Fic: Sunlight and Song (8/11)
Title: Sunlight and Song
Author: Venefican
Pairing: Nanao/Shunsui
Rating: PG
Summary: Nanao chooses, Shunsui panics, and the theories of zanpakuto are discussed. Rangiku tries to hug people and fails.
8
‘Nanao-chan, what’s this?’
She blinks over her glasses, and then raises at eyebrow at the owner of the hand currently waving a paper in front of her nose. ‘I would hope, sir, that you of all people could recognise a First Division patrol order. It hasn’t been that long.’
‘But why?’
‘Officer-led patrols are compulsory, and have to be undertaken at least twice a year, sir.’
‘But we haven’t done any in-’
‘At least ten years, sir. Yes, I know. You push them on the Third and Fourth seats.’ She lifts her gaze from her pen and fixes him with her best glare. ‘An abuse of position if there is one.’
‘I believed it was about time. And given your clear faith in my ability,’ she gives him a pointed look, and he shuffles a little and drops his eyes to the floor, ‘I felt it was time we began behaving as is expected of us.’
‘You’ve never complained before.’
‘I’ve never felt any need to; after all, I always have work to do, sir.’ She doesn’t care how guilty he feels, if he feels guilty at all, but she really wants - needs - to hammer this home. ‘But perhaps now I feel like I should. The Eighth is nonstandard enough without adding duty-shirking to our list of oddities.’
‘Yama-jii has never said anything either, but this is addressed directly to me and you.’ His eyes narrow a little, but if he suspects she had any hand in the direct orders he doesn’t say.
‘I’m not entirely sure Yamamoto-sama has entirely grasped the amount of shirking already done, sir. He has enough to do without micromanaging.’ Nanao looks back up at him, noting the pinched expression and the fingers gripping the paper slightly too-tightly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If he was this nervous before they had even left Seireitei who knew what he’d be like in the Living World. ‘Sir, if this is going to be a problem...’
‘No, Nanao-chan, maybe you’re right.’ But he still looks at the paper like it’s done something personal to offend him. Like drunk all his sake. Or gone to sleep in his favourite spot under the plum tree by the Thirteenth Division’s back wall.
‘You need to go to the First, sir. Accept the order and accept the debriefing. I will arrange for the lower seats to take the paperwork and run the Division for the day.’
They won’t be away any longer than that. Thanks to the mixed talents of their superior officers the Eighth had boundless enthusiasm, iron-clad livers and a well-trained knack for kidō. Being gone too long would result in destruction on the scale of the Eleventh’s New Year parties.
‘Right.’ He looks from her, to the paper, then back again. She frowns, and he shakes himself a little. ‘Oh, right.’
He stumbles out of the office with even less grace then when he’s drunk and she looks after him, eyebrows slowly hiking up her face. What had him so spooked? Surely the idea of patrolling with her wasn’t that terrifying?
She chews her lip, wondering if this was really the best idea she could have come up with. Rangiku and Momo had both - separately, even - said this was the best course of action. But Rangiku’s idea of a good plan generally involved working things out as she went along, and Momo’s judgement was sometimes lacking.
Understatement of the century, Nanao. But was anybody any different, when Aizen first showed his true colours? She tucks away any unfair thoughts about the Fifth’s Vice-Captain - that girl is holding up the best of any of them - and instead puts her mind back towards her final instructions to the junior officers. Enjōji generally knows what he’s doing but Rangiku didn’t dub her ‘control obsessive’ for nothing.
‘Nanao!’
Speak of the devil. Rangiku bursts into the room, with an expansive gesture that throws back the shoji, pushes out her cleavage and causes all men in a mile radius to walk into lampposts. Even those that can’t see her. Or those that aren’t even near lampposts.
‘Rangiku.’ Take the flattest tone possible, offer her nothing. Maybe she’ll go away without-
Rangiku shoves all her papers out of the way and promptly sits on the empty space on the desk. Nanao watches her carefully organised in- and out- tray papers merge together and wonders what god she has offended now.
‘Well?’
‘Well?’ Nanao echoes, transfixed by the way January has blended with August. Maybe First won’t notice?
