MISSION LOG
Title: Drink you Under
Characters: Ichigo and Rukia
Location: Future 7, kitchen, Ichigo's room, Ichigo's bed (HINT HINT).
Timeframe: After RukiMomo drunklog.
Status: FINISHED.
Warnings: ... *whistles*
Rukia was not quite sure where she was...is...well actually she wasn't sure...wait no she wasn't not....or was yes...no...okay maybe....wait....this...she knew this place. This was the ship...right. Wait a minute...she didn't remember being on the ship...well yes she did, but then she wasn't, or was she? And really, besides all of that nonsense, wasn't Hinamori supposed to be here? Snorting to herself dryly she shrugged her shoulders back, frowning at the way the ship moved with her when she walked-was it supposed to do that?
Originally she aimed for her room but somehow only made it to the kitchen when it occurred to her a glass of water would be good. She wasn’t drunk, no, no way. She was…was…was.
No she wasn’t.
She was.
Whatever.
The automated cabinets of this futuristic setting she’d heard about being kids’ stories at some point in the past didn’t seem to want to open for her, no matter how many times she hit the key code…or that thing…just…hit more buttons or something, whatever she did, they didn’t respond…well not for a while. It seemed like hours; it was a few minutes before one swung open, rows of chilled glasses ready to be used, and, she thought blearily, in no little sense of humor, made for the use of alcohol. What she wanted…needed…no wanted…or she didn’t want to need…or…something…water…someone told her water…or maybe not, but her mind was stuck somewhere around that place. Grasping one, the cold still shocked her and she almost dropped it, but impressed herself by all but diving after it, the world heaving around her in interesting fashions as she managed to grab the base of the glass just as the top of it hit the ground. As it shattered she yelped, dropping the rest for a second noise of breaking and then promptly bent to clean it all up…with her hands. Shit, she couldn’t quite see straight…or…feel…right…or be…right…or…whatever…but the glass…should…she should pick it up…or…she shouldn’t or maybe…
Her thoughts halted abruptly as one of the longer shards decided to get friendly with her right palm. Hissing slightly, she paused, holding her hand up in the light like a foreign object, blood beginning to make its appearance…she seemed to be good at losing it…was that funny? She almost thought it was as she continued to stare at her hand, as if dubious it was hers at all.
Ichigo was starting to wonder why it was so quiet in the 7. He hadn’t seen Rukia all evening, which must’ve been the reason, and while he was glad of the peace, he was also a little wary. It rarely got so quiet unless someone was up to something; that or someone had lain on top of someone else while drunk and probably did or said something stupid and managed to ruin everything when there, theoretically, wasn’t anything more to ruin.
Dammit. He really had fucked everything up.
Sighing, he set down his book -- Taming of the Shrew -- and rose to stretch, yawning and raking a hand through his hair. It was pretty late, and --
Crash.
What the hell? Ichigo blinked and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway to look around. There was more shuffling in the kitchen, and then a low hiss -- that was a Rukia hiss. Brows furrowing together, he walked slowly into the kitchen, eyes widening as he caught sight of Rukia crouched on the floor. She was just staring at her bleeding hand, broken glass littering the floor at her feet, and every couple seconds or so, she wobbled slightly.
“Rukia?”
Ichigo's voice was a little strange and she wanted to ask him why, but instead just peered over at him blankly.
"...you'renot....I don't wanna..." she managed before holding her hand out to him with an equally dumbfounded look that went sour at the edges as she frowned severely at him suddenly.
"Why...why are you.....why're you here....?"
She closed her hand as if to make a fist but regretted it instantly; okay so she could feel enough to know when she was jabbing herself further with a shard of glass. Someone might later point out to her that being drunk made one incapable of making such differentiations....or not.....
A sharp inhale as she bit down on her own tongue to keep from yelping, she paused again, shoulders slumping. Why did she have glass in her hand again?
Rukia had forgotten the glass was a glass to begin with at all.
Ichigo blinked. Blinked again. Took in her bleeding hand. Her voice was a little slurred and she was wobbling more than ever. He blinked once more.
“Are you drunk?” he blurted disbelievingly. Rukia didn’t get drunk; he’d never seen her even touch a drink in all the months he’d known her. He knew very well the appeal of drinking all your problems away, but Rukia just didn’t seem like the type. She was too good for alcohol.
Or something like that.
Shrugging off her drunken schpiel, he moved to kneel down in front of her, taking her hand in his. He inspected her palm, squinting at the shard of glass embedded in her skin before carefully picking it out. She had to be drunk. The Rukia he knew wasn’t so clumsy as to break a glass, let alone leave it in her palm.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, more out of force of habit than anything else. Frowning, almost worriedly, he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, stained with grease and dust, and wrapped it gently around her hand.
He wrapped something around her hand and she was pretty sure it smelled funny, but couldn’t be bothered with that as she thought first that it was nice of him and second that she shouldn’t really need his help, of all people…this was…was…Ichigo…or…yeah, Ichigo…
…insufferable, job-stealing, orange-haired….jerk….thing…person…stupid.
Blinking rapidly, she brought her undamaged hand to her eyes, rubbing them fiercely. Why the hell couldn’t she see straight?
“Go…go away…” she mumbled and pushed at him, hard, standing abruptly only to wobble severely…grab the counter and make a surprised noise…she was pretty sure that was her voice anyway. “Shi…” she didn’t finish as her feet slipped out from under her and she went down again, this time on accident.
Yeah, she was definitely drunk. Ichigo gaped a bit at the idea before making a quick recovery as she pushed him -- it was a good thing she was hammered, or she probably would’ve knocked him down on the glass. He scowled and reached out to catch her, hands wrapping around her waist and holding her steady.
“Rukia…” He had no idea what he was going to say to her -- something about how drinking didn’t solve anything -- but it was bullshit. It would be hypocritical, anyway.
So he shut up and stood up, stepping over the glass and towards her. He had no idea why she was doing this -- the idea of Rukia drinking for the hell of it was fucking ridiculous, so there had to be a reason -- but the least he could do was make sure she made it to her room alright.
“C’mon.” He started to lift her up by the waist, easily taking her weight into his arms.
When she fell she didn’t quite realize she was falling…that was until Ichigo caught her and then she did what any respectably drunk Kuchiki Rukia could be expected to do: tried to kick him of course.
“Let…let go…let me go…let go,” she repeated like the broken record she surely was and pushed at him with her hands while kicking at him continuously with her feet….those were her feet, right? Oh what the fuck ever. Probably they were.
“…an’…an’…” something in her snapped slightly as pain jolted through her head and she froze suddenly, only vaguely aware of his arms holding her up as she winced. “…oh put me…down,” she managed quietly, still slurring but soft about it now. “…you do…you don’t…you don’t…” but she trailed off and went back to squirming like hell in his hold, to get out, to get away…or…well…or something.
Well, that wasn’t unexpected. Ichigo clamped a hand around her ankle, diverting her kick away from his chest before pulling her up against him. Damn, she was a violent drunk.
But she was still a drunk, and Ichigo counted this to his advantage. Her punches and kicks were nowhere near the level of hurt she was capable of inflicting, and they were relatively easy for him to deflect.
He ignored her commands, finally getting her in a fairly secure hold against his chest, one of his arms wound under her back and the other around her knees. Her squirming also went unnoticed, for the most part. He suddenly couldn’t seem to account for his body, but he was quick to remind his brain that she was smashed. He could never take advantage of her like this.
