. Perhaps the formalities of their absurdly interdependent relationship could come later. Byakuya loathed complicated affairs but Rukia made him vow to be patient.
Rukia watched her brother return to the house. She then faced Ichigo with a serene smile and handed him a heavy rucksack. “You get to carry it into the living world,” she announced.
Ichigo thought the whole scene was strange. Byakuya was not one to give parting words of mere caution. Yet he didn’t even reproach Ichigo for the abandonment of his honorary post. Perhaps in the aftermath of the Winter War, Byakuya was becoming more tolerant? Maybe he was willing to accept Ichigo as an uncomfortable certainty he could not avoid?
In the intervening years, Byakuya probably took solace in being able to visit Rukia often in the living world. As a captain, he could do as he pleased, assigning any odious tasks to his new vice-captain since Renji was promoted to captain. Ichigo suspected that both brother and best friend dropped by often. Rukia was quite the schemer to avoid mentioning it, but then, whenever she did Ichigo changed the topic.
Most likely they all met up in Karakura while he was away. Renji got along famously with his dad, but Ichigo hoped that Isshin didn’t drive Byakuya to distraction. If there was one last duel he would like to witness, it would be his father versus his future brother-in-law. He wanted to be on the spot if it happened. It was wishful thinking but it was his last bloodthirsty one.
The Winter War dulled his old subconscious desire for glory and conflict. Even his inner Hollow was satiated with the rainfall of blood they unleashed together and bothered him no longer.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
There was a certain irony that Ichigo chose to rest in the living world rather than toil in Soul Society. Death no longer held the promise of eternal peace for him like it still did for many humans who resolved their problems with suicide. These simple folk had no concept of the monotonous life that awaited them at the end of the road. They had no idea that they were slogging it out in this lifetime, only to have to battle it out for survival once more in the next.
Ichigo wasn’t about to be the one to tell the poor fools the truth. That’s why he decided to become a doctor, after all. He could help people, one soul at a time, live out this particular lifespan as well as they could. There were more pleasures here… or at least, more interesting distractions.
In the living world, Ichigo could exist in obscurity. He wasn’t special here. Here in Osaka, no one knew his past or his dealings with heaven or with hell. He was not the harbinger of destruction or the savior of mankind. He was just another struggling young doctor trying to save up for his future with his girlfriend.
Urahara had the last laugh. He tried to make Rukia human with that wretched gigai and in the end he finally succeeded because she left Soul Society of her own accord. Ichigo hoped wherever Urahara was in the cosmos - he sure wasn’t in Soul Society or Hueco Mundo - old Sandals-and-Hat was chuckling behind his fan.
Yoruichi was the only one who hadn’t given up the search for him.
Ichigo wasn’t sure if Urahara was truly dead, along with Inoue. They had sacrificed themselves to ensure the lives of others.
Too bad the unmaking of the Hôgyoku almost annihilated Rukia in the process. It had resided so long in the recesses of her soul that it tried to take her along with it, too.
Ichigo was never Aizen’s main opponent. It took one master manipulator to deal the deathblow to another. Urahara knew from the start he had destroy the Hôgyoku himself along with the madman trying to use it, or perish in the attempt. Ichigo and the others were sent to Hueco Mundo ahead of everyone else, mere pawns in a round of chess played by champions of the game. It was all Urahara’s last hurrah. The man always knew how to do things with style.
Maybe the next time Ichigo was assigned to the preemie ward at the hospital he will find the world-weary eyes of Urahara in the face of a wrinkled newborn. Maybe his next patient in the children’s ward will have the piteous long lashes of Inoue. These were possibilities but he didn’t count on it.
For years he sought their spirit threads and merely came up empty-handed.
Ichigo knew the only way he could honor their sacrifices was to survive.
He tried to tell himself it was better this way. This time in the living world was a respite - from all that will come after.
In the twinkling of an eye, I saw all the rooms in Hell open to my sight.
Yet the tempest was always lurking in the corner of his soul no matter how hard he tried to suppress the memories.
Even now, his nostrils remembered the ooze and stench of fresh blood and viscera, mingled with the scent of salt water and heavy rain. The Winter War was one long downpour of red.
In Ichigo’s nightmares, the bells are ringing. They seemed to be calling him, warning him that no matter where he hid, they would find him in the end. The bells were death knells, mocking his decision to stay in the living world when Soul Society needed him more.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, [then] Europe is the less…. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
Ichigo tried to convince himself that he did not turn their relationship into an island; that Rukia and himself did not deliberately maroon themselves from the constant drizzle of social intrigue. It was not his fault the only full scholarship he received was in Osaka. The effects of the Winter War carried ripples even into his human life - his grades plummeted after such a prolonged absence from high school, he just managed to scrape enough decent grades for graduation. He didn’t blame Kon who did all the studying while he was away - the grades slid after he returned to his body.
It didn’t help matters that he suffered from constant insomnia and anxiety attacks during this time. Isshin remedied the problem by lacing Ichigo’s food with crushed sleeping pills and anti-depressants. Isshin only stopped when Yuzu found out why all the leftovers she made her unwell.
No. Ichigo’s academic career went off the deep end. He was not like Ishida, after all, who still managed to be in the top ten without a mod soul taking notes for him. With a little help from his hospital-administrator father, Ishida got into the most sought-after program for transplant surgery. He was already in his first year of residency at a top-notch hospital in Tokyo and known for his fabulous new method of stitching up patients.
No - Ichigo wasn’t like Ishida in the slightest. He had Rukia, for starters. Still, he secretly wondered why Ishida seemed so better adjusted to the present than him.
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity [of] our love.
Ichigo’s relationship with Rukia changed during these years: its carnal nature developed and deepened, yet its emotional side narrowed in scope. He grew distant with good friends. Even with her, he seemed to have some invisible shutters clouding his brown eyes. Many things seemed to remind him of failure and for Ichigo, failure was always forbidden.
Rukia took all the changes in stride. She adjusted in ways formerly thought impossible by all who knew her. It was as if she was concentrating every fiber of her soul with understanding him. She was patient with his newly developed foibles: his dislike of company, his strange desire to sit on park benches watching old men rake rock gardens, even with his insistence of keeping the lights on during fornication.
For instance, the burden of commuting between Osaka and Karakura fell upon Rukia. She visited him every weekend despite the distance. When she got to his apartment, there occasionally would be home-cooked food on the table waiting for her, or nothing at all.
Nothing at all meant that she was on the menu, no questions asked. He wanted to have sex right away, preferably with her sprawled wide open on the table, and during these times he would not take no for answer. A no would result in a long, drawn-out battle of moods, vicious words and high-level binding spells.
And then night would still end with violent and furious sex on an empty stomach.
So Rukia gradually learned to give in to his sexual demands, no matter how tired or hungry she was. The sooner she allowed herself to be seduced, the better. It was a good thing that the sex was satisfying: if there was one thing about Ichigo, he knew how to use every part of his body to tease multiple orgasms from hers.
Besides, Ichigo’s cooking was always superior after sex. It was his weird way of being apologetic.
When she had time to think about it - usually when he was asleep - sex was the only time the “old” impetuous Ichigo came out. The fierce, sardonic smirk, the unruly throat sounds, the foul mouth, and the urgent need to subdue his desires with a primal release of pressure from within him - it was all there, neatly contained in the act of their flesh joining.
Yes, Ichigo was good in bed, or any other surface they cared to use in lieu of a bed. He was even good during their first time, on his eighteenth birthday, when they were both intoxicated on fruit juice boxes cleverly spiked with injections of vodka. It was so awkward, waking up in the little forest clearing beyond his mother’s grave, half-naked and blushing, their heads pounding with hangovers and still drunk on lust.
Rukia never trusted Isshin to pack a picnic basket again.
The old fiery Ichigo was there, lurking behind the misty weather in his eyes. Why he only unleashed his true self during and immediately after erotic moments Rukia did not comprehend, even if she enjoyed herself thoroughly during these weekends of passionate fucking.
Still, she was worried that sex was the only joy Ichigo got out of life. She wanted more for him: she wanted peace of mind.
Rukia tried not to complain about the current situation. She wanted to attribute all the strangeness to stress. His internship, however, which was about to finish in a few months. After that, though, she was worried. There would no longer be any excuse for his hermitic oddities.
Rukia loved him; she simply did not know what to do with him.
[Death,] Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
While Ichigo was away at medical school, Rukia turned into the apple of Isshin’s eyes. Who would have thought that his last acquired daughter would be the one helping out in the clinic now? Yuzu was fed up with the dying that she channeled her domestic skills towards visual art, usually working on postmodern sculptures of food. And Karin? Well, she perished in the siege of Karakura. Karin had died protecting her sister.
Karin was her mother’s child, too. She did not merely play with Jinta and Ururu at being superheroes without learning a thing or two.
