MISSION LOG
Title: Memories in the Rain
Characters: Ichigo and Rukia
Location: Lambda-4
Timeframe: Between the chickens and the pirating.
Status: COMPLETE. :D
Warnings: Hello, everyone, my name is Ichiemo McKurowangsty and I have an Oedipus Complex that would make Freud 'gasm.
Ichigo pushed open the door irritably, bell twinkling to signal their departure. Almost without thinking, he held it open long enough for Rukia to slip through behind him, using the advantage of his longer arms to make the move as discreet as possible, before striding off ahead of her. He wasn’t that gentlemanly.
That shop was their third and final stop in their task to buy supplies for the Future 7. Normally, it was Rukia’s job to do it on her own, but they had needed a few engine parts this time around, and like hell was Ichigo going to let her pick out parts for his engine. Besides, it was Lambda-4, and…
He just had to stretch his legs on his home planet. The port was tens of miles away from his actual hometown, but even just the damp air was familiar, comfortable, a synesthesia. He wasn’t particularly fond of Lambda-4 -- it was fairly nice and clean, sure, but in a stifling way, like the too white walls of the buildings would close in on you at any moment -- but even nostalgia had its pull on him. It was an amazing place before he was nine.
The only problem was that it rained there. A lot. The dark clouds were an almost constant companion, and days with actual sunlight were few and far between. Ichigo didn’t used to mind so much, because back then he and his mom would share warmth under a beaten umbrella, but then that shared umbrella became his. His alone.
His brows pulled together sadly, his ears absently keeping track of Rukia’s footsteps beside him, just in case. The port was a maze of buildings and streets and side streets, all gleaming from their almost daily washes in the rain. Ichigo wasn’t exactly sure where he was going, despite the fact this was supposed to be his home, but Rukia would probably lead the way anyway.
He frowned at the ground, the overcast sky rumbling above them as they walked along the sidewalk, and automatically took the side closest to the street. Whenever he and his mom used to walk home from the dojo together, he insisted on taking the street side so he could protect her, but she always refused with a smile. He had to earn it by becoming stronger.
He narrowed his eyes at the ground beneath his feet.
Lambda-4, the place she’d met her brother...it didn’t hold particularly fond memories for her, but then, nowhere but Alpha-5 really did, oddly enough. With all the people filtering about it almost gave the street a claustrophobic feeling to it and Rukia wondered at the way they all managed to so effectively move around each other with so many of them. Leading the way, tugging on Ichigo’s sleeve briefly to remind him he was supposed to be following her, not getting lost or something, she wove through the crowd gracefully, assuredly, most of their errands completed.
Normally they would’ve each had an armful of things, her and the mechanic of the 7, but as it was, today’s supply order was unusually large and so they were going to each store separately to insure the order was made for later delivery to the docks. That said, they were about done with the list, Rukia noted as she checked off another box, tucking the pen behind her ear and the paper into her pocket. The clamor of the town around her settling in, she noted that Ichigo’s silence had not recently been broken with one of his snide remarks, or even a comment on why she couldn’t very well do this herself. Casting a covert glance at him, she frowned, lips thinning in a line, thoughtful, if thrown off.
…he looked…absent, if that made any sense, because Rukia wasn’t about to go around and claim she knew him or anything crazy like that…
…but something was off...maybe about how he couldn’t keep his eyes off the ground...maybe the way he seemed to walk a little les surely of himself.
Or maybe just that look on his face.
Speaking of which…
“Ichigo! Come ON!” she cast him an annoyed look. “What’s with that face? Let’s go already…I think it’s going to-”
The rain beat her to it, droplets sprinkling down softly at first, wetting her hair to her neck, and generally irritating her.
What was with him today? She strode over to the absentminded one and poked him hard in the chest.
“Hello? Where are you today?” she inquired pointedly and arched a brow, pushing some strands of hair behind her ear, even as the rain made them fall forward again.
Ichigo barely paid any attention at all to his surroundings -- including Rukia -- until he felt the rain start to fall. Again. He looked up into the weeping sky, raindrops spattering his cheeks and matting his hair to his head.