Not that she would let him. “Rukia… stop it,” he hissed, though it was a little more desperate than he intended. Shit, if this was some sort of revenge for that night he got drunk, it was damn good revenge.
Why wasn’t he listening to her?
Damn it, Ichigo.
She’d gotten this far without him right? Couldn’t he just let her alone…like…everyone was good at…right? Mumbling in protest at his secure hold on her, she tried to hit him again, and at the same time wriggled in his grasp again, body moving up against his in a way that she would be grateful in a sober state to be drunk during. Skin flushed oddly, she felt very warm, very conscious of that warmth, and altogether…messy as the world spun and suddenly she had to stop hitting at Ichigo to wrap her arms around his neck and cling…her head buried into his shoulder, shaking slightly.
Why were they outside…her…room…or was it her room?
“It’s….you…why’s it…why are you…” she trailed off incoherently and clasped him closer to her if possible, making his movement hard to continue if at all, and her fingers dug hard into him, not that she noticed. “…why….?” The lower half of her limp as a rag doll, she proceeded to try and climb her way on top of him, as if to find purchase on her new stand, because what he was, now, was slowly becoming…or quickly…rather ambiguous to Rukia. It was Ichigo…but no it wasn’t…and then her problem was Ichigo…and then it wasn’t…and then…Ichigo…wouldn’t let her go.
Dammit. She was wiggling against him again, and Ichigo was fully aware of what parts of her body were squirming against which parts of his body, and he had to think, yet again, that this really was some damn good form of revenge.
She kept murmuring against his chest even as he stopped in front of her door, frowning at the keypad at his hip. He didn’t know Rukia’s code, nor did he particularly feel like hacking into her room, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to make sure she was safe. Swearing under his breath, he shifted Rukia in his grasp, cradling her to him with one arm as he reached out his free hand to flip open the pad, revealing the wiring underneath.
But then she suddenly stopped hitting him, winding her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Oh shit… oh shit. Was she actually clinging to him? Did he actually not mind? Ichigo tensed up, arm tightening around her -- no, he didn’t just mind. He actually kind of liked it.
He swallowed thickly and gave up trying to MacGyver her door open, briefly closing his eyes and wrapping his other arm around her. She was shaking a little, still mumbling against his chest, and he instinctively pulled her closer, carrying her down the hall to his room.
“I don’t know,” he said without thinking, an honest answer to her honest question.
They were moving again, she registered; well actually not just them for her, Rukia felt everything moving and held onto Ichigo as though her life very well depended on it. Her heart felt weird, almost like it was skipping beats and she couldn’t get the roaring in her ears to die down at all…her hands clutched at him blindly. Opening her mouth to say something, she suddenly couldn’t remember what she wanted to say and burrowed against him instead, in a way that may or may not have been painful for him as her personal…whatever people wanted to call it these days…
But so much …she closed her eyes again, hands winding in his shirt fabric urgently as she felt him pause in front of…or was it behind…or something, him. Arms still thrown around his neck, Rukia managed to pull her face away slightly eyes unable to focus on anything, but trying desperately to get him to look at her anyway…why she wasn’t one hundred percent sure…well, in this state…she was even less so…but that was another story…
“You,” she said, as if a revelation had come to her, one arm draped around his neck, the other moving as she sloppily made to put her hand on his jaw but placed it against his lips instead, drawing her fingers over his mouth and down his neck slowly, intent, silent, focused. Almost, she might’ve been taken for sober. Then she leaned in to kiss him but stopped short, as somewhere below her stupor part of her said: no, he doesn’t feel…that way. Eyes closing she swayed a bit against him, wondering still: where are we going?
“…I….put me…don’t you…” she felt like a broken record but could not stay still. “…I can’t…” she mumbled and rushed almost in a broken state, “…can’t even…hate you…can’t…” she stumbled until a frustrated noise escaped her and she all but leapt, disentangling herself from Ichigo, and landing ungracefully on the floor, a heap of confused and scared. She remembered somewhere in here that she couldn’t say these things…if she…if she mans any of it…especially if she means it…actually…especially about him…
…Ichigo…
“Ichigo…?” she frowned up at him…what was she supposed to do…now?
Ichigo stopped in front of his door to key in his code, feeling Rukia tighten her grip on his shirtfront when he paused. She really was a strange drunk, going from kicking and yelling to clinging and mumbling in no time at all. He was trying to make sense of it all and failing, hoping that maybe it had something to do with him, but knowing it was probably the alcohol’s fault. Rukia didn’t cling; it definitely had to be the alcohol’s fault.
Frowning thoughtfully, he punched in his code and waited for the door to slide open, still holding her to his chest. Her hand suddenly plastered itself to his face, her fingers pressed against his mouth, and he felt his eyes widen as he looked towards her. She was suddenly quiet, her expression somber and almost sober, as she ran her fingertips across his jaw and down his neck.
That look on her face -- he couldn’t move. Was completely frozen in place, drawn in by her intensity. He started to murmur her name -- why, he wasn’t sure -- just as she tipped her face towards his, and he automatically closed his eyes. He could feel her breath spill over his lips, familiar, sought after -- he wanted this.
Then she suddenly pulled away, mumbling again and shoving against him. No. Wait. Eyes flying open, Ichigo instinctively loosened his hold as she struggled, letting her push away from him and fall to the floor.
“Wait. Rukia…” he began, blinking bemusedly, staring down at her. She looked beyond confused, and he had to admit that he knew exactly how she felt.
Why would she go and try to kiss him? He’d already tried that and she’d pushed him away. He’d done something else too the night he got drunk, and she’d only pushed him away more. They were friends. That was all. Hell, after everything he’d done, he’d probably ruined that too.
It had to be the alcohol. Sighing, he leaned down and lifted her up again, carrying her over to his bed only to set her down again. It had to be.
Even inebriated-and perhaps it was not too impressive as she spent so much of her time at it anyway-Rukia found a decent amount of indignant growling and irritable squirming to put to use as Ichigo picked her up again. She definitely remembered telling him to put her down.
…or not.
Wait.
Okay well maybe she hadn’t told him, but doing a wonderful imitation of her favorite animal out his arms was maybe a decent hint. And he was…wasn’t…was…no wait the second one…he wasn’t drunk, so he had no excuse. Well, even if he had had one it wasn’t like she was in any mood or state to listen. Exactly why she couldn’t just tell him that he annoyed the living Hell out of her but that was only because she cared when he did stupid things, well, she blamed it on not being smashed enough.
She would have to speak with Momo later about this.
And by Momo, she meant Hinamori…
…same person…
…her head hurt.
“You just…don’t…get it,” she shook her head dopily at the mechanic and made to flick him in the temple with her index finger but hit his cheek instead…whatever, she still hit him and that was good enough for her at this point. Not that it was his fault…oh no…she was, perhaps unexpectedly, well aware that everything she was doing felt foolish…distinctly not her…and that meant some new kind of bad for her come morning, but she wasn’t there yet. The thing was, she noted as she blew at the strands of hair in her face, only to have them come back down…in her face, she knew it was foolish, that she was acting…stupidly, to put it simply.
But the control factor?
Out partying in some black hole, or something, probably.
She never did like black holes.
“Put me-” she didn’t finish before Ichigo put her down again and she stared up at him, trying to focus a lot of…a lot of anything not involving wanting him closer into her look.
Was it working?
Her vision was normal, if a little swimmy when she moved her head…yeah ow…okay no. She stopped shaking her head and just settled to scowl…well it felt like a scowl…she hoped it was.