After a few months, Matsumoto found Karin in the first district of Rukongai, entirely by accident. Taking a fancy to her, and perhaps rattled by the casual deathblow Karin received at the hands of Ichimaru Gin, Matsumoto did the unthinkable and took the Kurosaki girl under her wing. Karin was doing well now; she just graduated from the Academy.
Karin visited her sister at the arts college after Yuzu got over her guilt and grief. Their first meetings were difficult for them both, but Matsumoto and Rukia helped soothe over the awkwardness. The four of them got together, whenever they could. But whatever they discussed, Ichigo hadn’t a clue. He never asked and Rukia didn’t volunteer except the most vital of information.
The Kurosaki family was shrinking, the chains keeping them together loosening. Without Rukia, the family would have totally fallen apart years ago.
It was convenient for Isshin that Rukia decided to take up physical therapy at the community college nearby. The old man’s spirit wasn’t twisted beyond repair - he was just a little bent out of kilter. No man should live to see one of his daughters die, in the same manner as his wife. Isshin had hunted Gin down but Hitsugaya got the devil first. Still, the damage was already done.
With Rukia around, Isshin gamely followed through with the life he chose. With her undiminished skill in healing, her kidou spells often went unnoticed and she was the darling of senior citizens who found their ailments magically cured. The Kurosaki Clinic never had more clients since Masaki left complimentary cookies on the admission counter.
Of course, the young men were attracted to the clinic due to the pretty and frail-looking physical therapist that had the strength of a lioness. Ichigo’s non-residence boosted the drawing factor. Yet guys who injured themselves on purpose were mistaken; the capable Ms. Kuchiki didn’t treat them with doting care. Rukia wasn’t one to suffer fools.
Who would have thought Rukia made such a devoted woman? The Winter War had changed her internal make-up in ways that Ichigo instinctively took advantage of but did not understand. Aizen had wrought so much destruction that no one Ichigo loved deeply was left unscathed.
II. Banishing the Clouds
I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
A small hand nudged him roughly. He rolled over.
“You’re brooding again,” Rukia accused, leaning over his prone body.
“No I’m not,” he protested.
“You need to get out of bed. It’s ten o’clock.” She threw The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose of John Donne on his stomach with a loud thump. His muscles instantly recoiled with the weight. “You can’t even pretend you’re still reading; you dropped it on my head a moment ago, you asshole.”
His arms reached out to her and he pulled Rukia on top of him. “Sorry,” he said automatically.
“Argh,” she pulled out the book between them. “I haven’t forgiven you. My head hurts.”
Ichigo cradled the top of her crown, smoothing down her hair until his fingers came to rest on her cheek. He traced the contour of her bottom lip. “Sorry,” he repeated, genuinely sympathetic. His lips brushed against hers lightly. She tasted of mixed berries.
“It’s good you know your place,” she said, as her body relaxed into his.
“And this is your place?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m not a friggin’ futon.”
“You weren’t complaining last night,” she said archly. “If I recall…”
Ichigo’s lips twitched. “You win,” he mock-rolled his eyes. “Or maybe I win.” His hands began to stroke her back. His clever doctor’s hands traveled the length of her spine. His fingers skimmed the length of her thighs under her skirt. “So… do you still want me to get out of bed?”
“Hmm…” Rukia changed her mind as Ichigo’s head dipped towards her chest, and he began to slowly unbutton her blouse with his teeth. Damn him, he knew that always drove her nuts. “Lunchtime will do well enough,” she conceded, as she let her legs fall akimbo over his hips, in open invitation.
Ichigo smiled. He liked nothing best but to ravish her.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
“It’s time to get out of bed now, sleepy-head,” Rukia yawned. It was almost one o’clock. She began to re-arrange her hopelessly crumpled clothing. When she saw that it was a lost cause, she got up and moved towards the closet for a clean outfit.
“I don’t want to get up yet,” Ichigo moaned. He watched her nude body shimmy into a white summer dress. Underwear soon followed.
“I’m starving, you asshole.”
“I can give you something to swallow,” he offered mischievously, throwing off the sheet that covered him. “Ouch! You didn’t have to pinch me there. What if we can’t have children now?”
“Unlike you, I think that can wait,” Rukia retorted. “Right now, I am hungry for more than physical pleasures.”
Ichigo tumbled out of bed, grumbling. He threw on a faded pair of jeans, a freshly laundered shirt and a jacket. He looked up to see Rukia peeking at something in her pocket.
“Are we going anywhere special?” he inquired.
“Maybe,” she said, deliberately noncommittal. “But food first.”
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
They ate their lunch at the little Italian restaurant across the street that served stuffed pasta, antipasti, crisp pizza, and the most fragrant espresso in Osaka. It surprised Ichigo that Rukia had acquired a taste for gaijin food, when she had refused to eat anything foreign when they first met. It amused him that she changed as much as he did.
It was just as well she wasn’t keen on the local delicacies. He had gorged himself on takoyaki when he first arrived. Ichigo learned the hard way that too many octopus balls can spell disaster.
“Now we’ve got the energy to hit the sack again,” he observed.
“Don’t be crude,” she said. “I want to take you somewhere.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow. “You make it seem like this is your city, you know.”
“It might as well be, considering that I here every weekend,” Rukia replied. “I swear, I think I’ve seen more of Osaka than you have in all your years here. You’ve been living in a bubble. The only places you know are the hospital, the university and your apartment. Oh, and all the park benches in between those points. But I discovered a neat little place.”
He snorted.
“Don’t be like that. I had to make reservations so we get it to ourselves. Let’s go.” Her eyes softened. “There are things I need to tell you.”
Ichigo didn’t like the ominous sound of that. Reluctantly, he let her grab his hand as he was pushed out of the restaurant and hauled towards the nearest train station.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
“Where the hell are we?” Ichigo asked, slightly irritated. “This looks like the most boring neighborhood of the north.”
Rukia checked the address in her pocket and continued walking. “Come on, it’s here somewhere. It’s small, it’s easy to miss.”
“And what are we looking for?”
“Ahh, here we are,” Rukia was excited. “Come on, now.”
She directed Ichigo towards what he felt was an oversized hollow block. Approaching it from the street, it didn’t seem like anything special. Perhaps Rukia was pulling his leg.
They entered the most unconventional church he had ever seen in his life - perhaps the strangest building he’s ever encountered (not counting the Shiba residence, of course.) The bare façade was perforated with holes at regular intervals. Ichigo didn’t know if it was the latest trend in architecture or an abandoned construction job. The place was all sharp angles and stark, unrelieved concrete.
Rukia smiled at him ruefully as she pulled him in further, as they walked toward the bend in the entrance. The place seemed desolate; they were the only visitors.
Their footsteps were light against the natural wooden steps, as they descended into the main narrow hall and approached the center of the church.
Ichigo then realized why Rukia dragged him here.
Ichigo didn’t know many Christians, but he was smart enough to know that most churches had a cross of some kind. This church - its cross was made entirely of daylight, filtering cleverly into the box-like structure. The light poured inside from the voids in the concrete walls. The little perforated holes added their own natural pin lights across the room.
It was all very Zen. The place was designed for meditation and soul-searching, after all. It was surely more sophisticated than any park bench he used for the same purpose.
Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks as Rukia walked ahead of him with a playful curl to her lips. She was walking backwards, her steps precise and careful as she descended the steps. She did not take her eyes off his face. She flung her arms out, her palms flat. She was dressed in sheer white.
Ichigo had seen this scene before. Before the pain of the Winter War, he had played it out in his head many times.
Rukia stopped right before she got to the front of the church. She was standing directly behind the cross of light; he could not see her face for the shadows.
“Ichigo, you know what this place is called?” she asked.
“No,” he said hoarsely, watching her from a couple of wooden pews away.
Rukia smiled; at least, he thought she did. “It’s called the Church of Light. It’s one of the most famous landmarks here in Ibaraki. People travel from around the world to see it.”
“It’s an unusual place,” he conceded.
“Does it remind you of anything?” she asked.
The light shifted behind Rukia; fast-moving clouds seemed to have blocked out the sun. Ichigo felt a bit claustrophobic and slightly ill at ease. He was remembering something from the past: their past.
“It looks like the scaffold of the Soukyoku,” he said at last.
“It’s close enough to the thing you destroyed,” she said wryly. “I just wanted to remind you of that moment.”
“Why?” Ichigo demanded. “Why remind me that of that time you almost died? Why remind me of the time I almost failed?”
“Because you didn’t fail, and I didn’t die,” Rukia answered, lowering her arms. “You never fail.”
“Yes I do,” Ichigo muttered. “I failed to save Urahara and Inoue and they are dead. No, I think they are more than dead. I think their souls were unmade.” There. He finally said it, out loud, after all these years.
