Not actually a pairing fic, but it's got both of them in it!
Many many moons ago I wrote a strange little fic about the Quincy Genocide called “Karma”, and lo-and-behold, there were actually a few people out there in LJ-land who liked it. When I mentioned tentatively that I had a sequel in mind, they encouraged me, and off I went...and nine months later I've finally finished Part II, with a Part III waiting on my To Do List.
Uhmmm, all I can say is....^__^;
Here is a link to the original, which has been retroactively retitled:
Karma, Part I: Death
(Part III will be “Transmigration”.)
Title: Karma, Part II: Rebirth
Author: thenakedcat
Characters/Pairings: Isshin, Ryuuken, Urahara, Masaki; background Isshin/Masaki
Rating: PG-13 for persistent imagery of death, some sex, some swearing.
Summary: The older generation of Bleach learns that the weight of karma endures from one lifetime to the next.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Or a television. But you didn't need to know about the television.
Author's note: It is helpful for understanding this fic to know that in Japan, unlike in America, medical school lasts 6 years, and applicants are admitted directly from high school, instead of after getting a BA.
Dedication: To hidden_gems, for waiting so long for this, and lotus_seed for waiting equally long, and for innumerable little bits of help. Love ya both, ladies.
A young man with brilliant blue eyes and a very familiar reiatsu stands holding his packing box, wondering if he’s got a bit of toilet paper stuck to his shoe because the two men are staring at him like he is some sort of exotic bird thought extinct centuries ago.
“Um, hello,” he says nervously. “One of you must be my roommate. My name is Ishida Ryuuken.”
There is another beat of shocked silence, and then Kisuke puts on his salesman grin and says, “Oh, ~so lovely~ to meet you dear boy, but would you mind ~ever so much~ waiting out in the hall for a moment<3<3<3?” in a single breath, simultaneously steering Ryuuken out the door--and shutting it in his face just as he is about to make a protest.
(Out in the hall, a nonplussed 'Ken is joined by a cheerful scholarly man with equally blue eyes. “Is there a problem, dear?” he asks. “This is the right room number, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s the right one,” his son replies morosely. “But I think I just got evicted.”)
Isshin abandons making the bed for flopping back on it and moaning, “Kisuke, what the hell am I going to do?”
Kisuke still has his back against the door as if he expects Ryuuken to attempt to break it down. “He didn’t recognize us. That’s just as it should be-reincarnation is supposed to wipe memories of past lives. But he’s also still a Quincy, and not likely to react well to Shinigami. Therefore, what you are going to do is act as if nothing odd has happened, and you don’t know anything about Soul Society, Quincies, or blue-eyed holocaust survivors. Got it?”
Isshin takes a couple deep breaths to pull himself together. “I’ve got it.”
Kisuke nods and moves to open the door, but freezes as Isshin says quietly, “Urahara-taichou, I think we may have actually changed something all those years ago.”
“We may well have, Kurosaki-taichou.” And then he opens the door, to face the two pairs of bright eyes.
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The metaphysics of reincarnation is not something Isshin has previously spent a great deal of time contemplating, nor is this really the best moment to start, considering that he’s got classes to worry about and the one true love of his life already taking up a good deal of his available brain power. Yet he can’t help but watch his new roommate and think of the nameless Quincy father.
How much of the man he knew back then (though the encounter was so brief and strange that his claim to having known the Quincy is tenuous indeed) survived the cleansing of rebirth? How much of the present-day Ryuuken is a product of the very different circumstances of this new life?
'Ken is barely eighteen and fresh out of twelve years of Catholic school-so naive sometimes that it hurts Isshin’s brain (like when he has to explain that the burly man in the leather jacket and piercings did NOT just want to discuss Kant over crumpets). He is fussy and prim, starches his shirts, and frets far too much about his schoolwork, considering that he’s making the bell curve tilt like a pinball game. Masaki thinks he’s a dorky sort of cute, with his big gloomy eyes and long coal-black ponytail.