‘What did you do to Shunsui? He looked like a ghost; he didn’t even stop for one of my hugs. And he was carrying paperwork.’ Rangiku sounds far more offended by the paperwork aspect than any Vice-Captain should. But then again, Rangiku is of the impression work was an annoyance best left to other people.
‘He didn’t accept a hug? Really?’ Rangiku’s hugs are forces of nature on their own. Unpredictable, hard to avoid, best accepted and lived through with the hope the damage will not be too severe. As far as Nanao is concerned, anyway.
‘I was going to hug him, but he was staring into the distance. I don’t think he even saw me. So what did you do?’
‘Gave him patrol orders. Sent him to the debriefing. Nothing awful.’
‘You did it then?’ Rangiku taps her nails on the desk. ‘Maybe he’s scared of patrolling with you again? He’s been avoiding it a very long time.’
‘I’m not that terrifying.’
Rangiku’s gaze is frank, her mouth curled up in that oh, sweetie, you really are dense smile. ‘It’s not you he’s frightened of.’
‘Oh,’ Nanao pauses, ‘but I need to stop him looking at me like I’m going to disappear. Maybe I’ll just have to get him to the Living World and beat some sense into him myself. Anything to stop him looking at me like that.’
Rangiku’s eyebrows raise, and Nanao ends up explaining the episode with the nightmare to her. ‘I haven’t done that since, well...’ She trails off, and lets Rangiku finish the sentence silently. Since I was still sleeping in his bed.
‘If you want to remind him that you’re still as good as you ever were I suppose this is your only shot, short of another war. Just don’t do anything stupid Nanao.’
‘I wasn’t intending to. I’m not about to throw myself on a Hollow for love.’
‘Is that what it’s about now?’ Rangiku’s laugh is high and delighted, and she pinches Nanao’s cheeks before Nanao can stop her. ‘Are you going to use her?’
The non sequitur floats between them before Rangiku’s eyes dart down to Nanao’s sleeve. Her zanpakutō. ‘I don’t know. If I need to, then I will.’
‘Has he ever seen her before?’
Nanao has to consider it. She doesn’t draw at the drop of a hat like some shinigami do, and if she does it’s usually within the Eight’s compound. ‘Yes, a few times. I’ve drawn her in training, and a few times of patrol. She likes Katen Kyokotsu, she tries to compose songs for them but she hasn’t got the mind for continued thought.’
Too swift, too changeable, too river-like, all in all.
‘How sweet!’ Rangiku leans forward, giving Nanao a view many people would kill for. Her eyes glint. ‘Does he like her?’
Nanao blushes automatically. It’s a question asked all the time between shingami who are lovers. Zanpakutō are not exactly reflections of their wielders. They can be similar, identical, or even complete opposites. Sword and swordsman are merely extensions of each other.
And a shinigami may find their blades annoying, or stubborn, or dislikeable, but to truly hate them is no easier than truly hating oneself. Liking a person’s zanpakutō is equal to liking them.
‘He said that she was dangerous and fierce and very beautiful.’
And so very Nanao-chan it’s a wonder I never guessed before. The memory of his low rolling voice makes her lips twitch with nostalgia and affection. Utagawa had always seemed disparate from her - noise and voice and constant inconstant thought. But something about the way he said it had- Rangiku is still talking.
‘That silver-tongued rogue.’ Rangiku smiles, all teeth and bubbling-over happiness, ‘He’s right though. Yours is completely different from mine. Haineko is such a pain.’
‘Only because you never have the patience for meditation, and neither does she.’
‘Bah,’ Rangiku flaps a hand, ‘I can’t be expected to be patient with her scritch-scratching up there.’
‘A compliment I’m sure she appreciates.’
Rangiku huffs, and grins, cheer easily restored by gossip. ‘You know, people have been setting up betting pools about Utagawa. There’s a 10-to-1 bet on that your zanpakutō is actually your book.’
Nanao laughs, ‘Really? Ise Nanao, she can deal out some vicious papercuts?’
They pass the next hour alternating between talk and laughter, and Nanao manages to just about forget the bills and the paperwork and the haunted expression Shunsui had worn as he left the office.