“You didn’t fail,” Rukia replied stubbornly. “They chose to attack Aizen the way they did. The Winter War was won through them. You didn’t fail then. What you’re failing at… is living in the here and now, with me.”
Ichigo’s eyes bugged out.
Rukia beckoned him. “Come here. I have something to tell you.”
Ichigo didn’t move an inch. He was furious. Why had she brought him here? Was she trying to tell him that he wasn’t making enough sacrifices for her? Was Rukia deliberately trying to pick a fight, in order to say that she didn’t love him anymore?
“Ichigo,” Rukia sighed. He looked so paralyzed with fear and petulance. How many times has he plastered that stupid look on his face, whenever she was going to tell him something important? She rubbed her eyes, exhausted, and then ran up to steps to stand before him again.
“Are you trying to break up with me?” his voice was cold. “Do you want to go back home? Is this what this trip’s all about? You want to go back to Soul Society?”
“You’re such an idiot,” Rukia groaned. “If I wanted to do that, I would have left years ago without a word.” She fumbled with her pocket and fished out something. “I’m not going to let you ruin the moment.”
Then Rukia did what every man she’d ever met thought was impossible.
She knelt before him and gazed up. “Kurosaki Ichigo, will you marry me?”
Rukia held out a man’s gold band in the palm of her joined hands. Her eyes were luminous yet betrayed apprehension.
Ichigo was stunned.
He blushed. He hadn’t blushed in years. He crumbled inside. This was not happening. Wasn’t there something totally wrong here?
Ichigo couldn’t speak for a moment. He bent nearer to her but the words didn’t come out. When he finally opened his mouth, he croaked. “I thought we were already engaged.”
“How can we be engaged, when you never asked me?” she demanded. “Almost a decade I’ve been waiting, Ichigo. If you don’t want to do this, tell me now.”
He didn’t know what to say.
There was nothing, he realized, that he could say.
Time stood still in the Church of Light.
Rukia’s knees were beginning to creak. It’s not right on a woman’s joints, she thought, to kneel on hard wooden steps. She should have thought this out properly. He hadn’t said anything and she was beginning to lose all sensation in her calves. And he still hadn’t taken the ring from her outstretched hands.
“I guess you’re trying to find a tactful way to say no,” she said, crestfallen. “It’s okay. I understand.” She told herself that she wasn’t going to cry if it came to this.
She pocketed the ring hurriedly. She started to get up from her awkward position when Ichigo grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up to her feet. He crushed her towards him in a tight embrace.
“I’m not saying no,” his voice grumbled. “You just surprised the hell out of me, that’s all.” Ichigo swung her into his arms and carried her deftly to one of the pews in the back. Rukia clung to him. He could not see the relief etched on her face, as she burrowed her head in the hollow of his chest and breathed in his natural spice.
“Let me try on that thing you bought,” he said, as she wordlessly slipped the ring on his finger. Rings weren’t his style, but he will wear this one if it made her happy. “Wow. It fits.”
Rukia smiled weakly. Abruptly, she started to weep.
“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” he pleaded with her. Ichigo hadn’t seen her cry in ages. It made him feel helpless.
Rukia couldn’t stop it. She felt so vulnerable all of the sudden. After years of being so strong for him and trying to be his anchor, she was exhausted. That’s what she was trying to tell him: Stop withdrawing into yourself. Stop wallowing in old errors of judgment and nightmares. We cannot change the past but I cannot let you destroy our future. I love you but I am weary. I cannot do this anymore if you do not lend me your strength.
For the first time in years, Ichigo understood exactly what she was thinking. He didn’t have any words left in him either, so he did the best he could do under the circumstances: he cradled her gently and comforted her. So many words were stuck in his throat. I am so sorry to cause you this much agony, Rukia. I love you. I demand too much from you and give so little in return.
Ichigo’s hand curled around hers. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal on his ring finger.
Such a simple gesture yet Rukia could feel his energy flow into her steadily, as if feeding her spirit. His love began to course through her veins once more, warming her. It was like how it used to be, before the ravages of war preyed constantly on his mind, before he began to shut himself up and push everyone away, before he left to study so far away from Karakura.
Ichigo kissed her temple and one of her cheekbones. He had no excuses for his behavior.
The church was silent and tranquil. The only sounds were the light intake of their combined breathing.
They stayed like that for a long time, as the cross of light shifted, changed direction, and played with their eyesight. As twilight began to descend, and the cross was fading from view, Rukia knew they would have to move soon. But the solitude was peaceful here and she was just happy to be in his arms.
The stormy raging behind his brown eyes disappeared, leaving behind a calm sky. It was as if Ichigo was truly gazing upon her, with complete love and trust, for the first time in months.
It was as if a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders.
“I think we better go,” Rukia said reluctantly.
Ichigo nodded. He got up but didn’t put her down even if his arms were getting stiff from being in one position. “All this time I thought we were engaged, you know,” he said quietly, as he threaded his way out of the church. “I thought… the day you left Soul Society with me, it was clear to you that you were spoken for.”
“How could it be clear to me?” she arched an eyebrow over a tear-stained eye. “You were just standing there by the gate for ages. I just said I would come with you. You never said anything.”
“But I assumed that…”
“That’s your problem, Ichigo. You assume everyone knows your intentions. You assume you know what’s best for everyone but you never inform them of your plans. You stopped… telling me things.”
He bristled at the low blows. But deep in his heart, he cursed himself: she was right.
Rukia was relentless but her voice was low and soft. “Look. You never asked. You never gave me any token or made any promises. Nii-sama’s been waiting for you to ask him formally for my hand in marriage. He’s been remarkably patient.” She did not explain why Nii-sama was patient. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s partly my fault, you knew early on I would always want to be with you. But even the strongest of ties need verbal confirmation.”
“You’ve been with my family all this time, and…?”
“Ichigo, you never even asked me to be your girlfriend,” Rukia said, exasperated with his immense stupidity. “You never asked me to move to Osaka with you. You never asked me to visit you every weekend. For all I knew, you thought I was a nakama with fringe benefits. You never say ‘I love you’ except in bed.”
Ichigo was shaken. He never said I love you? He thought he did. He thought he said it all the time. Maybe he’s been talking to himself all this time.
Her clasp on his arm tightened. “I thought I could be content with just that,” she confessed. “I was, for a long time. But I’m not anymore. I’m always worried you’d meet someone else who didn’t know everything you want to forget. I know you didn’t make any friends out here, but I’m never sure.”
God, Ichigo was dead embarrassed of himself. More than embarrassed: he was ashamed.
“I’m not sure if any other woman would want you with your current moodiness,” Rukia added, “but someone might consider certain other factors worth a one night’s stand.” Factors like your doctor’s coat and your muscular body, she added mentally. “Besides, you do cheer up after lots of sex.”
Really, Ichigo felt he was not fit to grovel at the feet of this woman. He should cut himself down with his bankai except he knew he was fast enough to dodge his own blows. How could he have forgotten such an essential detail such as telling her they were in a strictly monogamous relationship since he first made love to her?
“Besides,” she continued, “Why do you think all those guys in Karakura are hanging around the clinic? Keigo led them there, of course. He knew that you never asked.”
Ichigo wanted to impale himself with Zangetsu. “I’m an idiot.”
“Uryu’s been saying that for ages,” Rukia said dryly. “Chad agrees.”
They were almost at the entrance, where a modernist park bench seemed to be waiting for them. He knew what he had to do.
Ichigo placed her down gently on the bench, in the center of the half-circle. Then he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself low before her, his forehead grazing the rough ground.
Rukia waited for his apology.
A full minute passed before Ichigo found the right words to say. “I apologize for the past ten years, for putting you through the worst relationship in the living world. I will change my ways and I will spend the rest of my time on earth making sure I never take you for granted again because I probably don’t deserve your kind heart.”
“Nine and a half,” she corrected. “And…?”
It was hard to think while breathing in dust and gravel, but Ichigo did his best. “I promise to cherish you and protect you with every last drop of power in my body and my soul. In life and in death I will always be yours, if you will do me the honor of being mine.”
He couldn’t see it - his face was pressed to the ground, after all - but her ivory complexion tinged with a light blush.
She just needed to hear him say it, after all.
Ichigo paused. “On a lighter note, I will do my best never to jump to assumptions even if I’m dumb that way, and I promise never to joke about your height ever again. I cannot promise, however, not to make fun of your drawings. I will never let you own a pet rabbit either. I hope you can live with that. You can abuse me with everything else and I will take it.”
Rukia was wistful. “It’s nice to hear you grovel, but I guess that’s fair enough. I don’t know why, but I forgive you.”
“I don’t know why you forgive me either,” he muttered. “Aren’t you going to slap me around now?”