It had been so long since he’d felt rain. Years, probably. It was a shock to his system, almost as if he’d never felt it at all until that very moment, but oh, he had. He knew very well what rain felt like, knew it into his soul, the cold and heavy burden on his shoulders, and --
Poke. He looked down, way down, at Rukia, half-surprised but not really. It occurred to him that he might’ve let his guard down for a little there, and pulled back, his expression hardening into a familiar, slightly annoyed scowl.
“I’m right here, idiot.” It was a lie. He snorted irritably to cover it, pissed at her and not knowing exactly why. Maybe because she actually called him out. He pushed past her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and striding down the sidewalk, trusting her to follow him. People around him began calmly popping open their umbrellas, a sea of personal crowns, going about their business as if the fucking rain never existed at all.
Ichigo hated them. And envied them. He remembered now why he only ever visited home on the holidays, when he had time off anyway, and it was because of the normalcy of it all. As if it always goddamn rained and it meant nothing, this pouring, heavy rain, and why couldn’t he get it? Why couldn’t he understand it was the way life went?
Fuck. Fuck.
There it was. The river. Ichigo stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as the rain pounded down. It was the river that also ran through his hometown, that ran across almost half the planet, but he always considered it his river. Her river.
His breath was shaky as he inhaled, making him wince and close his eyes. Stop, Rukia’s here. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the river.
Shit.
“Rukia…” His voice was far away, and he really hoped she couldn’t see his face. “Gimme a minute.”
Her first impulse was to knock him upside the head, hard...if she could reach that high, that was...which with proper leaping skills, she could, but he was fast walking away from her before that was even really an option. As he broke away at a fast pace, she followed instinctively, not trusting him to come back with that weird feeling about him. He’d tried to cover it up before, but credit where it was due, Rukia had noticed the slight change, even if she didn’t understand it or know even where it came from. Of course, not knowing only spurred her on to be more annoyed, and this was maybe the root of so many of their miscommunications.
“Rukia”, she heard him say her name, though she honestly wasn't sure he was talking to her at all with that faraway expression on his face.
“Ichigo!” she reprimanded him with just his name, almost in a scolding manner of an unhappy guardian, which felt weird to her, but he seemed very out of place…rather like a child. “What are you doing?” she demanded, short on her temper as the rain only seemed to get heavier. She remembered rainstorms, here and other places...each for different reasons, and it wasn’t the physical temperature that made her heart feel cold, but she’d long since learned to shut those uncertainties…those memories away. For now she focused on being highly vexed by the mechanic who wouldn’t budge, regardless of the fact that everyone else seemed to have the right idea of: open your umbrella, or find shelter. This was perfectly logical, and of course, she rolled her eyes, that meant it couldn’t work smoothly for them…er…for her…or him…not them…
Stupid thoughts.
“It’s raining,” she bit out in very clipped politeness, arms crossed, hands clasped to her arms as the downpour did nothing for their clothes or hair. Surely they looked like drowned rats…or something…she’d never seen an orange rat. The loose dress she’d worn was now rather matted to her, and her hair had followed suit, and this was all just one great big mess, because...because why?
…freakin’ Ichigo…freakin stupid….she thought another string of choice words to describe him as she padded in puddle ridden footsteps to his side, gazing at him sideways, pausing, waiting, trying to hold her patience…trying to have the composure of a Kuchiki.
But it was cold, and not getting any warmer, and not like anyone was around in this deluge to see if she had her proprieties in order anyway!
She circled in front of him abruptly throwing her arms out, shaking her head in question as she said, “So what? You just going to stand there? We’re late as it is!” This last part was a reminder to herself as much as it was to him and she brushed past him, shivering as a slight breeze passed through as well. “…are you listening?” she asked, scowling as she turned to face his back. What the hell was wrong with him?
He was being an even bigger idiot than usual...if that as possible…and apparently…
…ouch…Rukia cursed brilliantly under her breath as a few particularly vindictive raindrops hit her right eye, making her wince and rub at it. “Stupid rain,” she mumbled and sighed, before repeating more quietly, more to herself, “…stupid rain…stupid Ichigo...”
Ichigo was silent. Completely silent. He took in her words, sure, but in a distant way, like one is aware of the television chattering in the background. All of his attention, all of his memory, was focused on that one rushing river, fierce and unrelenting. The river where he’d lost her.