Just.
Onwards to Chapter 9
Author: Venefican
Pairing: Nanao/Shunsui
Rating: PG
Summary: Nanao chooses, Shunsui panics, and the theories of zanpakuto are discussed. Rangiku tries to hug people and fails.
8
‘Nanao-chan, what’s this?’
She blinks over her glasses, and then raises at eyebrow at the owner of the hand currently waving a paper in front of her nose. ‘I would hope, sir, that you of all people could recognise a First Division patrol order. It hasn’t been that long.’
‘But why?’
‘Officer-led patrols are compulsory, and have to be undertaken at least twice a year, sir.’
‘But we haven’t done any in-’
‘At least ten years, sir. Yes, I know. You push them on the Third and Fourth seats.’ She lifts her gaze from her pen and fixes him with her best glare. ‘An abuse of position if there is one.’
‘I believed it was about time. And given your clear faith in my ability,’ she gives him a pointed look, and he shuffles a little and drops his eyes to the floor, ‘I felt it was time we began behaving as is expected of us.’
‘You’ve never complained before.’
‘I’ve never felt any need to; after all, I always have work to do, sir.’ She doesn’t care how guilty he feels, if he feels guilty at all, but she really wants - needs - to hammer this home. ‘But perhaps now I feel like I should. The Eighth is nonstandard enough without adding duty-shirking to our list of oddities.’
‘Yama-jii has never said anything either, but this is addressed directly to me and you.’ His eyes narrow a little, but if he suspects she had any hand in the direct orders he doesn’t say.
‘I’m not entirely sure Yamamoto-sama has entirely grasped the amount of shirking already done, sir. He has enough to do without micromanaging.’ Nanao looks back up at him, noting the pinched expression and the fingers gripping the paper slightly too-tightly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If he was this nervous before they had even left Seireitei who knew what he’d be like in the Living World. ‘Sir, if this is going to be a problem...’
‘No, Nanao-chan, maybe you’re right.’ But he still looks at the paper like it’s done something personal to offend him. Like drunk all his sake. Or gone to sleep in his favourite spot under the plum tree by the Thirteenth Division’s back wall.
‘You need to go to the First, sir. Accept the order and accept the debriefing. I will arrange for the lower seats to take the paperwork and run the Division for the day.’
They won’t be away any longer than that. Thanks to the mixed talents of their superior officers the Eighth had boundless enthusiasm, iron-clad livers and a well-trained knack for kidō. Being gone too long would result in destruction on the scale of the Eleventh’s New Year parties.
‘Right.’ He looks from her, to the paper, then back again. She frowns, and he shakes himself a little. ‘Oh, right.’
He stumbles out of the office with even less grace then when he’s drunk and she looks after him, eyebrows slowly hiking up her face. What had him so spooked? Surely the idea of patrolling with her wasn’t that terrifying?
She chews her lip, wondering if this was really the best idea she could have come up with. Rangiku and Momo had both - separately, even - said this was the best course of action. But Rangiku’s idea of a good plan generally involved working things out as she went along, and Momo’s judgement was sometimes lacking.
Understatement of the century, Nanao. But was anybody any different, when Aizen first showed his true colours? She tucks away any unfair thoughts about the Fifth’s Vice-Captain - that girl is holding up the best of any of them - and instead puts her mind back towards her final instructions to the junior officers. Enjōji generally knows what he’s doing but Rangiku didn’t dub her ‘control obsessive’ for nothing.
‘Nanao!’
Speak of the devil. Rangiku bursts into the room, with an expansive gesture that throws back the shoji, pushes out her cleavage and causes all men in a mile radius to walk into lampposts. Even those that can’t see her. Or those that aren’t even near lampposts.
‘Rangiku.’ Take the flattest tone possible, offer her nothing. Maybe she’ll go away without-
Rangiku shoves all her papers out of the way and promptly sits on the empty space on the desk. Nanao watches her carefully organised in- and out- tray papers merge together and wonders what god she has offended now.
‘Well?’
‘Well?’ Nanao echoes, transfixed by the way January has blended with August. Maybe First won’t notice?