“This,” she hit the bed emphatically. “Is not,” she paused, thinking clearly as possible. “Mine.”
There, that came out well enough. There was what she knew to be an awkward silence before she rolled her shoulders back, trying to gain some decent posture as she stood up, unbalancing immediately, but managing to stay on her feet…somehow.
“I am…fine,” she decided on, working on standing still rather than working on not falling. “I am…leaving,” she said then, turned to go, and promptly the room swayed on her viciously. Damn Ishida and his piloting, she thought, but knew as well as the next person that it was all in her mind, this ‘piloting’ and that Ishida was an invariably competent pilot indeed. She was never drinking again. Absolutely not…this was ridiculous.
Walk, damn you, she spoke to her feet internally only in time to realize speaking to her feet internally or externally was probably a bad sign.
“Shit,” she said rather enthusiastically-for her anyway-as she almost fell, but grabbed to the wall instead, pressing her back to it, facing Ichigo again, working on that glare still no doubt…and proceeded to slide down it. The cold of the metal felt nice through her jacket, she admitted absently…it was too warm on the stupid 7. Averting her gaze as she lowered her head, she stared at her boots solemnly. Well, now what?
Of course, her boots did not have an answer.
Ichigo ignored her squirming and slurring, determined to get her lying down in one place. She’d already gotten away from him once, and he wasn’t letting her do that again. The last thing he needed was for her to go galloping drunkenly around the ship, breaking more glasses or machinery or worse: waking up her brother.
That flick to his cheek got his attention, though.
“What don’t I get?” he asked before really thinking about it, brows threading together. Maybe she could explain all the aborted mumblings, so he actually knew what the hell was going on for a change.
He set her -- gently -- on the bed, apparently surprising her enough to sit still for a few moments as he sighed and reached for the bottle of water on his desk. She was really going to hate herself in the morning, he could tell; considering the fact she almost kissed him, he would have to say that she was absolutely hammered, and assuming she didn’t do this very often, as well as taking into account her size, she would have a massive, painful hangover tomorrow.
Wow. Okay. That was the last time he was going clinical on someone. Sometimes he really hated his dad.
Water in hand, he turned back around only to find Rukia punching the bed.
“Rukia…” It came out as something of a plea; he really didn’t need this right now. He was confused and exasperated and a little desperate to make some sort of sense with all this. His head was a mess and the last thing he needed was this Rukia who kicked him and then clung to him and then tried to kiss him and then attempted to run away all over again.
And he cared. About all of it. Which might’ve been the worst blow to his sanity.
“Idiot.”
He reached out just as she wobbled dangerously and slumped against the wall. Wrapping his fingers around her upper arms, he picked her up off the floor and half-dragged, half-carried her towards the bed again. This was really starting to get fucking ridiculous.
“Idiot,” he repeated, throwing her down on the bed again. His patience was starting to wear thin in all the perplexity, and while he kept telling himself that she was drunk, she was really being a pain in the ass.
Without waiting for a reply -- or kick to the head -- he pinned her down to the bed with one hand and began unlacing her boots with the other. His next look was a silent warning as he slipped off her boots, then bent over to remove her coat, keeping one hand on her at all times while he worked. She was drinking some water and then going to sleep and that was all, dammit, before he had an apoplexy.
“Here, drink this,” he commanded quietly, plucking the bottle from the side table and handing it to her. “Trust me.”
And suddenly the world was horizontal!
How interesting.
…well not really, but it was a change.
Somehow she was on the bed again and she felt the urge to restate: not mine, but refrained as for once, she caught a certain look from her irritated fellow crew member and opted for silence.
…was he taking her boots away? She still had questions to ask them!
…wait Rukia, wait…breathe.
Okay, no asking questions to your shoes, she told herself silently and rolled her eyes at herself…which was a mistake because the world rolled with them and she flinched at the way she suddenly felt like getting rid of her insides…damn.
When the bottle of water came into her line of vision she frowned at it before taking it, and then stared at it some more, as if dubious of it actually being water.
“…maybe, not…a good idea,” she said quietly, and slowly enough that her words remained in tact…which was to say not slurred. Eyes wavering from the drink to the person who was taking care of her in some odd fashion she couldn’t begin to get her head around, Rukia debated between drinking, and maybe just tossing the water at Ichigo. Exactly where her rather violent default behavior toward him stemmed from, she didn’t care to investigate, but in this state of mind she had a clear idea without the trying task of figuring herself out.
But so what?
So what if she…if she…
So what?
“…this is going…to feel…awful…tomorrow,” she stated flatly to him, a question but not, mostly words to fill her awkward space. His hand on her shoulder was reminding her of things and of all the parts of her psyche she ran from the most, she feared this one’s weakness most of all. The heart was such a fickle creature…someone wrote that or something like it, she was sure. They were right.
So she should stop staring at him, she thought.
But she didn’t, and the water bottle became the perfect distraction as she took a tentative sip and swallowed…just one excuse to not talk…and a good reason to shut up before she said something…something she couldn’t take back.
After finally wrangling her jacket from her, Ichigo tossed it in the general direction of his closet and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, careful to keep an eye on her. He didn’t need her to try and bolt again.
Problem was, she kept both eyes on him, and he found that he couldn’t look away either. There was something sober underneath her unfocused gaze, and he had to wonder, if only briefly, if there was something else to the attempted kiss besides drunkenness. Why did she even decide to drink in the first place?
No reason.
No good reason he could figure out, at least.
But then again, it was Rukia. And Rukia was a fucking enigma.
“Yeah, it is,” he replied just as flatly, his grip on her shoulder tightening for just a moment. Her vision wavered just a bit as she brought the bottle to her lips and drank, and he added a low, “Drink the rest,” before pulling back the blankets and tugging them over her.
Unless. Unless it had something to do with what happened the night he got drunk. She’d been acting differently ever since then. As if she hadn’t been acting differently before that. After the kiss.
Shit. He looked away, shifting a little uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. Maybe that was the problem. Hell, it probably was. He knew he, at least, couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“What’s this about, Rukia?” he found himself asking, gaze flicking back over to her. He could only hope that she’d give him an honest answer.
She shifted under the blankets, scowling a bit. What was she, five?
Well, you resorted to drinking for this sort of…problem.
Thanks a lot, higher self.
She shut it off…hopefully.
“Nothing,” was her terribly specific reply to Ichigo as she sipped the water once more and then set it down on the side table, giving it a glare too for good measure. If she was looking mean enough, concentrating on it, she was able to maintain what felt like a slightly more level head. Maybe it was wishful thinking, true that was completely possible. But she’d rather it wasn’t.
Struggling to a sitting position, she fixed her eyes on her feet, moving them beneath the blankets.
“Was stupid,” she said as if to write it off. “Shouldn’t drink over that,” she muttered to herself but loud enough for him to hear…for better or worse.
Hands empty now she twisted them in her lap, unable to keep from fidgeting for some ungodly reason. She should have more composure, she knew…even drunk…hell she shouldn’t even be drunk to begin with. If her brother ever found out she would simply choose death rather than the embarrassment and shame number that would do on her.
Even the oncoming wave of discomfiture regarding Ichigo would be enough to make her want to disappear, she knew herself well enough to conclude.
“Why’d you do that?!” she blurted out suddenly and then drew her knees up to her chest, burying her face against them in a heartbeat. Shit…shut up Rukia, shut up!