He didn’t even notice the rain, not really. It registered somewhere in the back of his mind that the raindrops felt like tears streaming down his cheeks, but he hadn’t felt tears since… since that day. How long ago was it now?
Ten years.
Shit. He sighed, ignoring Rukia as she stood in front of him, though not out of any malice. He was far away from this place. He was nine years old all over again. He was at the bank of the river, his mother’s weight heavy on his body, pinning him to the muddy ground.
They never found her killer. Ichigo knew exactly where he was. He was standing right there, on the banks of the river, drenched in the rain. In muddy boots and a soggy red jacket, his orange hair plastered to his head.
He just wanted to protect. From the day his father told him what Ichigo meant, what his name stood for, that was all he wanted. First, it was his mother. Then, his little sisters. When he joined the dojo, started the learn karate, the circle of protection opened to include everyone, everyone he could possibly defend. His family, his friends, his classmates, his neighbors, everyone. Everyone.
Including that man. He’d run after him because he’d wanted to protect him, but he’d failed. His mother died because of him.
Shit.
He closed his eyes as Rukia brushed past him, as if that could hide his thoughts from her, glad that she was behind him now. That she was facing his back. It was easier not to look at her. It was easier if he was all alone. He knew how to be alone.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Just a minute.”
Give him a minute? Hadn’t she done that? Lips curving down, she turned back to face him, finding no reprieve in the weather but getting better at ignoring it, if nothing else. What was that look on his face, she wondered as she found herself walking around him, trying to figure out his weird behavior now, without permission, since with permission seemed to not be getting her anywhere anymore. As she moved around, she found her words caught in her mouth at first; her first thought was that Ichigo did not look like himself.
What the hell…?
“Ichigo?” she prompted and felt herself grow angry at him suddenly; here they were, in the middle of a specific set of errands, a simple mission with a beginning and an end, and he wanted to stop long enough to what? To get attacked and then drenched? And on top of that, to not explain any of it? Oh no...she didn’t think so.
To her, they’d put up plenty with Ichigo’s weird mood swing without explanation, as well as his strange need to be drenched like a rat in this stupid downpour. Never mind the fact that she hated the rain and was probably letting this cloud her judgment a bit, making her snappier, quicker, than normal…less patient…but how she hated it…he couldn’t begin to know…but she had closed that part of her heart a long time ago, rain still falling. Turning all of her irritation and upset into impatient anger with the mechanic, she all but yelled at him, rain stinging in her eyes now.
“Give you a minute? Didn’t we just do that? …either explain or walk, Ichigo. I don’t know about you but waiting to get hypothermia, it’s not my idea of a good time,” she bit out coldly, and clasped her arms to her, shaking half from frustration, half from the decreasing temperature…all from the weird feeling she was continuously getting from the boy in front of her.
Ichigo was still silent. Numb, maybe, though that wasn’t all of it. Unaware of the world around him, of the umbrella’d people and wet buildings; they might not have existed at all. He couldn’t even remember if there was anything around back on that day, or if he really was all by himself after the men had run away.
It was just him and the rain and the river, and maybe Rukia, somewhere on the fringes. How had she managed to wiggle her way in?
She was yelling at him again, he noted distantly, but he still didn’t turn around. Nothing new about that, except -- he never felt like he owed people anything, but there was a strange quality to her voice that made him feel compelled to answer her. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it sounded a little like concern. That in and of itself surprised him enough to snap him back to reality.
Maybe he wasn’t so alone anymore. Maybe.
“It’s just… the river,” he replied lamely, hanging his head. His wet hair swung into his eyes, but he couldn’t have cared less. The ground sloshed under his boots as he stepped off the sidewalk and onto the grass, closer to the river. It roared with the heavy rainfall, nearly drowning out his words.
“My mom died near the river.” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders slumping. His hands balled into fists. “No, she didn’t die. She was murdered.”
Rukia opened her mouth to cut him off and then stopped with all the suddenness of having a brick wall slammed down in front of her.
…murdered?
