Failure {Rukia-centric, Kaien, Ukitake}
Title: Failure
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Rukia-centric, Kaien, Ukitake
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563
Summary: Rukia seeks forgiveness from her dead mentor.
A/N: Written for prompt #2: we can fix our mistakes, Table 21, 5_prompts.
Rukia couldn't remember being in this room before. If she were to recall back, she'd say that she had never been here. The walls surrounding her seemed to press down upon her soul, suffocating. It was dark, with only the rays of the sunset filtering in through the closed paper doors on her left as the sole illumination.
She was kneeling on the floor, hands folded delicately in her lap, head bowed. She couldn't bring herself to look at what lay before her. The aura that she could feel emanating from the coffin prickled along the skin of her arms like little sparks of electricity. It felt like some sort of twisted spiritual pressure, but that surely was impossible.
The man was now gone, his soul lost to oblivion. There was no way his corpse could emit such power.
But upon further inspection, which did little to tear her attention away from her first priority, she realized that it was from her captain, who stood a ways behind her. She suddenly felt trapped; she couldn't bear to look at her captain, at his jovial face, the smile he sported that made him look much younger than his age.
It was her fault, and she knew it.
Summing up her courage, Rukia lifted her head and opened her eyes slowly. Her fingers twitched in her lap, wanting so much to touch him again. The one person who had made her feel like she was more than just a worthless street rat, who gave her hope and told her that she was destined for something big. She never really believed him though, but during those years that now seemed so far away, she had looked up to him, admired him.
He was the one person who could put her at ease with the world. Even though he originated from one of the lesser noble families, he still wasn't consumed by arrogance like how she had first imagined.
She reached out her hand and ran her fingers along the smooth, polished wood. She couldn't cry anymore, her strength having left her the moment she had stepped into the room. It seemed like she was intruding upon this sacred ceremony, like an unwelcomed stranger.
But Ukitake had rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. She could see the subtle hints of pain in his dazzling green eyes, but she said nothing. She couldn't; her mouth had been dry, her tongue dysfunctional.
Now, as she recalled the days she had spent with her mentor, images of them flashing through her mind, she couldn't decide whether his sacrifice was worth it. For honour? Pride? Losing his life to protect someone he loved? Rukia was yet to learn all those things.
But to whom could she turn to now that he was gone? Not Captain Ukitake - this was the first she'd seen of him since that tragedy, and already she could feel the ache deep inside her chest, the guilt that pierced her guts like nothing else ever managed.
"Sorry," she finally said, a strained whisper that broke the eerie silence, as she allowed her hand to slide down the coffin and fall back into her lap, "I'm sorry I failed you, Lieutenant."
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Rukia-centric, Kaien, Ukitake
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563
Summary: Rukia seeks forgiveness from her dead mentor.
A/N: Written for prompt #2: we can fix our mistakes, Table 21, 5_prompts.
Rukia couldn't remember being in this room before. If she were to recall back, she'd say that she had never been here. The walls surrounding her seemed to press down upon her soul, suffocating. It was dark, with only the rays of the sunset filtering in through the closed paper doors on her left as the sole illumination.
She was kneeling on the floor, hands folded delicately in her lap, head bowed. She couldn't bring herself to look at what lay before her. The aura that she could feel emanating from the coffin prickled along the skin of her arms like little sparks of electricity. It felt like some sort of twisted spiritual pressure, but that surely was impossible.
The man was now gone, his soul lost to oblivion. There was no way his corpse could emit such power.
But upon further inspection, which did little to tear her attention away from her first priority, she realized that it was from her captain, who stood a ways behind her. She suddenly felt trapped; she couldn't bear to look at her captain, at his jovial face, the smile he sported that made him look much younger than his age.
It was her fault, and she knew it.
Summing up her courage, Rukia lifted her head and opened her eyes slowly. Her fingers twitched in her lap, wanting so much to touch him again. The one person who had made her feel like she was more than just a worthless street rat, who gave her hope and told her that she was destined for something big. She never really believed him though, but during those years that now seemed so far away, she had looked up to him, admired him.
He was the one person who could put her at ease with the world. Even though he originated from one of the lesser noble families, he still wasn't consumed by arrogance like how she had first imagined.
She reached out her hand and ran her fingers along the smooth, polished wood. She couldn't cry anymore, her strength having left her the moment she had stepped into the room. It seemed like she was intruding upon this sacred ceremony, like an unwelcomed stranger.
But Ukitake had rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. She could see the subtle hints of pain in his dazzling green eyes, but she said nothing. She couldn't; her mouth had been dry, her tongue dysfunctional.
Now, as she recalled the days she had spent with her mentor, images of them flashing through her mind, she couldn't decide whether his sacrifice was worth it. For honour? Pride? Losing his life to protect someone he loved? Rukia was yet to learn all those things.
But to whom could she turn to now that he was gone? Not Captain Ukitake - this was the first she'd seen of him since that tragedy, and already she could feel the ache deep inside her chest, the guilt that pierced her guts like nothing else ever managed.
"Sorry," she finally said, a strained whisper that broke the eerie silence, as she allowed her hand to slide down the coffin and fall back into her lap, "I'm sorry I failed you, Lieutenant."