If he replied to that she’d just go fetal position on him…yeah…or something…else…brilliant…ugh…stupid mouth.
“I kissed my captain,” Hinamori had told her.
Bad thought to come up, Rukia hugged her knees to her tighter, clenching her eyes shut even though her face being pressed against her knees pretty much kept her sight clear anyway…hopefully her whole face was covered enough…well it was dark too, thank goodness. She could positively feel the warmth rush to her face. She kissed her captain, huh?
Mechanic….kiss…wait…no. Okay, shutting off brain.
Rukia muttered a few obscenities under her breath, finding to her dismay they did little to assuage her anxiousness…or her…whatever else.
That wasn’t an answer. Ichigo scowled, hands fisting in the blankets as he turned his head away. He knew it was a lie, that she wouldn’t drink for no reason at all, but if he couldn’t get it out of her now, well. He couldn’t ever get it out of her. Stubborn bitch.
“Was stupid. Shouldn’t drink over that.”
It was nothing more than a murmur, but it made Ichigo turn his head back around, brows furrowing. Was she still talking about their kiss? Or maybe whatever it was he did a week ago?
Shit. Shitfuck. So she thought it was stupid. Maybe she was right.
“I don’t know,” he answered. Just about the only answer he had right now. He was fucking confused, plain and simple. She’d done nothing but push him away, but she had to care a bit to get drunk over it, right? Well, that was if that was even the reason. It was his reason. What was she even asking anyway?
Damn, his head hurt.
“Just lay down,” he grumped, placing a hand on her shoulder again and pushing her back. She’d go to sleep and this night would be over, without her mumbled revelations and drunken ramblings.
He just knew that he never wanted to deal with an inebriated Rukia ever again.
He got to his feet, scratching the back of his head and shooting her a pointed look -- stay there, stupid -- before heading for the door. Whatever part of him that was a begrudging gentleman gave her his bed; he’d take the couch in the crew lounge or something.
She watched him move away and blamed the drinking for the intense pang of feeling alone; this wasn’t to be confused with loneliness, which could come entirely to a person on its own, a solitary being. To feel alone required the absence of another, or that’s how it seemed to play in her mind. I’m not alone, she thought. There was her brother…and…well…somewhere…Renji…and…it wasn’t like she ought to be wanting anything else.
All you have to do, her weaker self told her, is say ‘stay’.
Her far more sober self snorted at the very idea.
This less than levelheaded Rukia-though some might argue when was Rukia ever levelheaded to begin with?-opted for pushing herself to her feet and doing a fantastic job of striding in a straight line to Ichigo, who she suspected, suspected her of not being able to do such a thing.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” she replied, grabbing his sleeve, and did her best not to slur her words; she was aware of the lack of effect drunkenness had on the sober. And for god’s sake would the ground make up its mind? It seemed to want to go this way, and then that way, and then do a weird turn on her, which resulted in her losing her footing naturally…all that striding no doubt.
She would have laughed except…well wait, no she wouldn’t have.
Rukia’s grip on his shirt sleeve only tightened though and it was the only way she could tell him that even for her, being left to one’s own devices in this state was not a pleasant idea.
Ichigo turned as Rukia strode over to him -- rather steadily, amazingly, and his mind pointed out that she looked pretty determined as she latched onto his sleeve with surprising strength for a drunk woman. Apparently, Rukia was still Rukia, even with howeverthefuckmany drinks she’d had, which really, if he thought about it, didn’t faze him in the least.
“I’ll tell you whatever the hell I want!” he countered loudly, wrapping a hand around her arm when she began to sway. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was her -- their -- way of asking him to stay, all strong touches and arguments.
They never did do anything quietly. Subtly, maybe, but not quietly.
“Now get back in bed,” he added. I’ll stay.
Turning her around, he steered her back over to the bed and pushed her down, not bothering to rein in his strength. Her asking him to stick around - even while drunk, even in the most unconventional way possible - unnerved him a little, since he was pretty sure this wasn’t a good idea. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. So he thought.
Maybe.
Oh, fuck it.
He sat down heavily next to her, tugging off his boots without even bothering to untie them, tossing them next to hers at the foot of the bed. His belt was next, and while yeah, he realized he was undressing on a bed with Rukia, there was no way in hell he was sleeping with a metal buckle that close to his crotch.
“Now will ya shut the hell up?”
She squinted her eyes at him briefly before saying, “Mmm, no,” and then proceeded to stare at him for what any sober or conversely, entirely inebriated person could perceive as what qualified as an ‘uncomfortable’ period of time. It was suddenly like she felt she could pick him apart visually and figure him out, like suddenly that was going to be so easy because…well…because…because she thought so? Okay, maybe not…but something about Ichigo seemed a little off, a little different. It then occurred to her that, in fact, that was probably just her. Huh, well fine.
“And no,” she repeated unnecessarily and stretched her arms high above her head, yawning widely. It was strange to her; she’d thought in the midst of being drunk that other feelings like ‘sleepy’ or ‘hungry’ or ‘confused’ would seem different, but it seemed she’d been wrong. Rubbing at her eyes, Rukia blinked up at her bedmate with surprising calm. She didn’t feel the need to surprise attack him into a wall or even hit him upside the head, nope.
How very strange, she thought, and attributed this entirely to her drunken state. No way would she usually pass up such a chance to properly get a hit in on him.
“You’re stupid,” she said flatly before rolling on her side, back to him as her brow furrowed deeply. It really bothered her that she didn’t want to beat him up as usual. What is wrong with me, she wondered a little dryly. But the drinks were either scanting off or settling in because an odd ache in her chest had awakened…or stirred maybe. She wasn’t sure if it had always been there, or if she even ought to care. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, knowing how she felt and knowing absolutely nothing of what to do about it. Better not to know at all…her hands absently fisted in the sheets, drawing a corner to her as she tucked her head down slightly and shut her eyes.
Just breathe, just remember you’re drunk, this is all going to be gone by…by…her thoughts stopped and she concentrated on pretending she was asleep, because despite her yawn moments before, her damned drunken ponderings had woken her up. For god’s sake, she almost rolled her eyes but opted to keep them closed instead.
So this was a little… weird. Ichigo raked a hand through his hair, shifting a little under her scrutiny and swallowing thickly. It wasn’t exactly that she was staring at him -- which she was, and quite intently -- it was that she wasn’t hitting him. Punching him. Kicking him. Even after he told her to shut up. Nothing.
Scowling, he waited until she was done with her inspection before relaxing, her apparent calmness doing absolutely nothing for his sanity. She was being entirely too nonchalant than he was really comfortable with, yawning and stretching and spreading out on his bed for all the universe like she belonged there.
She must be really, really drunk.
And he must be really, really stupid, because he actually kinda liked this idea. As he lay down next to her, he realized that she actually, in a way, fit. Nicely. It felt natural. Right. He could get used to it.
He very nearly threw his arm around her waist, but remembered at the last moment why that may not be a good idea. Right. Drunken Rukia. Almost-kiss. Actual kiss. His own drunken self. Shit, when had this all become so complicated? He knew how he felt, at least, even if he had no clue what to do about it. He’d done something wrong before, though, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d just… leave her alone. Like she wanted. Like he thought she wanted. Or just… not talk about it, since he was ostensibly incapable of leaving her alone. And vice versa.
Shit, this was a mess.
Sighing, he grunted out a half-hearted, “You’re an idiot,” before rolling onto his back, head turned towards the wall, away from her.