Expression twisting from one of annoyance to confusion, brow knit and eyes searching, she didn’t move from her spot, rooted now to where she’d chosen to stand…behind him, for better or worse…though she wished he would face her.
Something was different though and she inwardly cringed at not having noticed before. Shouldn’t she know by now, she wondered at herself with slight agitation, hands smoothing at the cloth of her dress, as if to flatten out nonexistent wrinkles, a normal gesture, the rain an unsightly intruder.
“…what do you mean?” she asked and it felt and sounded like the stupidest question known to man, but what else could she say? No? Don’t tell me? Shut up? None of these of course were serious considerations...not when he was standing there like that…looking for once, defeated. Not even when…that thing…whatever it was, had possessed him…or had gained control-for they were very different things in her opinion-he had seemed to have something small left of himself, a vestige of a will to fight, or defend.
Here, soaked through to his skin, just like her, he seemed worn…older than he really was…burdened.
And for once, the fool was not even remotely loud.
Something was wrong here.
“…you don’t really mean…” she trailed off slowly, reaching out a hand to him and then dropping it to her side…not that he saw the gesture anyway…not that it was the right thing to do.
She wouldn’t encroach on something so personal…not unless invited, or needed; she had no way to do so without becoming an intruder herself.
Ichigo could feel his face contorting, his scowl deepening and eyes narrowing at the muddy grass. Years of stone-faced experience failed him, and his expression crumbled, his hair hiding it away from her. He didn’t want Rukia to see him like this, to know his weakness. But it seemed like he didn’t have a choice; he was here and she was here and the river was here and it was raining on them both. She didn’t press him, and he was grateful for that, but it was Rukia.
He could -- and it seemed so strange, so unnatural to let himself do it, but he trusted her. He wanted to hate her -- in a way, he did -- ever since the first time she’d kicked him in the head, but despite the fact that he hated her, she’d managed to become a friend. She’d managed to carve a place in his life, whether he liked it or not.
“Yeah, I do,” he answered quietly, brows pulling together. “I saw it all.”
I caused it all.
He’d run to that wounded man. He’d tried to protect him. Back then, there was no evil. There were the mean kids who teased him for his hair, but there was no murder. No person cruel enough to kill a woman in cold blood.
So he’d run. His mom tried to stop him, ran after him, called his name. Those were the only sounds he could remember: his name, the gunshot, the roar of the river. It all happened so sickeningly fast. A blur. He woke up underneath his mom’s limp body, her diluted blood running free, and he cried. He cried so long it gave him a headache, made his eyes swell, his cheeks numb. His headache didn’t go away for weeks, when he would wander up and down the river. Up and down.
Looking for a ghost.
He didn’t tell Rukia that he loved his mom more than life itself, didn’t tell her that he was her murderer, that a part of him died that day on the riverbanks. He couldn’t tell her, not yet.
Not yet.
“Please,” he repeated.
Anyone else might’ve walked up to him. Anyone else might’ve taken a moment, put a hand on his arm and said: it’ll be okay, whatever’s troubling you...it’ll be okay. Anyone else might have said: I’m sorry.
“Okay,” she said instead, turning her back to his, crossing one arm across her chest to hold onto her other one, staring at the ground. “…fine, but…fine.” She sighed and shivered.
If they caught colds, she’d airlock him.
But for now…for now she said okay, because she didn’t have the comfort of “it will be alright” or anything else for that matter; all she had for now was: okay.
The way he spoke of it, it was as though he blamed himself…and Rukia wondered at that while staring at the constantly growing puddle at her feet, rain seeming to come from all directions now. And the way he looked…she shook her head.
Was it this exact river, she wondered though, even if she did not say anything.
Stupid Ichigo, she thought, not for the first time, and glanced back over her shoulder.
“…whenever you’re ready,” she said and she didn’t mean for it to come out as kindly as it did, but blamed the rain and stood there, still as the ground beneath them, counting down to any point in time when the rain might finally stop.
It was cold, and hell if she wouldn’t hold it against him later.
“Still…this rain…it’s something,” she muttered to herself sadly and then waited.
Eventually they did make it back to the 7, wordlessly, and maybe…well maybe one day words would be exchanged.
Rukia was, after all, well-versed in the practice of waiting.