Rukia shook her head. “Oh, I stopped that a long time ago. Now get up. I don’t want anyone else to see you like that.”
Ichigo got up and she did likewise. Linking her arm with his, he still felt a sense of utter failure for being blind and uncommunicative. How could he have let Rukia wait so long for any security of affection and commitment from him? Why did he take her away from Soul Society only to subject her to this shabby treatment? And why did she put up with it? It was all a mystery.
To think, the entire time he had thought he was dedicating his life to her when it was the other way around. Exile was harder on Rukia because she gave up her way of life to be with him. Really, he was such a selfish bastard.
Ichigo would have the rest of his life trying to make it up to her -- this lifetime and the next one, too.
“I’m sorry this was such a stupid afternoon,” she said, apologetically. “We could have gone somewhere fun.”
“No, it wasn’t stupid, it was a good swift kick in the head,” he replied. “Damn, I needed it.”
Rukia smiled sweetly. “I know how you used to enjoy them.”
“Of course I enjoyed you kicking me in the head. You always flashed me your black underwear.”
Rukia dug a sharp elbow into his ribs but his lips still curled at the corners.
As they walked back to the train station, Ichigo had a thunderbolt of inspiration. “I only have three months left of internship,” he said. “Maybe… maybe I should take a year off before doing my residency. Lots of people do that, take a break.”
“Why take a whole year off? I thought you were in a hurry to finish.”
“Because after this afternoon, I think you need to know that you’re more important than my medical career.”
“That’s a relief,” she said sarcastically.
“We can get hitched properly and have a long, good honeymoon,” Ichigo declared, running his fingers through his ginger hair. “I don’t want there to be any more doubts in Karakura or anywhere else about your availability. Until then, I definitely don’t want Keigo or any other friend of his near you or the Kurosaki Clinic.”
“That’s fine with me,” she shrugged. “You can beat him up along with all my other suitors, and then I can charge them double for therapy. It might just work. The money we earn can be our wedding fund.”
He grinned. For some odd reason he liked the idea of beating up Keigo. It was so… nostalgic. “It’s a deal then.”
“Isshin’s going to be ecstatic,” Rukia reflected out loud. “I think I’m the only employee in Karakura with monthly contraceptive benefits.”
Ichigo didn’t quite hear that last bit. “Do you hear that?” He turned to cock his ear sideways.
“Not really,” she strained to listen.
“The bells are ringing.” The sound was no longer ominous and forbidding to his ears. “Someone’s getting married, I suppose?”
Rukia wanted to hide her beaming satisfaction. “Yes, they are,” she answered.
As they headed back to his apartment, intense joy filled Rukia’s heart. All the past years of sacrifice on her part were not wasted. After a decade, he was finally going to come to terms with the past. He was going to pick up the pieces of his tempestuous life instead of merely sleepwalking through it.
She could finally tell Nii-sama and Renji that her self-appointed mission was fulfilled.
Her Ichigo was no longer stranded on the island of his own making, shipwrecked there due to consequences out of his control.
In place of isolation and loneliness, Ichigo was going to build bridges once more: to the mainland of the living world. One day he might even want to reach the coast of Soul Society again.
He will finally abandon his island, and together they will go exploring once more.
Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill;
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfill.
But think that we
Are but turn'd aside to sleep.
They who one another keep
Alive, ne'er parted be.
Notes:
1. In this story, Ichigo is exhibiting symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, a realistic outcome of being a teenager fighting in a major war. If you’ve read Rurouni Kenshin, this should be familiar. Ichigo’s behavior in chapter 190 and 239 indicate that it is possible for him to go off the deep end. If some readers found the piece too dark to handle, I hope the ending was happy enough. (If not I can always write a purely lemon sequel.) I admit I was influenced by stories of young men suffering from shell shock during World War I.
2. Nakama. As defined by some fan translations, it’s a Japanese term referring to a friend who goes to one’s aid without question. Another loose translation would be colleague. Given the context of when the word is used in the manga, I think it is closer to blood brother - someone who shares the same intense life-changing moments.
3. Inspirations for this work include photography of Tadao Ando’s The Church of Light (yes, it really exists, and I want to visit it!) and the poetry and prose of John Donne, who is quoted throughout the story. Words in [brackets] are my own woeful additions.
4. The title is an allusion to William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, although other vague influences on the theme of exile - running from Umberto Eco’s The Island of the Day Before to the mental image of Captain Jack Sparrow going insane - came to mind as well.
5. I’m not heavy into classical music but for some reason I played Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major, Op. 9 No. 2 at least fifty times while writing this. You might want to consider listening to it, too. :) It’s sad but romantic.
6. Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers and readers (both known and unknown), but most especially to 07Janina07, touchyourtalala, wicked_liz here at lj and Tituba over at MediaMiner. Officially one month in the fandom, and I feel blessed to have received kind and encouraging words.
Thank you for finishing this story! It took a long time to write and edit. If there are any grammatical or typographical mistakes, let me know so I can correct it. (gulp) I don’t have a beta reader.
I'm really nervous about this though. As a rule I don't join contests. I'm shy that way. But I guess I wanted to challenge myself this time around, and hey -- talk about pressure, I spent a week writing this.
I know I should edit it to be shorter, but I couldn't figure out which details to cut out. Argh. Anyway, here goes. Grab a Coke and some tissues if you get weepy at character deaths. Sit back and relax, because this is a long story.
Title: The Island
Author: Laurie Bunter
Category: Fanfiction
Theme: Tempest
Genre: Psychological / Romance / Angst
Rating: M (or Y) for implied sexual situations and swearing.
Length: 8074 words (sorry, it's really long!)
Timeline: Set ten years after main storyline. The outcome of the Winter War is discussed in long, dark detail. Character deaths. Some spoilers for the manga abound. This work diverges with a plot point mentioned in Chapter 289.
Fair Warning: The first part, Aftermath of the Storm, is angsty but has most of the sexual references. The second part Banishing the Clouds contains all the sweetness.
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite and all the corporations he deals with. I hope said corporations pay him well in royalties, because he’s a great mangaka.
Summary: When life is a shipwrecked boat, it’s better not to be Kurosaki Ichigo. Exile and isolation has gotten the better of our former Shinigami representative. Doctor, heal thyself - or else your fiancée will do it for you. :)
The Island By Laurie Bunter
I. Aftermath of the Storm
Kurosaki Ichigo was concerned that he had finally outgrown Shakespeare. He tried to re-read the Sonnets last night and found himself bored with the Bard. A pity, really, now that Rukia was plodding dutifully through A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
At least she hadn’t started on King Lear yet. She was curious about it ever since they saw the Kurosawa Akira version on cable. Ichigo was going to have to find a polite way to tell her to drop it and go back to reading Delilah: Lily of the Slums instead.
A deafening clang came through his opened bedroom window. What the hell was that?
“Rukia… there are bells ringing,” he said, turning to her. Her ebony head was leaning against the bed as she sat on the floor.
“Silly,” she replied, not looking up from her book. “Of course they are ringing. Someone’s getting married at the church.”
Ichigo concentrated until he found them, at least five blocks away. She was right. There were two ecstatic spirits, bursting with joy, and several other duly happy humans. Wedding guests, no doubt, on their way to the reception hall.
“I’ve never noticed the bells before,” he said. “They’re quite… loud.”
She snorted. “I told you that you would go deaf listening to rock music,” she said. “They ring those bells every Sunday at seven o’clock. It wakes me up. More, if there’s a wedding or a funeral.”
Ichigo shrugged. Sunday morning was his single time to loll in bed. Had he been so tired that he never heard them before? Perhaps his mind was just preoccupied.
Lately he’s been reading John Donne when he had a rare moment to spare for himself. Now that he was living in a small apartment on his own, he was swamped with his own cooking, laundry, and cleaning up. He now bowed down to Yuzu’s superior management of their own household years ago, and wished he had been more grateful that the Kurosaki Clinic didn’t go out of business for having a pig sty attached to it.
John Donne wasn’t a requirement in college, but then hardly any work of a literary nature was assigned in medical school, unless you counted The Lancet or Pediatrics in Review. One day, exhausted with exams, Ichigo found an abandoned paperback on a park bench and took it home with him.
…All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again….
There was once a time when he felt the burden of every soul in the universe rested solely on his shoulders. Ichigo was much younger then. He thought it was his responsibility to be in the eye of every tempest and it was his duty to call up the furies of his soul to beat down his adversaries, one at a time.
He was up to the task, of course. He just didn’t realize how much of himself he would have to sacrifice in order to defeat them all. Every triumph chiseled away at his human self until there was almost nothing left behind.
In the end Ichigo became his father’s child: he forced himself to let go in order to be with the one person who mattered most, especially since she had almost perished in battle along with him.