Characters: Ichigo and Rukia
Location: Future 7, kitchen, Ichigo's room, Ichigo's bed (HINT HINT).
Timeframe: After RukiMomo drunklog.
Status: FINISHED.
Warnings: ... *whistles*
Rukia was not quite sure where she was...is...well actually she wasn't sure...wait no she wasn't not....or was yes...no...okay maybe....wait....this...she knew this place. This was the ship...right. Wait a minute...she didn't remember being on the ship...well yes she did, but then she wasn't, or was she? And really, besides all of that nonsense, wasn't Hinamori supposed to be here? Snorting to herself dryly she shrugged her shoulders back, frowning at the way the ship moved with her when she walked-was it supposed to do that?
Originally she aimed for her room but somehow only made it to the kitchen when it occurred to her a glass of water would be good. She wasn’t drunk, no, no way. She was…was…was.
No she wasn’t.
She was.
Whatever.
The automated cabinets of this futuristic setting she’d heard about being kids’ stories at some point in the past didn’t seem to want to open for her, no matter how many times she hit the key code…or that thing…just…hit more buttons or something, whatever she did, they didn’t respond…well not for a while. It seemed like hours; it was a few minutes before one swung open, rows of chilled glasses ready to be used, and, she thought blearily, in no little sense of humor, made for the use of alcohol. What she wanted…needed…no wanted…or she didn’t want to need…or…something…water…someone told her water…or maybe not, but her mind was stuck somewhere around that place. Grasping one, the cold still shocked her and she almost dropped it, but impressed herself by all but diving after it, the world heaving around her in interesting fashions as she managed to grab the base of the glass just as the top of it hit the ground. As it shattered she yelped, dropping the rest for a second noise of breaking and then promptly bent to clean it all up…with her hands. Shit, she couldn’t quite see straight…or…feel…right…or be…right…or…whatever…but the glass…should…she should pick it up…or…she shouldn’t or maybe…
Her thoughts halted abruptly as one of the longer shards decided to get friendly with her right palm. Hissing slightly, she paused, holding her hand up in the light like a foreign object, blood beginning to make its appearance…she seemed to be good at losing it…was that funny? She almost thought it was as she continued to stare at her hand, as if dubious it was hers at all.
Ichigo was starting to wonder why it was so quiet in the 7. He hadn’t seen Rukia all evening, which must’ve been the reason, and while he was glad of the peace, he was also a little wary. It rarely got so quiet unless someone was up to something; that or someone had lain on top of someone else while drunk and probably did or said something stupid and managed to ruin everything when there, theoretically, wasn’t anything more to ruin.
Dammit. He really had fucked everything up.
Sighing, he set down his book -- Taming of the Shrew -- and rose to stretch, yawning and raking a hand through his hair. It was pretty late, and --
Crash.
What the hell? Ichigo blinked and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway to look around. There was more shuffling in the kitchen, and then a low hiss -- that was a Rukia hiss. Brows furrowing together, he walked slowly into the kitchen, eyes widening as he caught sight of Rukia crouched on the floor. She was just staring at her bleeding hand, broken glass littering the floor at her feet, and every couple seconds or so, she wobbled slightly.
“Rukia?”
Ichigo's voice was a little strange and she wanted to ask him why, but instead just peered over at him blankly.
"...you'renot....I don't wanna..." she managed before holding her hand out to him with an equally dumbfounded look that went sour at the edges as she frowned severely at him suddenly.
"Why...why are you.....why're you here....?"
She closed her hand as if to make a fist but regretted it instantly; okay so she could feel enough to know when she was jabbing herself further with a shard of glass. Someone might later point out to her that being drunk made one incapable of making such differentiations....or not.....
A sharp inhale as she bit down on her own tongue to keep from yelping, she paused again, shoulders slumping. Why did she have glass in her hand again?
Rukia had forgotten the glass was a glass to begin with at all.
Ichigo blinked. Blinked again. Took in her bleeding hand. Her voice was a little slurred and she was wobbling more than ever. He blinked once more.
“Are you drunk?” he blurted disbelievingly. Rukia didn’t get drunk; he’d never seen her even touch a drink in all the months he’d known her. He knew very well the appeal of drinking all your problems away, but Rukia just didn’t seem like the type. She was too good for alcohol.
Or something like that.
Shrugging off her drunken schpiel, he moved to kneel down in front of her, taking her hand in his. He inspected her palm, squinting at the shard of glass embedded in her skin before carefully picking it out. She had to be drunk. The Rukia he knew wasn’t so clumsy as to break a glass, let alone leave it in her palm.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, more out of force of habit than anything else. Frowning, almost worriedly, he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, stained with grease and dust, and wrapped it gently around her hand.
He wrapped something around her hand and she was pretty sure it smelled funny, but couldn’t be bothered with that as she thought first that it was nice of him and second that she shouldn’t really need his help, of all people…this was…was…Ichigo…or…yeah, Ichigo…
…insufferable, job-stealing, orange-haired….jerk….thing…person…stupid.
Blinking rapidly, she brought her undamaged hand to her eyes, rubbing them fiercely. Why the hell couldn’t she see straight?
“Go…go away…” she mumbled and pushed at him, hard, standing abruptly only to wobble severely…grab the counter and make a surprised noise…she was pretty sure that was her voice anyway. “Shi…” she didn’t finish as her feet slipped out from under her and she went down again, this time on accident.
Yeah, she was definitely drunk. Ichigo gaped a bit at the idea before making a quick recovery as she pushed him -- it was a good thing she was hammered, or she probably would’ve knocked him down on the glass. He scowled and reached out to catch her, hands wrapping around her waist and holding her steady.
“Rukia…” He had no idea what he was going to say to her -- something about how drinking didn’t solve anything -- but it was bullshit. It would be hypocritical, anyway.
So he shut up and stood up, stepping over the glass and towards her. He had no idea why she was doing this -- the idea of Rukia drinking for the hell of it was fucking ridiculous, so there had to be a reason -- but the least he could do was make sure she made it to her room alright.
“C’mon.” He started to lift her up by the waist, easily taking her weight into his arms.
When she fell she didn’t quite realize she was falling…that was until Ichigo caught her and then she did what any respectably drunk Kuchiki Rukia could be expected to do: tried to kick him of course.
“Let…let go…let me go…let go,” she repeated like the broken record she surely was and pushed at him with her hands while kicking at him continuously with her feet….those were her feet, right? Oh what the fuck ever. Probably they were.
“…an’…an’…” something in her snapped slightly as pain jolted through her head and she froze suddenly, only vaguely aware of his arms holding her up as she winced. “…oh put me…down,” she managed quietly, still slurring but soft about it now. “…you do…you don’t…you don’t…” but she trailed off and went back to squirming like hell in his hold, to get out, to get away…or…well…or something.
Well, that wasn’t unexpected. Ichigo clamped a hand around her ankle, diverting her kick away from his chest before pulling her up against him. Damn, she was a violent drunk.
But she was still a drunk, and Ichigo counted this to his advantage. Her punches and kicks were nowhere near the level of hurt she was capable of inflicting, and they were relatively easy for him to deflect.
He ignored her commands, finally getting her in a fairly secure hold against his chest, one of his arms wound under her back and the other around her knees. Her squirming also went unnoticed, for the most part. He suddenly couldn’t seem to account for his body, but he was quick to remind his brain that she was smashed. He could never take advantage of her like this.