She would wait for this.
Characters: Ichigo and Rukia
Location: Lambda-4
Timeframe: Between the chickens and the pirating.
Status: COMPLETE. :D
Warnings: Hello, everyone, my name is Ichiemo McKurowangsty and I have an Oedipus Complex that would make Freud 'gasm.
Ichigo pushed open the door irritably, bell twinkling to signal their departure. Almost without thinking, he held it open long enough for Rukia to slip through behind him, using the advantage of his longer arms to make the move as discreet as possible, before striding off ahead of her. He wasn’t that gentlemanly.
That shop was their third and final stop in their task to buy supplies for the Future 7. Normally, it was Rukia’s job to do it on her own, but they had needed a few engine parts this time around, and like hell was Ichigo going to let her pick out parts for his engine. Besides, it was Lambda-4, and…
He just had to stretch his legs on his home planet. The port was tens of miles away from his actual hometown, but even just the damp air was familiar, comfortable, a synesthesia. He wasn’t particularly fond of Lambda-4 -- it was fairly nice and clean, sure, but in a stifling way, like the too white walls of the buildings would close in on you at any moment -- but even nostalgia had its pull on him. It was an amazing place before he was nine.
The only problem was that it rained there. A lot. The dark clouds were an almost constant companion, and days with actual sunlight were few and far between. Ichigo didn’t used to mind so much, because back then he and his mom would share warmth under a beaten umbrella, but then that shared umbrella became his. His alone.
His brows pulled together sadly, his ears absently keeping track of Rukia’s footsteps beside him, just in case. The port was a maze of buildings and streets and side streets, all gleaming from their almost daily washes in the rain. Ichigo wasn’t exactly sure where he was going, despite the fact this was supposed to be his home, but Rukia would probably lead the way anyway.
He frowned at the ground, the overcast sky rumbling above them as they walked along the sidewalk, and automatically took the side closest to the street. Whenever he and his mom used to walk home from the dojo together, he insisted on taking the street side so he could protect her, but she always refused with a smile. He had to earn it by becoming stronger.
He narrowed his eyes at the ground beneath his feet.
Lambda-4, the place she’d met her brother...it didn’t hold particularly fond memories for her, but then, nowhere but Alpha-5 really did, oddly enough. With all the people filtering about it almost gave the street a claustrophobic feeling to it and Rukia wondered at the way they all managed to so effectively move around each other with so many of them. Leading the way, tugging on Ichigo’s sleeve briefly to remind him he was supposed to be following her, not getting lost or something, she wove through the crowd gracefully, assuredly, most of their errands completed.
Normally they would’ve each had an armful of things, her and the mechanic of the 7, but as it was, today’s supply order was unusually large and so they were going to each store separately to insure the order was made for later delivery to the docks. That said, they were about done with the list, Rukia noted as she checked off another box, tucking the pen behind her ear and the paper into her pocket. The clamor of the town around her settling in, she noted that Ichigo’s silence had not recently been broken with one of his snide remarks, or even a comment on why she couldn’t very well do this herself. Casting a covert glance at him, she frowned, lips thinning in a line, thoughtful, if thrown off.
…he looked…absent, if that made any sense, because Rukia wasn’t about to go around and claim she knew him or anything crazy like that…
…but something was off...maybe about how he couldn’t keep his eyes off the ground...maybe the way he seemed to walk a little les surely of himself.
Or maybe just that look on his face.
Speaking of which…
“Ichigo! Come ON!” she cast him an annoyed look. “What’s with that face? Let’s go already…I think it’s going to-”
The rain beat her to it, droplets sprinkling down softly at first, wetting her hair to her neck, and generally irritating her.
What was with him today? She strode over to the absentminded one and poked him hard in the chest.
“Hello? Where are you today?” she inquired pointedly and arched a brow, pushing some strands of hair behind her ear, even as the rain made them fall forward again.
Ichigo barely paid any attention at all to his surroundings -- including Rukia -- until he felt the rain start to fall. Again. He looked up into the weeping sky, raindrops spattering his cheeks and matting his hair to his head.