Ichigo could have lived with himself if he had died in the Winter War. Reincarnation wasn’t such a bad deal. But he knew his soul would carry the scars of letting Rukia die since she followed him willingly into Hueco Mundo, ready to share his fate. It would have been akin to killing her with his bare hands. He could not live with that thought, in this lifetime or the next.
If he hadn’t been so impetuous and pig-headed, if Ichigo had stopped to think that their enemies wanted him to engage in a full-frontal attack on Hueco Mundo, the lives of so many would not have been sacrificed. It was a miracle that they managed to get out alive to fight in all the sorties that followed.
It would have all been useless if he had helped save the world only to find himself alone, an eternity stretching out without her.
O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall
Ichigo never wanted to be selfish. But after the Winter War dragged to its conclusion - the war took so long its very name was a misnomer - he made a fateful decision.
On a chilly autumn evening, he returned the Shinigami Representative badge to Captain Ukitake. Ichigo didn’t need to explain himself.
The good captain had been kind enough not to argue with him. Instead, the head of the 13th division offered him a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. They then walked together, with the older man entertaining him with stories of his extended family. When they reached the Kuchiki grounds, Captain Ukitake snapped to attention and gave him a gallant salute, and then turned to go.
Ichigo knew he was leaving Soul Society for good. At least, he swore to himself it was his last visit for the duration of this lifetime. He would be back, at the end of it, but not before his natural end.
He chose self-imposed exile over being the center of the spiritual universe, celebrated by many, hated and feared by a handful, and owned by everyone. He was sick of his own importance. Ichigo decided he wanted to be an island onto himself.
He did not stop and ask Rukia what she wanted. That was selfish of him, too. But he did not want to influence her decision with any words: if she loved him, as he suspected she did, then things would come out all right.
Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
At the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned deaths to die.
It was the most risky gambit he had ever played. Ichigo was his mother’s child, after all: Masaki did not demand the same sacrifice from Isshin. Who was he to make Rukia sacrifice her comfortable life and her familiar duties in Soul Society? Who was he to divide her from her brother, now that they learned to share each other’s thoughts?
Rukia didn’t even need to stop and think about it. There was an odd glint of exasperated fondness in her eye while he paced in front of the Kuchiki estate for a quarter of an hour, asking himself these very questions, unable to gather the courage to come inside.
“Give me a couple of hours to talk to Nii-sama, and pack some things,” was all she said, after she finally opened the door for Ichigo and let him in herself.
Ichigo was elated by her decision. He was glad he didn’t have to beg; all words were superfluous. She knew his heart so well.
He waited in the courtyard as he heard the muffled sound of discussion coming somewhere from the bowels of the house. There was no yelling, only a well-bred and steady murmur of voices. Watching the old family retainer rake the pebbles of the rock garden in swirl patterns calmed his thoughts. It was past sunset when Rukia emerged with her brother in tow.
For a split moment Ichigo thought his brains was going to be splattered on the neat rocks of the courtyard, as the captain of the 6th division came out to say farewell.
Byakuya raised a regal eyebrow at him. “Is there anything you wished to ask me?”
Ichigo frowned. “No,” he stammered, confused by the question. “Not really. I only came to say good-bye to Rukia.”
“But she’s coming with you,” Byakuya answered. This time it was his brow that furrowed and deepened. “So farewells are unnecessary.”
Rukia grasped her brother’s arm, as if in warning. “I will be fine, Nii-sama,” she breathed.
Kuchiki Byakuya nodded to his sister, but his piercing gaze never moved from Ichigo’s face. “Good-bye, Kurosaki Ichigo. I entrust my sister to your care. If you should hurt her, I shall hear of it.”
Ichigo was shocked into utter politeness. “Thank you, Kuchiki-sama.”
Byakuya stalked away, his white scarf trailing in the light breeze. He felt uneasy. The young man’s demeanor irked him. He hoped Rukia knew what she was doing; he couldn’t talk her out of it. Perhaps the formalities of their absurdly interdependent relationship could come later. Byakuya loathed complicated affairs but Rukia made him vow to be patient.
Rukia watched her brother return to the house. She then faced Ichigo with a serene smile and handed him a heavy rucksack. “You get to carry it into the living world,” she announced.
Ichigo thought the whole scene was strange. Byakuya was not one to give parting words of mere caution. Yet he didn’t even reproach Ichigo for the abandonment of his honorary post. Perhaps in the aftermath of the Winter War, Byakuya was becoming more tolerant? Maybe he was willing to accept Ichigo as an uncomfortable certainty he could not avoid?
In the intervening years, Byakuya probably took solace in being able to visit Rukia often in the living world. As a captain, he could do as he pleased, assigning any odious tasks to his new vice-captain since Renji was promoted to captain. Ichigo suspected that both brother and best friend dropped by often. Rukia was quite the schemer to avoid mentioning it, but then, whenever she did Ichigo changed the topic.
Most likely they all met up in Karakura while he was away. Renji got along famously with his dad, but Ichigo hoped that Isshin didn’t drive Byakuya to distraction. If there was one last duel he would like to witness, it would be his father versus his future brother-in-law. He wanted to be on the spot if it happened. It was wishful thinking but it was his last bloodthirsty one.
The Winter War dulled his old subconscious desire for glory and conflict. Even his inner Hollow was satiated with the rainfall of blood they unleashed together and bothered him no longer.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
There was a certain irony that Ichigo chose to rest in the living world rather than toil in Soul Society. Death no longer held the promise of eternal peace for him like it still did for many humans who resolved their problems with suicide. These simple folk had no concept of the monotonous life that awaited them at the end of the road. They had no idea that they were slogging it out in this lifetime, only to have to battle it out for survival once more in the next.
Ichigo wasn’t about to be the one to tell the poor fools the truth. That’s why he decided to become a doctor, after all. He could help people, one soul at a time, live out this particular lifespan as well as they could. There were more pleasures here… or at least, more interesting distractions.
In the living world, Ichigo could exist in obscurity. He wasn’t special here. Here in Osaka, no one knew his past or his dealings with heaven or with hell. He was not the harbinger of destruction or the savior of mankind. He was just another struggling young doctor trying to save up for his future with his girlfriend.
Urahara had the last laugh. He tried to make Rukia human with that wretched gigai and in the end he finally succeeded because she left Soul Society of her own accord. Ichigo hoped wherever Urahara was in the cosmos - he sure wasn’t in Soul Society or Hueco Mundo - old Sandals-and-Hat was chuckling behind his fan.
Yoruichi was the only one who hadn’t given up the search for him.
Ichigo wasn’t sure if Urahara was truly dead, along with Inoue. They had sacrificed themselves to ensure the lives of others.
Too bad the unmaking of the Hôgyoku almost annihilated Rukia in the process. It had resided so long in the recesses of her soul that it tried to take her along with it, too.
Ichigo was never Aizen’s main opponent. It took one master manipulator to deal the deathblow to another. Urahara knew from the start he had destroy the Hôgyoku himself along with the madman trying to use it, or perish in the attempt. Ichigo and the others were sent to Hueco Mundo ahead of everyone else, mere pawns in a round of chess played by champions of the game. It was all Urahara’s last hurrah. The man always knew how to do things with style.
Maybe the next time Ichigo was assigned to the preemie ward at the hospital he will find the world-weary eyes of Urahara in the face of a wrinkled newborn. Maybe his next patient in the children’s ward will have the piteous long lashes of Inoue. These were possibilities but he didn’t count on it.
For years he sought their spirit threads and merely came up empty-handed.
Ichigo knew the only way he could honor their sacrifices was to survive.
He tried to tell himself it was better this way. This time in the living world was a respite - from all that will come after.
In the twinkling of an eye, I saw all the rooms in Hell open to my sight.
Yet the tempest was always lurking in the corner of his soul no matter how hard he tried to suppress the memories.
Even now, his nostrils remembered the ooze and stench of fresh blood and viscera, mingled with the scent of salt water and heavy rain. The Winter War was one long downpour of red.
In Ichigo’s nightmares, the bells are ringing. They seemed to be calling him, warning him that no matter where he hid, they would find him in the end. The bells were death knells, mocking his decision to stay in the living world when Soul Society needed him more.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, [then] Europe is the less…. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
Ichigo tried to convince himself that he did not turn their relationship into an island; that Rukia and himself did not deliberately maroon themselves from the constant drizzle of social intrigue. It was not his fault the only full scholarship he received was in Osaka. The effects of the Winter War carried ripples even into his human life - his grades plummeted after such a prolonged absence from high school, he just managed to scrape enough decent grades for graduation. He didn’t blame Kon who did all the studying while he was away - the grades slid after he returned to his body.
It didn’t help matters that he suffered from constant insomnia and anxiety attacks during this time. Isshin remedied the problem by lacing Ichigo’s food with crushed sleeping pills and anti-depressants. Isshin only stopped when Yuzu found out why all the leftovers she made her unwell.