Not that she would let him. “Rukia… stop it,” he hissed, though it was a little more desperate than he intended. Shit, if this was some sort of revenge for that night he got drunk, it was damn good revenge.
Why wasn’t he listening to her?
Damn it, Ichigo.
She’d gotten this far without him right? Couldn’t he just let her alone…like…everyone was good at…right? Mumbling in protest at his secure hold on her, she tried to hit him again, and at the same time wriggled in his grasp again, body moving up against his in a way that she would be grateful in a sober state to be drunk during. Skin flushed oddly, she felt very warm, very conscious of that warmth, and altogether…messy as the world spun and suddenly she had to stop hitting at Ichigo to wrap her arms around his neck and cling…her head buried into his shoulder, shaking slightly.
Why were they outside…her…room…or was it her room?
“It’s….you…why’s it…why are you…” she trailed off incoherently and clasped him closer to her if possible, making his movement hard to continue if at all, and her fingers dug hard into him, not that she noticed. “…why….?” The lower half of her limp as a rag doll, she proceeded to try and climb her way on top of him, as if to find purchase on her new stand, because what he was, now, was slowly becoming…or quickly…rather ambiguous to Rukia. It was Ichigo…but no it wasn’t…and then her problem was Ichigo…and then it wasn’t…and then…Ichigo…wouldn’t let her go.
Dammit. She was wiggling against him again, and Ichigo was fully aware of what parts of her body were squirming against which parts of his body, and he had to think, yet again, that this really was some damn good form of revenge.
She kept murmuring against his chest even as he stopped in front of her door, frowning at the keypad at his hip. He didn’t know Rukia’s code, nor did he particularly feel like hacking into her room, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to make sure she was safe. Swearing under his breath, he shifted Rukia in his grasp, cradling her to him with one arm as he reached out his free hand to flip open the pad, revealing the wiring underneath.
But then she suddenly stopped hitting him, winding her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Oh shit… oh shit. Was she actually clinging to him? Did he actually not mind? Ichigo tensed up, arm tightening around her -- no, he didn’t just mind. He actually kind of liked it.
He swallowed thickly and gave up trying to MacGyver her door open, briefly closing his eyes and wrapping his other arm around her. She was shaking a little, still mumbling against his chest, and he instinctively pulled her closer, carrying her down the hall to his room.
“I don’t know,” he said without thinking, an honest answer to her honest question.
They were moving again, she registered; well actually not just them for her, Rukia felt everything moving and held onto Ichigo as though her life very well depended on it. Her heart felt weird, almost like it was skipping beats and she couldn’t get the roaring in her ears to die down at all…her hands clutched at him blindly. Opening her mouth to say something, she suddenly couldn’t remember what she wanted to say and burrowed against him instead, in a way that may or may not have been painful for him as her personal…whatever people wanted to call it these days…
But so much …she closed her eyes again, hands winding in his shirt fabric urgently as she felt him pause in front of…or was it behind…or something, him. Arms still thrown around his neck, Rukia managed to pull her face away slightly eyes unable to focus on anything, but trying desperately to get him to look at her anyway…why she wasn’t one hundred percent sure…well, in this state…she was even less so…but that was another story…
“You,” she said, as if a revelation had come to her, one arm draped around his neck, the other moving as she sloppily made to put her hand on his jaw but placed it against his lips instead, drawing her fingers over his mouth and down his neck slowly, intent, silent, focused. Almost, she might’ve been taken for sober. Then she leaned in to kiss him but stopped short, as somewhere below her stupor part of her said: no, he doesn’t feel…that way. Eyes closing she swayed a bit against him, wondering still: where are we going?
“…I….put me…don’t you…” she felt like a broken record but could not stay still. “…I can’t…” she mumbled and rushed almost in a broken state, “…can’t even…hate you…can’t…” she stumbled until a frustrated noise escaped her and she all but leapt, disentangling herself from Ichigo, and landing ungracefully on the floor, a heap of confused and scared. She remembered somewhere in here that she couldn’t say these things…if she…if she mans any of it…especially if she means it…actually…especially about him…
…Ichigo…
“Ichigo…?” she frowned up at him…what was she supposed to do…now?
Ichigo stopped in front of his door to key in his code, feeling Rukia tighten her grip on his shirtfront when he paused. She really was a strange drunk, going from kicking and yelling to clinging and mumbling in no time at all. He was trying to make sense of it all and failing, hoping that maybe it had something to do with him, but knowing it was probably the alcohol’s fault. Rukia didn’t cling; it definitely had to be the alcohol’s fault.
Frowning thoughtfully, he punched in his code and waited for the door to slide open, still holding her to his chest. Her hand suddenly plastered itself to his face, her fingers pressed against his mouth, and he felt his eyes widen as he looked towards her. She was suddenly quiet, her expression somber and almost sober, as she ran her fingertips across his jaw and down his neck.
That look on her face -- he couldn’t move. Was completely frozen in place, drawn in by her intensity. He started to murmur her name -- why, he wasn’t sure -- just as she tipped her face towards his, and he automatically closed his eyes. He could feel her breath spill over his lips, familiar, sought after -- he wanted this.
Then she suddenly pulled away, mumbling again and shoving against him. No. Wait. Eyes flying open, Ichigo instinctively loosened his hold as she struggled, letting her push away from him and fall to the floor.
“Wait. Rukia…” he began, blinking bemusedly, staring down at her. She looked beyond confused, and he had to admit that he knew exactly how she felt.
Why would she go and try to kiss him? He’d already tried that and she’d pushed him away. He’d done something else too the night he got drunk, and she’d only pushed him away more. They were friends. That was all. Hell, after everything he’d done, he’d probably ruined that too.
It had to be the alcohol. Sighing, he leaned down and lifted her up again, carrying her over to his bed only to set her down again. It had to be.
Even inebriated-and perhaps it was not too impressive as she spent so much of her time at it anyway-Rukia found a decent amount of indignant growling and irritable squirming to put to use as Ichigo picked her up again. She definitely remembered telling him to put her down.
…or not.
Wait.
Okay well maybe she hadn’t told him, but doing a wonderful imitation of her favorite animal out his arms was maybe a decent hint. And he was…wasn’t…was…no wait the second one…he wasn’t drunk, so he had no excuse. Well, even if he had had one it wasn’t like she was in any mood or state to listen. Exactly why she couldn’t just tell him that he annoyed the living Hell out of her but that was only because she cared when he did stupid things, well, she blamed it on not being smashed enough.
She would have to speak with Momo later about this.
And by Momo, she meant Hinamori…
…same person…
…her head hurt.
“You just…don’t…get it,” she shook her head dopily at the mechanic and made to flick him in the temple with her index finger but hit his cheek instead…whatever, she still hit him and that was good enough for her at this point. Not that it was his fault…oh no…she was, perhaps unexpectedly, well aware that everything she was doing felt foolish…distinctly not her…and that meant some new kind of bad for her come morning, but she wasn’t there yet. The thing was, she noted as she blew at the strands of hair in her face, only to have them come back down…in her face, she knew it was foolish, that she was acting…stupidly, to put it simply.
But the control factor?
Out partying in some black hole, or something, probably.
She never did like black holes.
“Put me-” she didn’t finish before Ichigo put her down again and she stared up at him, trying to focus a lot of…a lot of anything not involving wanting him closer into her look.
Was it working?
Her vision was normal, if a little swimmy when she moved her head…yeah ow…okay no. She stopped shaking her head and just settled to scowl…well it felt like a scowl…she hoped it was.