‘What did you do to Shunsui? He looked like a ghost; he didn’t even stop for one of my hugs. And he was carrying paperwork.’ Rangiku sounds far more offended by the paperwork aspect than any Vice-Captain should. But then again, Rangiku is of the impression work was an annoyance best left to other people.
‘He didn’t accept a hug? Really?’ Rangiku’s hugs are forces of nature on their own. Unpredictable, hard to avoid, best accepted and lived through with the hope the damage will not be too severe. As far as Nanao is concerned, anyway.
‘I was going to hug him, but he was staring into the distance. I don’t think he even saw me. So what did you do?’
‘Gave him patrol orders. Sent him to the debriefing. Nothing awful.’
‘You did it then?’ Rangiku taps her nails on the desk. ‘Maybe he’s scared of patrolling with you again? He’s been avoiding it a very long time.’
‘I’m not that terrifying.’
Rangiku’s gaze is frank, her mouth curled up in that oh, sweetie, you really are dense smile. ‘It’s not you he’s frightened of.’
‘Oh,’ Nanao pauses, ‘but I need to stop him looking at me like I’m going to disappear. Maybe I’ll just have to get him to the Living World and beat some sense into him myself. Anything to stop him looking at me like that.’
Rangiku’s eyebrows raise, and Nanao ends up explaining the episode with the nightmare to her. ‘I haven’t done that since, well...’ She trails off, and lets Rangiku finish the sentence silently. Since I was still sleeping in his bed.
‘If you want to remind him that you’re still as good as you ever were I suppose this is your only shot, short of another war. Just don’t do anything stupid Nanao.’
‘I wasn’t intending to. I’m not about to throw myself on a Hollow for love.’
‘Is that what it’s about now?’ Rangiku’s laugh is high and delighted, and she pinches Nanao’s cheeks before Nanao can stop her. ‘Are you going to use her?’
The non sequitur floats between them before Rangiku’s eyes dart down to Nanao’s sleeve. Her zanpakutō. ‘I don’t know. If I need to, then I will.’
‘Has he ever seen her before?’
Nanao has to consider it. She doesn’t draw at the drop of a hat like some shinigami do, and if she does it’s usually within the Eight’s compound. ‘Yes, a few times. I’ve drawn her in training, and a few times of patrol. She likes Katen Kyokotsu, she tries to compose songs for them but she hasn’t got the mind for continued thought.’
Too swift, too changeable, too river-like, all in all.
‘How sweet!’ Rangiku leans forward, giving Nanao a view many people would kill for. Her eyes glint. ‘Does he like her?’
Nanao blushes automatically. It’s a question asked all the time between shingami who are lovers. Zanpakutō are not exactly reflections of their wielders. They can be similar, identical, or even complete opposites. Sword and swordsman are merely extensions of each other.
And a shinigami may find their blades annoying, or stubborn, or dislikeable, but to truly hate them is no easier than truly hating oneself. Liking a person’s zanpakutō is equal to liking them.
‘He said that she was dangerous and fierce and very beautiful.’
And so very Nanao-chan it’s a wonder I never guessed before. The memory of his low rolling voice makes her lips twitch with nostalgia and affection. Utagawa had always seemed disparate from her - noise and voice and constant inconstant thought. But something about the way he said it had- Rangiku is still talking.
‘That silver-tongued rogue.’ Rangiku smiles, all teeth and bubbling-over happiness, ‘He’s right though. Yours is completely different from mine. Haineko is such a pain.’
‘Only because you never have the patience for meditation, and neither does she.’
‘Bah,’ Rangiku flaps a hand, ‘I can’t be expected to be patient with her scritch-scratching up there.’
‘A compliment I’m sure she appreciates.’
Rangiku huffs, and grins, cheer easily restored by gossip. ‘You know, people have been setting up betting pools about Utagawa. There’s a 10-to-1 bet on that your zanpakutō is actually your book.’
Nanao laughs, ‘Really? Ise Nanao, she can deal out some vicious papercuts?’
They pass the next hour alternating between talk and laughter, and Nanao manages to just about forget the bills and the paperwork and the haunted expression Shunsui had worn as he left the office.
Just.
Onwards to Chapter 9