It had been so long since he’d felt rain. Years, probably. It was a shock to his system, almost as if he’d never felt it at all until that very moment, but oh, he had. He knew very well what rain felt like, knew it into his soul, the cold and heavy burden on his shoulders, and --
Poke. He looked down, way down, at Rukia, half-surprised but not really. It occurred to him that he might’ve let his guard down for a little there, and pulled back, his expression hardening into a familiar, slightly annoyed scowl.
“I’m right here, idiot.” It was a lie. He snorted irritably to cover it, pissed at her and not knowing exactly why. Maybe because she actually called him out. He pushed past her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and striding down the sidewalk, trusting her to follow him. People around him began calmly popping open their umbrellas, a sea of personal crowns, going about their business as if the fucking rain never existed at all.
Ichigo hated them. And envied them. He remembered now why he only ever visited home on the holidays, when he had time off anyway, and it was because of the normalcy of it all. As if it always goddamn rained and it meant nothing, this pouring, heavy rain, and why couldn’t he get it? Why couldn’t he understand it was the way life went?
Fuck. Fuck.
There it was. The river. Ichigo stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as the rain pounded down. It was the river that also ran through his hometown, that ran across almost half the planet, but he always considered it his river. Her river.
His breath was shaky as he inhaled, making him wince and close his eyes. Stop, Rukia’s here. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the river.
Shit.
“Rukia…” His voice was far away, and he really hoped she couldn’t see his face. “Gimme a minute.”
Her first impulse was to knock him upside the head, hard...if she could reach that high, that was...which with proper leaping skills, she could, but he was fast walking away from her before that was even really an option. As he broke away at a fast pace, she followed instinctively, not trusting him to come back with that weird feeling about him. He’d tried to cover it up before, but credit where it was due, Rukia had noticed the slight change, even if she didn’t understand it or know even where it came from. Of course, not knowing only spurred her on to be more annoyed, and this was maybe the root of so many of their miscommunications.
“Rukia”, she heard him say her name, though she honestly wasn't sure he was talking to her at all with that faraway expression on his face.
“Ichigo!” she reprimanded him with just his name, almost in a scolding manner of an unhappy guardian, which felt weird to her, but he seemed very out of place…rather like a child. “What are you doing?” she demanded, short on her temper as the rain only seemed to get heavier. She remembered rainstorms, here and other places...each for different reasons, and it wasn’t the physical temperature that made her heart feel cold, but she’d long since learned to shut those uncertainties…those memories away. For now she focused on being highly vexed by the mechanic who wouldn’t budge, regardless of the fact that everyone else seemed to have the right idea of: open your umbrella, or find shelter. This was perfectly logical, and of course, she rolled her eyes, that meant it couldn’t work smoothly for them…er…for her…or him…not them…
Stupid thoughts.
“It’s raining,” she bit out in very clipped politeness, arms crossed, hands clasped to her arms as the downpour did nothing for their clothes or hair. Surely they looked like drowned rats…or something…she’d never seen an orange rat. The loose dress she’d worn was now rather matted to her, and her hair had followed suit, and this was all just one great big mess, because...because why?
…freakin’ Ichigo…freakin stupid….she thought another string of choice words to describe him as she padded in puddle ridden footsteps to his side, gazing at him sideways, pausing, waiting, trying to hold her patience…trying to have the composure of a Kuchiki.
But it was cold, and not getting any warmer, and not like anyone was around in this deluge to see if she had her proprieties in order anyway!
She circled in front of him abruptly throwing her arms out, shaking her head in question as she said, “So what? You just going to stand there? We’re late as it is!” This last part was a reminder to herself as much as it was to him and she brushed past him, shivering as a slight breeze passed through as well. “…are you listening?” she asked, scowling as she turned to face his back. What the hell was wrong with him?
He was being an even bigger idiot than usual...if that as possible…and apparently…
…ouch…Rukia cursed brilliantly under her breath as a few particularly vindictive raindrops hit her right eye, making her wince and rub at it. “Stupid rain,” she mumbled and sighed, before repeating more quietly, more to herself, “…stupid rain…stupid Ichigo...”
Ichigo was silent. Completely silent. He took in her words, sure, but in a distant way, like one is aware of the television chattering in the background. All of his attention, all of his memory, was focused on that one rushing river, fierce and unrelenting. The river where he’d lost her.