“This,” she hit the bed emphatically. “Is not,” she paused, thinking clearly as possible. “Mine.”
There, that came out well enough. There was what she knew to be an awkward silence before she rolled her shoulders back, trying to gain some decent posture as she stood up, unbalancing immediately, but managing to stay on her feet…somehow.
“I am…fine,” she decided on, working on standing still rather than working on not falling. “I am…leaving,” she said then, turned to go, and promptly the room swayed on her viciously. Damn Ishida and his piloting, she thought, but knew as well as the next person that it was all in her mind, this ‘piloting’ and that Ishida was an invariably competent pilot indeed. She was never drinking again. Absolutely not…this was ridiculous.
Walk, damn you, she spoke to her feet internally only in time to realize speaking to her feet internally or externally was probably a bad sign.
“Shit,” she said rather enthusiastically-for her anyway-as she almost fell, but grabbed to the wall instead, pressing her back to it, facing Ichigo again, working on that glare still no doubt…and proceeded to slide down it. The cold of the metal felt nice through her jacket, she admitted absently…it was too warm on the stupid 7. Averting her gaze as she lowered her head, she stared at her boots solemnly. Well, now what?
Of course, her boots did not have an answer.
Ichigo ignored her squirming and slurring, determined to get her lying down in one place. She’d already gotten away from him once, and he wasn’t letting her do that again. The last thing he needed was for her to go galloping drunkenly around the ship, breaking more glasses or machinery or worse: waking up her brother.
That flick to his cheek got his attention, though.
“What don’t I get?” he asked before really thinking about it, brows threading together. Maybe she could explain all the aborted mumblings, so he actually knew what the hell was going on for a change.
He set her -- gently -- on the bed, apparently surprising her enough to sit still for a few moments as he sighed and reached for the bottle of water on his desk. She was really going to hate herself in the morning, he could tell; considering the fact she almost kissed him, he would have to say that she was absolutely hammered, and assuming she didn’t do this very often, as well as taking into account her size, she would have a massive, painful hangover tomorrow.
Wow. Okay. That was the last time he was going clinical on someone. Sometimes he really hated his dad.
Water in hand, he turned back around only to find Rukia punching the bed.
“Rukia…” It came out as something of a plea; he really didn’t need this right now. He was confused and exasperated and a little desperate to make some sort of sense with all this. His head was a mess and the last thing he needed was this Rukia who kicked him and then clung to him and then tried to kiss him and then attempted to run away all over again.
And he cared. About all of it. Which might’ve been the worst blow to his sanity.
“Idiot.”
He reached out just as she wobbled dangerously and slumped against the wall. Wrapping his fingers around her upper arms, he picked her up off the floor and half-dragged, half-carried her towards the bed again. This was really starting to get fucking ridiculous.
“Idiot,” he repeated, throwing her down on the bed again. His patience was starting to wear thin in all the perplexity, and while he kept telling himself that she was drunk, she was really being a pain in the ass.
Without waiting for a reply -- or kick to the head -- he pinned her down to the bed with one hand and began unlacing her boots with the other. His next look was a silent warning as he slipped off her boots, then bent over to remove her coat, keeping one hand on her at all times while he worked. She was drinking some water and then going to sleep and that was all, dammit, before he had an apoplexy.
“Here, drink this,” he commanded quietly, plucking the bottle from the side table and handing it to her. “Trust me.”
And suddenly the world was horizontal!
How interesting.
…well not really, but it was a change.
Somehow she was on the bed again and she felt the urge to restate: not mine, but refrained as for once, she caught a certain look from her irritated fellow crew member and opted for silence.
…was he taking her boots away? She still had questions to ask them!
…wait Rukia, wait…breathe.
Okay, no asking questions to your shoes, she told herself silently and rolled her eyes at herself…which was a mistake because the world rolled with them and she flinched at the way she suddenly felt like getting rid of her insides…damn.
When the bottle of water came into her line of vision she frowned at it before taking it, and then stared at it some more, as if dubious of it actually being water.
“…maybe, not…a good idea,” she said quietly, and slowly enough that her words remained in tact…which was to say not slurred. Eyes wavering from the drink to the person who was taking care of her in some odd fashion she couldn’t begin to get her head around, Rukia debated between drinking, and maybe just tossing the water at Ichigo. Exactly where her rather violent default behavior toward him stemmed from, she didn’t care to investigate, but in this state of mind she had a clear idea without the trying task of figuring herself out.
But so what?
So what if she…if she…
So what?
“…this is going…to feel…awful…tomorrow,” she stated flatly to him, a question but not, mostly words to fill her awkward space. His hand on her shoulder was reminding her of things and of all the parts of her psyche she ran from the most, she feared this one’s weakness most of all. The heart was such a fickle creature…someone wrote that or something like it, she was sure. They were right.
So she should stop staring at him, she thought.
But she didn’t, and the water bottle became the perfect distraction as she took a tentative sip and swallowed…just one excuse to not talk…and a good reason to shut up before she said something…something she couldn’t take back.
After finally wrangling her jacket from her, Ichigo tossed it in the general direction of his closet and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, careful to keep an eye on her. He didn’t need her to try and bolt again.
Problem was, she kept both eyes on him, and he found that he couldn’t look away either. There was something sober underneath her unfocused gaze, and he had to wonder, if only briefly, if there was something else to the attempted kiss besides drunkenness. Why did she even decide to drink in the first place?
No reason.
No good reason he could figure out, at least.
But then again, it was Rukia. And Rukia was a fucking enigma.
“Yeah, it is,” he replied just as flatly, his grip on her shoulder tightening for just a moment. Her vision wavered just a bit as she brought the bottle to her lips and drank, and he added a low, “Drink the rest,” before pulling back the blankets and tugging them over her.
Unless. Unless it had something to do with what happened the night he got drunk. She’d been acting differently ever since then. As if she hadn’t been acting differently before that. After the kiss.
Shit. He looked away, shifting a little uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. Maybe that was the problem. Hell, it probably was. He knew he, at least, couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“What’s this about, Rukia?” he found himself asking, gaze flicking back over to her. He could only hope that she’d give him an honest answer.
She shifted under the blankets, scowling a bit. What was she, five?
Well, you resorted to drinking for this sort of…problem.
Thanks a lot, higher self.
She shut it off…hopefully.
“Nothing,” was her terribly specific reply to Ichigo as she sipped the water once more and then set it down on the side table, giving it a glare too for good measure. If she was looking mean enough, concentrating on it, she was able to maintain what felt like a slightly more level head. Maybe it was wishful thinking, true that was completely possible. But she’d rather it wasn’t.
Struggling to a sitting position, she fixed her eyes on her feet, moving them beneath the blankets.
“Was stupid,” she said as if to write it off. “Shouldn’t drink over that,” she muttered to herself but loud enough for him to hear…for better or worse.
Hands empty now she twisted them in her lap, unable to keep from fidgeting for some ungodly reason. She should have more composure, she knew…even drunk…hell she shouldn’t even be drunk to begin with. If her brother ever found out she would simply choose death rather than the embarrassment and shame number that would do on her.
Even the oncoming wave of discomfiture regarding Ichigo would be enough to make her want to disappear, she knew herself well enough to conclude.
“Why’d you do that?!” she blurted out suddenly and then drew her knees up to her chest, burying her face against them in a heartbeat. Shit…shut up Rukia, shut up!