No. Ichigo’s academic career went off the deep end. He was not like Ishida, after all, who still managed to be in the top ten without a mod soul taking notes for him. With a little help from his hospital-administrator father, Ishida got into the most sought-after program for transplant surgery. He was already in his first year of residency at a top-notch hospital in Tokyo and known for his fabulous new method of stitching up patients.
No - Ichigo wasn’t like Ishida in the slightest. He had Rukia, for starters. Still, he secretly wondered why Ishida seemed so better adjusted to the present than him.
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity [of] our love.
Ichigo’s relationship with Rukia changed during these years: its carnal nature developed and deepened, yet its emotional side narrowed in scope. He grew distant with good friends. Even with her, he seemed to have some invisible shutters clouding his brown eyes. Many things seemed to remind him of failure and for Ichigo, failure was always forbidden.
Rukia took all the changes in stride. She adjusted in ways formerly thought impossible by all who knew her. It was as if she was concentrating every fiber of her soul with understanding him. She was patient with his newly developed foibles: his dislike of company, his strange desire to sit on park benches watching old men rake rock gardens, even with his insistence of keeping the lights on during fornication.
For instance, the burden of commuting between Osaka and Karakura fell upon Rukia. She visited him every weekend despite the distance. When she got to his apartment, there occasionally would be home-cooked food on the table waiting for her, or nothing at all.
Nothing at all meant that she was on the menu, no questions asked. He wanted to have sex right away, preferably with her sprawled wide open on the table, and during these times he would not take no for answer. A no would result in a long, drawn-out battle of moods, vicious words and high-level binding spells.
And then night would still end with violent and furious sex on an empty stomach.
So Rukia gradually learned to give in to his sexual demands, no matter how tired or hungry she was. The sooner she allowed herself to be seduced, the better. It was a good thing that the sex was satisfying: if there was one thing about Ichigo, he knew how to use every part of his body to tease multiple orgasms from hers.
Besides, Ichigo’s cooking was always superior after sex. It was his weird way of being apologetic.
When she had time to think about it - usually when he was asleep - sex was the only time the “old” impetuous Ichigo came out. The fierce, sardonic smirk, the unruly throat sounds, the foul mouth, and the urgent need to subdue his desires with a primal release of pressure from within him - it was all there, neatly contained in the act of their flesh joining.
Yes, Ichigo was good in bed, or any other surface they cared to use in lieu of a bed. He was even good during their first time, on his eighteenth birthday, when they were both intoxicated on fruit juice boxes cleverly spiked with injections of vodka. It was so awkward, waking up in the little forest clearing beyond his mother’s grave, half-naked and blushing, their heads pounding with hangovers and still drunk on lust.
Rukia never trusted Isshin to pack a picnic basket again.
The old fiery Ichigo was there, lurking behind the misty weather in his eyes. Why he only unleashed his true self during and immediately after erotic moments Rukia did not comprehend, even if she enjoyed herself thoroughly during these weekends of passionate fucking.
Still, she was worried that sex was the only joy Ichigo got out of life. She wanted more for him: she wanted peace of mind.
Rukia tried not to complain about the current situation. She wanted to attribute all the strangeness to stress. His internship, however, which was about to finish in a few months. After that, though, she was worried. There would no longer be any excuse for his hermitic oddities.
Rukia loved him; she simply did not know what to do with him.
[Death,] Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
While Ichigo was away at medical school, Rukia turned into the apple of Isshin’s eyes. Who would have thought that his last acquired daughter would be the one helping out in the clinic now? Yuzu was fed up with the dying that she channeled her domestic skills towards visual art, usually working on postmodern sculptures of food. And Karin? Well, she perished in the siege of Karakura. Karin had died protecting her sister.
Karin was her mother’s child, too. She did not merely play with Jinta and Ururu at being superheroes without learning a thing or two.
After a few months, Matsumoto found Karin in the first district of Rukongai, entirely by accident. Taking a fancy to her, and perhaps rattled by the casual deathblow Karin received at the hands of Ichimaru Gin, Matsumoto did the unthinkable and took the Kurosaki girl under her wing. Karin was doing well now; she just graduated from the Academy.
Karin visited her sister at the arts college after Yuzu got over her guilt and grief. Their first meetings were difficult for them both, but Matsumoto and Rukia helped soothe over the awkwardness. The four of them got together, whenever they could. But whatever they discussed, Ichigo hadn’t a clue. He never asked and Rukia didn’t volunteer except the most vital of information.
The Kurosaki family was shrinking, the chains keeping them together loosening. Without Rukia, the family would have totally fallen apart years ago.
It was convenient for Isshin that Rukia decided to take up physical therapy at the community college nearby. The old man’s spirit wasn’t twisted beyond repair - he was just a little bent out of kilter. No man should live to see one of his daughters die, in the same manner as his wife. Isshin had hunted Gin down but Hitsugaya got the devil first. Still, the damage was already done.
With Rukia around, Isshin gamely followed through with the life he chose. With her undiminished skill in healing, her kidou spells often went unnoticed and she was the darling of senior citizens who found their ailments magically cured. The Kurosaki Clinic never had more clients since Masaki left complimentary cookies on the admission counter.
Of course, the young men were attracted to the clinic due to the pretty and frail-looking physical therapist that had the strength of a lioness. Ichigo’s non-residence boosted the drawing factor. Yet guys who injured themselves on purpose were mistaken; the capable Ms. Kuchiki didn’t treat them with doting care. Rukia wasn’t one to suffer fools.
Who would have thought Rukia made such a devoted woman? The Winter War had changed her internal make-up in ways that Ichigo instinctively took advantage of but did not understand. Aizen had wrought so much destruction that no one Ichigo loved deeply was left unscathed.
II. Banishing the Clouds
I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
A small hand nudged him roughly. He rolled over.
“You’re brooding again,” Rukia accused, leaning over his prone body.
“No I’m not,” he protested.
“You need to get out of bed. It’s ten o’clock.” She threw The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose of John Donne on his stomach with a loud thump. His muscles instantly recoiled with the weight. “You can’t even pretend you’re still reading; you dropped it on my head a moment ago, you asshole.”
His arms reached out to her and he pulled Rukia on top of him. “Sorry,” he said automatically.
“Argh,” she pulled out the book between them. “I haven’t forgiven you. My head hurts.”
Ichigo cradled the top of her crown, smoothing down her hair until his fingers came to rest on her cheek. He traced the contour of her bottom lip. “Sorry,” he repeated, genuinely sympathetic. His lips brushed against hers lightly. She tasted of mixed berries.
“It’s good you know your place,” she said, as her body relaxed into his.
“And this is your place?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m not a friggin’ futon.”
“You weren’t complaining last night,” she said archly. “If I recall…”
Ichigo’s lips twitched. “You win,” he mock-rolled his eyes. “Or maybe I win.” His hands began to stroke her back. His clever doctor’s hands traveled the length of her spine. His fingers skimmed the length of her thighs under her skirt. “So… do you still want me to get out of bed?”
“Hmm…” Rukia changed her mind as Ichigo’s head dipped towards her chest, and he began to slowly unbutton her blouse with his teeth. Damn him, he knew that always drove her nuts. “Lunchtime will do well enough,” she conceded, as she let her legs fall akimbo over his hips, in open invitation.
Ichigo smiled. He liked nothing best but to ravish her.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
“It’s time to get out of bed now, sleepy-head,” Rukia yawned. It was almost one o’clock. She began to re-arrange her hopelessly crumpled clothing. When she saw that it was a lost cause, she got up and moved towards the closet for a clean outfit.
“I don’t want to get up yet,” Ichigo moaned. He watched her nude body shimmy into a white summer dress. Underwear soon followed.
“I’m starving, you asshole.”
“I can give you something to swallow,” he offered mischievously, throwing off the sheet that covered him. “Ouch! You didn’t have to pinch me there. What if we can’t have children now?”
“Unlike you, I think that can wait,” Rukia retorted. “Right now, I am hungry for more than physical pleasures.”
Ichigo tumbled out of bed, grumbling. He threw on a faded pair of jeans, a freshly laundered shirt and a jacket. He looked up to see Rukia peeking at something in her pocket.
“Are we going anywhere special?” he inquired.
“Maybe,” she said, deliberately noncommittal. “But food first.”
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
They ate their lunch at the little Italian restaurant across the street that served stuffed pasta, antipasti, crisp pizza, and the most fragrant espresso in Osaka. It surprised Ichigo that Rukia had acquired a taste for gaijin food, when she had refused to eat anything foreign when they first met. It amused him that she changed as much as he did.
It was just as well she wasn’t keen on the local delicacies. He had gorged himself on takoyaki when he first arrived. Ichigo learned the hard way that too many octopus balls can spell disaster.