He didn’t even notice the rain, not really. It registered somewhere in the back of his mind that the raindrops felt like tears streaming down his cheeks, but he hadn’t felt tears since… since that day. How long ago was it now?
Ten years.
Shit. He sighed, ignoring Rukia as she stood in front of him, though not out of any malice. He was far away from this place. He was nine years old all over again. He was at the bank of the river, his mother’s weight heavy on his body, pinning him to the muddy ground.
They never found her killer. Ichigo knew exactly where he was. He was standing right there, on the banks of the river, drenched in the rain. In muddy boots and a soggy red jacket, his orange hair plastered to his head.
He just wanted to protect. From the day his father told him what Ichigo meant, what his name stood for, that was all he wanted. First, it was his mother. Then, his little sisters. When he joined the dojo, started the learn karate, the circle of protection opened to include everyone, everyone he could possibly defend. His family, his friends, his classmates, his neighbors, everyone. Everyone.
Including that man. He’d run after him because he’d wanted to protect him, but he’d failed. His mother died because of him.
Shit.
He closed his eyes as Rukia brushed past him, as if that could hide his thoughts from her, glad that she was behind him now. That she was facing his back. It was easier not to look at her. It was easier if he was all alone. He knew how to be alone.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Just a minute.”
Give him a minute? Hadn’t she done that? Lips curving down, she turned back to face him, finding no reprieve in the weather but getting better at ignoring it, if nothing else. What was that look on his face, she wondered as she found herself walking around him, trying to figure out his weird behavior now, without permission, since with permission seemed to not be getting her anywhere anymore. As she moved around, she found her words caught in her mouth at first; her first thought was that Ichigo did not look like himself.
What the hell…?
“Ichigo?” she prompted and felt herself grow angry at him suddenly; here they were, in the middle of a specific set of errands, a simple mission with a beginning and an end, and he wanted to stop long enough to what? To get attacked and then drenched? And on top of that, to not explain any of it? Oh no...she didn’t think so.
To her, they’d put up plenty with Ichigo’s weird mood swing without explanation, as well as his strange need to be drenched like a rat in this stupid downpour. Never mind the fact that she hated the rain and was probably letting this cloud her judgment a bit, making her snappier, quicker, than normal…less patient…but how she hated it…he couldn’t begin to know…but she had closed that part of her heart a long time ago, rain still falling. Turning all of her irritation and upset into impatient anger with the mechanic, she all but yelled at him, rain stinging in her eyes now.
“Give you a minute? Didn’t we just do that? …either explain or walk, Ichigo. I don’t know about you but waiting to get hypothermia, it’s not my idea of a good time,” she bit out coldly, and clasped her arms to her, shaking half from frustration, half from the decreasing temperature…all from the weird feeling she was continuously getting from the boy in front of her.
Ichigo was still silent. Numb, maybe, though that wasn’t all of it. Unaware of the world around him, of the umbrella’d people and wet buildings; they might not have existed at all. He couldn’t even remember if there was anything around back on that day, or if he really was all by himself after the men had run away.
It was just him and the rain and the river, and maybe Rukia, somewhere on the fringes. How had she managed to wiggle her way in?
She was yelling at him again, he noted distantly, but he still didn’t turn around. Nothing new about that, except -- he never felt like he owed people anything, but there was a strange quality to her voice that made him feel compelled to answer her. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it sounded a little like concern. That in and of itself surprised him enough to snap him back to reality.
Maybe he wasn’t so alone anymore. Maybe.
“It’s just… the river,” he replied lamely, hanging his head. His wet hair swung into his eyes, but he couldn’t have cared less. The ground sloshed under his boots as he stepped off the sidewalk and onto the grass, closer to the river. It roared with the heavy rainfall, nearly drowning out his words.
“My mom died near the river.” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders slumping. His hands balled into fists. “No, she didn’t die. She was murdered.”
Rukia opened her mouth to cut him off and then stopped with all the suddenness of having a brick wall slammed down in front of her.
…murdered?
Expression twisting from one of annoyance to confusion, brow knit and eyes searching, she didn’t move from her spot, rooted now to where she’d chosen to stand…behind him, for better or worse…though she wished he would face her.