If he replied to that she’d just go fetal position on him…yeah…or something…else…brilliant…ugh…stupid mouth.
“I kissed my captain,” Hinamori had told her.
Bad thought to come up, Rukia hugged her knees to her tighter, clenching her eyes shut even though her face being pressed against her knees pretty much kept her sight clear anyway…hopefully her whole face was covered enough…well it was dark too, thank goodness. She could positively feel the warmth rush to her face. She kissed her captain, huh?
Mechanic….kiss…wait…no. Okay, shutting off brain.
Rukia muttered a few obscenities under her breath, finding to her dismay they did little to assuage her anxiousness…or her…whatever else.
That wasn’t an answer. Ichigo scowled, hands fisting in the blankets as he turned his head away. He knew it was a lie, that she wouldn’t drink for no reason at all, but if he couldn’t get it out of her now, well. He couldn’t ever get it out of her. Stubborn bitch.
“Was stupid. Shouldn’t drink over that.”
It was nothing more than a murmur, but it made Ichigo turn his head back around, brows furrowing. Was she still talking about their kiss? Or maybe whatever it was he did a week ago?
Shit. Shitfuck. So she thought it was stupid. Maybe she was right.
“I don’t know,” he answered. Just about the only answer he had right now. He was fucking confused, plain and simple. She’d done nothing but push him away, but she had to care a bit to get drunk over it, right? Well, that was if that was even the reason. It was his reason. What was she even asking anyway?
Damn, his head hurt.
“Just lay down,” he grumped, placing a hand on her shoulder again and pushing her back. She’d go to sleep and this night would be over, without her mumbled revelations and drunken ramblings.
He just knew that he never wanted to deal with an inebriated Rukia ever again.
He got to his feet, scratching the back of his head and shooting her a pointed look -- stay there, stupid -- before heading for the door. Whatever part of him that was a begrudging gentleman gave her his bed; he’d take the couch in the crew lounge or something.
She watched him move away and blamed the drinking for the intense pang of feeling alone; this wasn’t to be confused with loneliness, which could come entirely to a person on its own, a solitary being. To feel alone required the absence of another, or that’s how it seemed to play in her mind. I’m not alone, she thought. There was her brother…and…well…somewhere…Renji…and…it wasn’t like she ought to be wanting anything else.
All you have to do, her weaker self told her, is say ‘stay’.
Her far more sober self snorted at the very idea.
This less than levelheaded Rukia-though some might argue when was Rukia ever levelheaded to begin with?-opted for pushing herself to her feet and doing a fantastic job of striding in a straight line to Ichigo, who she suspected, suspected her of not being able to do such a thing.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” she replied, grabbing his sleeve, and did her best not to slur her words; she was aware of the lack of effect drunkenness had on the sober. And for god’s sake would the ground make up its mind? It seemed to want to go this way, and then that way, and then do a weird turn on her, which resulted in her losing her footing naturally…all that striding no doubt.
She would have laughed except…well wait, no she wouldn’t have.
Rukia’s grip on his shirt sleeve only tightened though and it was the only way she could tell him that even for her, being left to one’s own devices in this state was not a pleasant idea.
Ichigo turned as Rukia strode over to him -- rather steadily, amazingly, and his mind pointed out that she looked pretty determined as she latched onto his sleeve with surprising strength for a drunk woman. Apparently, Rukia was still Rukia, even with howeverthefuckmany drinks she’d had, which really, if he thought about it, didn’t faze him in the least.
“I’ll tell you whatever the hell I want!” he countered loudly, wrapping a hand around her arm when she began to sway. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was her -- their -- way of asking him to stay, all strong touches and arguments.
They never did do anything quietly. Subtly, maybe, but not quietly.
“Now get back in bed,” he added. I’ll stay.
Turning her around, he steered her back over to the bed and pushed her down, not bothering to rein in his strength. Her asking him to stick around - even while drunk, even in the most unconventional way possible - unnerved him a little, since he was pretty sure this wasn’t a good idea. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. So he thought.
Maybe.
Oh, fuck it.
He sat down heavily next to her, tugging off his boots without even bothering to untie them, tossing them next to hers at the foot of the bed. His belt was next, and while yeah, he realized he was undressing on a bed with Rukia, there was no way in hell he was sleeping with a metal buckle that close to his crotch.
“Now will ya shut the hell up?”
She squinted her eyes at him briefly before saying, “Mmm, no,” and then proceeded to stare at him for what any sober or conversely, entirely inebriated person could perceive as what qualified as an ‘uncomfortable’ period of time. It was suddenly like she felt she could pick him apart visually and figure him out, like suddenly that was going to be so easy because…well…because…because she thought so? Okay, maybe not…but something about Ichigo seemed a little off, a little different. It then occurred to her that, in fact, that was probably just her. Huh, well fine.
“And no,” she repeated unnecessarily and stretched her arms high above her head, yawning widely. It was strange to her; she’d thought in the midst of being drunk that other feelings like ‘sleepy’ or ‘hungry’ or ‘confused’ would seem different, but it seemed she’d been wrong. Rubbing at her eyes, Rukia blinked up at her bedmate with surprising calm. She didn’t feel the need to surprise attack him into a wall or even hit him upside the head, nope.
How very strange, she thought, and attributed this entirely to her drunken state. No way would she usually pass up such a chance to properly get a hit in on him.
“You’re stupid,” she said flatly before rolling on her side, back to him as her brow furrowed deeply. It really bothered her that she didn’t want to beat him up as usual. What is wrong with me, she wondered a little dryly. But the drinks were either scanting off or settling in because an odd ache in her chest had awakened…or stirred maybe. She wasn’t sure if it had always been there, or if she even ought to care. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, knowing how she felt and knowing absolutely nothing of what to do about it. Better not to know at all…her hands absently fisted in the sheets, drawing a corner to her as she tucked her head down slightly and shut her eyes.
Just breathe, just remember you’re drunk, this is all going to be gone by…by…her thoughts stopped and she concentrated on pretending she was asleep, because despite her yawn moments before, her damned drunken ponderings had woken her up. For god’s sake, she almost rolled her eyes but opted to keep them closed instead.
So this was a little… weird. Ichigo raked a hand through his hair, shifting a little under her scrutiny and swallowing thickly. It wasn’t exactly that she was staring at him -- which she was, and quite intently -- it was that she wasn’t hitting him. Punching him. Kicking him. Even after he told her to shut up. Nothing.
Scowling, he waited until she was done with her inspection before relaxing, her apparent calmness doing absolutely nothing for his sanity. She was being entirely too nonchalant than he was really comfortable with, yawning and stretching and spreading out on his bed for all the universe like she belonged there.
She must be really, really drunk.
And he must be really, really stupid, because he actually kinda liked this idea. As he lay down next to her, he realized that she actually, in a way, fit. Nicely. It felt natural. Right. He could get used to it.
He very nearly threw his arm around her waist, but remembered at the last moment why that may not be a good idea. Right. Drunken Rukia. Almost-kiss. Actual kiss. His own drunken self. Shit, when had this all become so complicated? He knew how he felt, at least, even if he had no clue what to do about it. He’d done something wrong before, though, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d just… leave her alone. Like she wanted. Like he thought she wanted. Or just… not talk about it, since he was ostensibly incapable of leaving her alone. And vice versa.
Shit, this was a mess.
Sighing, he grunted out a half-hearted, “You’re an idiot,” before rolling onto his back, head turned towards the wall, away from her.