“Now we’ve got the energy to hit the sack again,” he observed.
“Don’t be crude,” she said. “I want to take you somewhere.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow. “You make it seem like this is your city, you know.”
“It might as well be, considering that I here every weekend,” Rukia replied. “I swear, I think I’ve seen more of Osaka than you have in all your years here. You’ve been living in a bubble. The only places you know are the hospital, the university and your apartment. Oh, and all the park benches in between those points. But I discovered a neat little place.”
He snorted.
“Don’t be like that. I had to make reservations so we get it to ourselves. Let’s go.” Her eyes softened. “There are things I need to tell you.”
Ichigo didn’t like the ominous sound of that. Reluctantly, he let her grab his hand as he was pushed out of the restaurant and hauled towards the nearest train station.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
“Where the hell are we?” Ichigo asked, slightly irritated. “This looks like the most boring neighborhood of the north.”
Rukia checked the address in her pocket and continued walking. “Come on, it’s here somewhere. It’s small, it’s easy to miss.”
“And what are we looking for?”
“Ahh, here we are,” Rukia was excited. “Come on, now.”
She directed Ichigo towards what he felt was an oversized hollow block. Approaching it from the street, it didn’t seem like anything special. Perhaps Rukia was pulling his leg.
They entered the most unconventional church he had ever seen in his life - perhaps the strangest building he’s ever encountered (not counting the Shiba residence, of course.) The bare façade was perforated with holes at regular intervals. Ichigo didn’t know if it was the latest trend in architecture or an abandoned construction job. The place was all sharp angles and stark, unrelieved concrete.
Rukia smiled at him ruefully as she pulled him in further, as they walked toward the bend in the entrance. The place seemed desolate; they were the only visitors.
Their footsteps were light against the natural wooden steps, as they descended into the main narrow hall and approached the center of the church.
Ichigo then realized why Rukia dragged him here.
Ichigo didn’t know many Christians, but he was smart enough to know that most churches had a cross of some kind. This church - its cross was made entirely of daylight, filtering cleverly into the box-like structure. The light poured inside from the voids in the concrete walls. The little perforated holes added their own natural pin lights across the room.
It was all very Zen. The place was designed for meditation and soul-searching, after all. It was surely more sophisticated than any park bench he used for the same purpose.
Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks as Rukia walked ahead of him with a playful curl to her lips. She was walking backwards, her steps precise and careful as she descended the steps. She did not take her eyes off his face. She flung her arms out, her palms flat. She was dressed in sheer white.
Ichigo had seen this scene before. Before the pain of the Winter War, he had played it out in his head many times.
Rukia stopped right before she got to the front of the church. She was standing directly behind the cross of light; he could not see her face for the shadows.
“Ichigo, you know what this place is called?” she asked.
“No,” he said hoarsely, watching her from a couple of wooden pews away.
Rukia smiled; at least, he thought she did. “It’s called the Church of Light. It’s one of the most famous landmarks here in Ibaraki. People travel from around the world to see it.”
“It’s an unusual place,” he conceded.
“Does it remind you of anything?” she asked.
The light shifted behind Rukia; fast-moving clouds seemed to have blocked out the sun. Ichigo felt a bit claustrophobic and slightly ill at ease. He was remembering something from the past: their past.
“It looks like the scaffold of the Soukyoku,” he said at last.
“It’s close enough to the thing you destroyed,” she said wryly. “I just wanted to remind you of that moment.”
“Why?” Ichigo demanded. “Why remind me that of that time you almost died? Why remind me of the time I almost failed?”
“Because you didn’t fail, and I didn’t die,” Rukia answered, lowering her arms. “You never fail.”
“Yes I do,” Ichigo muttered. “I failed to save Urahara and Inoue and they are dead. No, I think they are more than dead. I think their souls were unmade.” There. He finally said it, out loud, after all these years.
“You didn’t fail,” Rukia replied stubbornly. “They chose to attack Aizen the way they did. The Winter War was won through them. You didn’t fail then. What you’re failing at… is living in the here and now, with me.”
Ichigo’s eyes bugged out.
Rukia beckoned him. “Come here. I have something to tell you.”
Ichigo didn’t move an inch. He was furious. Why had she brought him here? Was she trying to tell him that he wasn’t making enough sacrifices for her? Was Rukia deliberately trying to pick a fight, in order to say that she didn’t love him anymore?
“Ichigo,” Rukia sighed. He looked so paralyzed with fear and petulance. How many times has he plastered that stupid look on his face, whenever she was going to tell him something important? She rubbed her eyes, exhausted, and then ran up to steps to stand before him again.
“Are you trying to break up with me?” his voice was cold. “Do you want to go back home? Is this what this trip’s all about? You want to go back to Soul Society?”
“You’re such an idiot,” Rukia groaned. “If I wanted to do that, I would have left years ago without a word.” She fumbled with her pocket and fished out something. “I’m not going to let you ruin the moment.”
Then Rukia did what every man she’d ever met thought was impossible.
She knelt before him and gazed up. “Kurosaki Ichigo, will you marry me?”
Rukia held out a man’s gold band in the palm of her joined hands. Her eyes were luminous yet betrayed apprehension.
Ichigo was stunned.
He blushed. He hadn’t blushed in years. He crumbled inside. This was not happening. Wasn’t there something totally wrong here?
Ichigo couldn’t speak for a moment. He bent nearer to her but the words didn’t come out. When he finally opened his mouth, he croaked. “I thought we were already engaged.”
“How can we be engaged, when you never asked me?” she demanded. “Almost a decade I’ve been waiting, Ichigo. If you don’t want to do this, tell me now.”
He didn’t know what to say.
There was nothing, he realized, that he could say.
Time stood still in the Church of Light.
Rukia’s knees were beginning to creak. It’s not right on a woman’s joints, she thought, to kneel on hard wooden steps. She should have thought this out properly. He hadn’t said anything and she was beginning to lose all sensation in her calves. And he still hadn’t taken the ring from her outstretched hands.
“I guess you’re trying to find a tactful way to say no,” she said, crestfallen. “It’s okay. I understand.” She told herself that she wasn’t going to cry if it came to this.
She pocketed the ring hurriedly. She started to get up from her awkward position when Ichigo grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up to her feet. He crushed her towards him in a tight embrace.
“I’m not saying no,” his voice grumbled. “You just surprised the hell out of me, that’s all.” Ichigo swung her into his arms and carried her deftly to one of the pews in the back. Rukia clung to him. He could not see the relief etched on her face, as she burrowed her head in the hollow of his chest and breathed in his natural spice.
“Let me try on that thing you bought,” he said, as she wordlessly slipped the ring on his finger. Rings weren’t his style, but he will wear this one if it made her happy. “Wow. It fits.”
Rukia smiled weakly. Abruptly, she started to weep.
“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” he pleaded with her. Ichigo hadn’t seen her cry in ages. It made him feel helpless.
Rukia couldn’t stop it. She felt so vulnerable all of the sudden. After years of being so strong for him and trying to be his anchor, she was exhausted. That’s what she was trying to tell him: Stop withdrawing into yourself. Stop wallowing in old errors of judgment and nightmares. We cannot change the past but I cannot let you destroy our future. I love you but I am weary. I cannot do this anymore if you do not lend me your strength.
For the first time in years, Ichigo understood exactly what she was thinking. He didn’t have any words left in him either, so he did the best he could do under the circumstances: he cradled her gently and comforted her. So many words were stuck in his throat. I am so sorry to cause you this much agony, Rukia. I love you. I demand too much from you and give so little in return.
Ichigo’s hand curled around hers. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal on his ring finger.
Such a simple gesture yet Rukia could feel his energy flow into her steadily, as if feeding her spirit. His love began to course through her veins once more, warming her. It was like how it used to be, before the ravages of war preyed constantly on his mind, before he began to shut himself up and push everyone away, before he left to study so far away from Karakura.
Ichigo kissed her temple and one of her cheekbones. He had no excuses for his behavior.
The church was silent and tranquil. The only sounds were the light intake of their combined breathing.
They stayed like that for a long time, as the cross of light shifted, changed direction, and played with their eyesight. As twilight began to descend, and the cross was fading from view, Rukia knew they would have to move soon. But the solitude was peaceful here and she was just happy to be in his arms.
The stormy raging behind his brown eyes disappeared, leaving behind a calm sky. It was as if Ichigo was truly gazing upon her, with complete love and trust, for the first time in months.
It was as if a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders.
“I think we better go,” Rukia said reluctantly.
Ichigo nodded. He got up but didn’t put her down even if his arms were getting stiff from being in one position. “All this time I thought we were engaged, you know,” he said quietly, as he threaded his way out of the church. “I thought… the day you left Soul Society with me, it was clear to you that you were spoken for.”