Something was different though and she inwardly cringed at not having noticed before. Shouldn’t she know by now, she wondered at herself with slight agitation, hands smoothing at the cloth of her dress, as if to flatten out nonexistent wrinkles, a normal gesture, the rain an unsightly intruder.
“…what do you mean?” she asked and it felt and sounded like the stupidest question known to man, but what else could she say? No? Don’t tell me? Shut up? None of these of course were serious considerations...not when he was standing there like that…looking for once, defeated. Not even when…that thing…whatever it was, had possessed him…or had gained control-for they were very different things in her opinion-he had seemed to have something small left of himself, a vestige of a will to fight, or defend.
Here, soaked through to his skin, just like her, he seemed worn…older than he really was…burdened.
And for once, the fool was not even remotely loud.
Something was wrong here.
“…you don’t really mean…” she trailed off slowly, reaching out a hand to him and then dropping it to her side…not that he saw the gesture anyway…not that it was the right thing to do.
She wouldn’t encroach on something so personal…not unless invited, or needed; she had no way to do so without becoming an intruder herself.
Ichigo could feel his face contorting, his scowl deepening and eyes narrowing at the muddy grass. Years of stone-faced experience failed him, and his expression crumbled, his hair hiding it away from her. He didn’t want Rukia to see him like this, to know his weakness. But it seemed like he didn’t have a choice; he was here and she was here and the river was here and it was raining on them both. She didn’t press him, and he was grateful for that, but it was Rukia.
He could -- and it seemed so strange, so unnatural to let himself do it, but he trusted her. He wanted to hate her -- in a way, he did -- ever since the first time she’d kicked him in the head, but despite the fact that he hated her, she’d managed to become a friend. She’d managed to carve a place in his life, whether he liked it or not.
“Yeah, I do,” he answered quietly, brows pulling together. “I saw it all.”
I caused it all.
He’d run to that wounded man. He’d tried to protect him. Back then, there was no evil. There were the mean kids who teased him for his hair, but there was no murder. No person cruel enough to kill a woman in cold blood.
So he’d run. His mom tried to stop him, ran after him, called his name. Those were the only sounds he could remember: his name, the gunshot, the roar of the river. It all happened so sickeningly fast. A blur. He woke up underneath his mom’s limp body, her diluted blood running free, and he cried. He cried so long it gave him a headache, made his eyes swell, his cheeks numb. His headache didn’t go away for weeks, when he would wander up and down the river. Up and down.
Looking for a ghost.
He didn’t tell Rukia that he loved his mom more than life itself, didn’t tell her that he was her murderer, that a part of him died that day on the riverbanks. He couldn’t tell her, not yet.
Not yet.
“Please,” he repeated.
Anyone else might’ve walked up to him. Anyone else might’ve taken a moment, put a hand on his arm and said: it’ll be okay, whatever’s troubling you...it’ll be okay. Anyone else might have said: I’m sorry.
“Okay,” she said instead, turning her back to his, crossing one arm across her chest to hold onto her other one, staring at the ground. “…fine, but…fine.” She sighed and shivered.
If they caught colds, she’d airlock him.
But for now…for now she said okay, because she didn’t have the comfort of “it will be alright” or anything else for that matter; all she had for now was: okay.
The way he spoke of it, it was as though he blamed himself…and Rukia wondered at that while staring at the constantly growing puddle at her feet, rain seeming to come from all directions now. And the way he looked…she shook her head.
Was it this exact river, she wondered though, even if she did not say anything.
Stupid Ichigo, she thought, not for the first time, and glanced back over her shoulder.
“…whenever you’re ready,” she said and she didn’t mean for it to come out as kindly as it did, but blamed the rain and stood there, still as the ground beneath them, counting down to any point in time when the rain might finally stop.
It was cold, and hell if she wouldn’t hold it against him later.
“Still…this rain…it’s something,” she muttered to herself sadly and then waited.
Eventually they did make it back to the 7, wordlessly, and maybe…well maybe one day words would be exchanged.
Rukia was, after all, well-versed in the practice of waiting.
She would wait for this.