“How could it be clear to me?” she arched an eyebrow over a tear-stained eye. “You were just standing there by the gate for ages. I just said I would come with you. You never said anything.”
“But I assumed that…”
“That’s your problem, Ichigo. You assume everyone knows your intentions. You assume you know what’s best for everyone but you never inform them of your plans. You stopped… telling me things.”
He bristled at the low blows. But deep in his heart, he cursed himself: she was right.
Rukia was relentless but her voice was low and soft. “Look. You never asked. You never gave me any token or made any promises. Nii-sama’s been waiting for you to ask him formally for my hand in marriage. He’s been remarkably patient.” She did not explain why Nii-sama was patient. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s partly my fault, you knew early on I would always want to be with you. But even the strongest of ties need verbal confirmation.”
“You’ve been with my family all this time, and…?”
“Ichigo, you never even asked me to be your girlfriend,” Rukia said, exasperated with his immense stupidity. “You never asked me to move to Osaka with you. You never asked me to visit you every weekend. For all I knew, you thought I was a nakama with fringe benefits. You never say ‘I love you’ except in bed.”
Ichigo was shaken. He never said I love you? He thought he did. He thought he said it all the time. Maybe he’s been talking to himself all this time.
Her clasp on his arm tightened. “I thought I could be content with just that,” she confessed. “I was, for a long time. But I’m not anymore. I’m always worried you’d meet someone else who didn’t know everything you want to forget. I know you didn’t make any friends out here, but I’m never sure.”
God, Ichigo was dead embarrassed of himself. More than embarrassed: he was ashamed.
“I’m not sure if any other woman would want you with your current moodiness,” Rukia added, “but someone might consider certain other factors worth a one night’s stand.” Factors like your doctor’s coat and your muscular body, she added mentally. “Besides, you do cheer up after lots of sex.”
Really, Ichigo felt he was not fit to grovel at the feet of this woman. He should cut himself down with his bankai except he knew he was fast enough to dodge his own blows. How could he have forgotten such an essential detail such as telling her they were in a strictly monogamous relationship since he first made love to her?
“Besides,” she continued, “Why do you think all those guys in Karakura are hanging around the clinic? Keigo led them there, of course. He knew that you never asked.”
Ichigo wanted to impale himself with Zangetsu. “I’m an idiot.”
“Uryu’s been saying that for ages,” Rukia said dryly. “Chad agrees.”
They were almost at the entrance, where a modernist park bench seemed to be waiting for them. He knew what he had to do.
Ichigo placed her down gently on the bench, in the center of the half-circle. Then he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself low before her, his forehead grazing the rough ground.
Rukia waited for his apology.
A full minute passed before Ichigo found the right words to say. “I apologize for the past ten years, for putting you through the worst relationship in the living world. I will change my ways and I will spend the rest of my time on earth making sure I never take you for granted again because I probably don’t deserve your kind heart.”
“Nine and a half,” she corrected. “And…?”
It was hard to think while breathing in dust and gravel, but Ichigo did his best. “I promise to cherish you and protect you with every last drop of power in my body and my soul. In life and in death I will always be yours, if you will do me the honor of being mine.”
He couldn’t see it - his face was pressed to the ground, after all - but her ivory complexion tinged with a light blush.
She just needed to hear him say it, after all.
Ichigo paused. “On a lighter note, I will do my best never to jump to assumptions even if I’m dumb that way, and I promise never to joke about your height ever again. I cannot promise, however, not to make fun of your drawings. I will never let you own a pet rabbit either. I hope you can live with that. You can abuse me with everything else and I will take it.”
Rukia was wistful. “It’s nice to hear you grovel, but I guess that’s fair enough. I don’t know why, but I forgive you.”
“I don’t know why you forgive me either,” he muttered. “Aren’t you going to slap me around now?”
Rukia shook her head. “Oh, I stopped that a long time ago. Now get up. I don’t want anyone else to see you like that.”
Ichigo got up and she did likewise. Linking her arm with his, he still felt a sense of utter failure for being blind and uncommunicative. How could he have let Rukia wait so long for any security of affection and commitment from him? Why did he take her away from Soul Society only to subject her to this shabby treatment? And why did she put up with it? It was all a mystery.
To think, the entire time he had thought he was dedicating his life to her when it was the other way around. Exile was harder on Rukia because she gave up her way of life to be with him. Really, he was such a selfish bastard.
Ichigo would have the rest of his life trying to make it up to her -- this lifetime and the next one, too.
“I’m sorry this was such a stupid afternoon,” she said, apologetically. “We could have gone somewhere fun.”
“No, it wasn’t stupid, it was a good swift kick in the head,” he replied. “Damn, I needed it.”
Rukia smiled sweetly. “I know how you used to enjoy them.”
“Of course I enjoyed you kicking me in the head. You always flashed me your black underwear.”
Rukia dug a sharp elbow into his ribs but his lips still curled at the corners.
As they walked back to the train station, Ichigo had a thunderbolt of inspiration. “I only have three months left of internship,” he said. “Maybe… maybe I should take a year off before doing my residency. Lots of people do that, take a break.”
“Why take a whole year off? I thought you were in a hurry to finish.”
“Because after this afternoon, I think you need to know that you’re more important than my medical career.”
“That’s a relief,” she said sarcastically.
“We can get hitched properly and have a long, good honeymoon,” Ichigo declared, running his fingers through his ginger hair. “I don’t want there to be any more doubts in Karakura or anywhere else about your availability. Until then, I definitely don’t want Keigo or any other friend of his near you or the Kurosaki Clinic.”
“That’s fine with me,” she shrugged. “You can beat him up along with all my other suitors, and then I can charge them double for therapy. It might just work. The money we earn can be our wedding fund.”
He grinned. For some odd reason he liked the idea of beating up Keigo. It was so… nostalgic. “It’s a deal then.”
“Isshin’s going to be ecstatic,” Rukia reflected out loud. “I think I’m the only employee in Karakura with monthly contraceptive benefits.”
Ichigo didn’t quite hear that last bit. “Do you hear that?” He turned to cock his ear sideways.
“Not really,” she strained to listen.
“The bells are ringing.” The sound was no longer ominous and forbidding to his ears. “Someone’s getting married, I suppose?”
Rukia wanted to hide her beaming satisfaction. “Yes, they are,” she answered.
As they headed back to his apartment, intense joy filled Rukia’s heart. All the past years of sacrifice on her part were not wasted. After a decade, he was finally going to come to terms with the past. He was going to pick up the pieces of his tempestuous life instead of merely sleepwalking through it.
She could finally tell Nii-sama and Renji that her self-appointed mission was fulfilled.
Her Ichigo was no longer stranded on the island of his own making, shipwrecked there due to consequences out of his control.
In place of isolation and loneliness, Ichigo was going to build bridges once more: to the mainland of the living world. One day he might even want to reach the coast of Soul Society again.
He will finally abandon his island, and together they will go exploring once more.
Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill;
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfill.
But think that we
Are but turn'd aside to sleep.
They who one another keep
Alive, ne'er parted be.
Notes:
1. In this story, Ichigo is exhibiting symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, a realistic outcome of being a teenager fighting in a major war. If you’ve read Rurouni Kenshin, this should be familiar. Ichigo’s behavior in chapter 190 and 239 indicate that it is possible for him to go off the deep end. If some readers found the piece too dark to handle, I hope the ending was happy enough. (If not I can always write a purely lemon sequel.) I admit I was influenced by stories of young men suffering from shell shock during World War I.
2. Nakama. As defined by some fan translations, it’s a Japanese term referring to a friend who goes to one’s aid without question. Another loose translation would be colleague. Given the context of when the word is used in the manga, I think it is closer to blood brother - someone who shares the same intense life-changing moments.
3. Inspirations for this work include photography of Tadao Ando’s The Church of Light (yes, it really exists, and I want to visit it!) and the poetry and prose of John Donne, who is quoted throughout the story. Words in [brackets] are my own woeful additions.
4. The title is an allusion to William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, although other vague influences on the theme of exile - running from Umberto Eco’s The Island of the Day Before to the mental image of Captain Jack Sparrow going insane - came to mind as well.
5. I’m not heavy into classical music but for some reason I played Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major, Op. 9 No. 2 at least fifty times while writing this. You might want to consider listening to it, too. :) It’s sad but romantic.
6. Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers and readers (both known and unknown), but most especially to 07Janina07, touchyourtalala, wicked_liz here at lj and Tituba over at MediaMiner. Officially one month in the fandom, and I feel blessed to have received kind and encouraging words.
Thank you for finishing this story! It took a long time to write and edit. If there are any grammatical or typographical mistakes, let me know so I can correct it. (gulp) I don’t have a beta reader.