It is not hard, sometimes, for Isshin to draw that line in his mind-to say “This is ‘Ken, he’s just my prissy-ass roommate. No more to it than that.”
And yet…
Ryuuken never breaks his word-even when it forces him into difficult situations. His perfect surgeon’s hands are scarred and callused; some mornings Isshin has seen wounds on them that were not there the night before. (He must hunt alone, a dangerous proposition, since gentle Souken is the only other person around who smells even vaguely of Quincy.) There was a debate one day in their medical ethics class about whether genocide could still occur in the industrialized world, and Ryuuken had argued, eyes flashing thunder, that of course it could: the human race hadn’t changed any since the death camps of WWII, so why should it behave any differently?
That’s what has worried Isshin the most, so far-because for reasons he can’t fathom, he doesn’t want to lose ‘Ken’s regard.
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On Ryuuken’s first day in his new dorm, getting shoved out the door makes him wonder if he's exhibiting signs of mental illness and his new roommate is afraid to have him around. But after a few weeks to settle into a routine, and a consultation with the DSM-IV, he decides that no, his own behavior is perfectly rational. It’s the roommate who’s looney-tunes.
Because honestly? There’s just something wrong about a guy who thinks U2 is an abbreviation for something-and who has to be told that a communal bathroom is not the best place to have conversations with one’s “little friend”-and who thinks a pink yukata is acceptable classroom attire.
And yet for all the insanity, he’s been singularly fortunate. Part of that is Masaki, who’s just as adept and eager about shoving pencils up her nose as her boyfriend but better at pretending to be sane. Watching them be crazy-stupid-in-love is fast becoming 'Ken’s new hobby. And part of it is that his roommate has some damn uncanny gaydar and can head off a pick-up line before the long-haired virgin even knows he’s being ogled. But a pretty big part of it is that Isshin has never forced Ryuuken to justify himself, to explain his need for cleanliness and order, or the way his eyes sometimes track objects no one else can see, or his late-night disappearances.
That’s something he really wouldn’t mind getting used to.
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How much that automatic acceptance means to him doesn’t really strike home until one day when he comes back from class to hear voices in the room-Isshin, and that strange man that was there with him the first day, introduced as some sort of cousin. (He tries VERY HARD not to think about what the rest of Isshin's family must be like.) What was the name? Ah, yes…Urahara. But why…? Confused, Ryuuken pauses with the door a crack open, still unnoticed.
He hears Isshin say, with a mixture of anger and fear that suggests a guilty conscience, "...you said the cycle was supposed to wipe all of that--now you're telling me there's a chance that's not true??"
Urahara replies, sounding much more reasonable but with tension in the undertones, "It is supposed to suppress old memories completely, yes. But I did some research in the 12th Division records, and came up with at least a few documented cases of resurgence. The process is lot less like wiping a slate clean than it is like whitewashing over wallpaper, apparently. It's all still there, just at a subconscious level."
"Damn, damn, damn! I don't suppose there's a pill you can sell me that will wipe him for good? If he remembers me in a shikuhasho...”
'Ken gulps involuntarily, and Isshin and Urahara both turn and give him that same oh-shit look as on the first day. It is painfully clear they were talking about him. There are a few beats of terrible, terrible silence…and then there are only the echoes of Ryuuken’s running footsteps spilling through the hallway.
As he tears out the dormitory and across the quad, into the alley maze that is the oldest section of town (heads turning all along the way to see what the hell’s got into Crazy Ishida) ‘Ken’s mind is whirling--they were talking about him, he’s sure of it, and the only reason he can think of for that kind of talk-Shinigami?memories??wiping??--is something related to the Clan...and nothing that would be good news.
First he has to shake whoever’s following him…and call his father, warn him that there may be trouble brewing...after that…leave town and start over at another school? Another set of classes, professors, and students…another roommate.
(All the little quirks Isshin accepted so easily--was it simply because he knew what was behind them...and didn't want to chase his quarry away? The thought makes his stomach tilt for some reason.)
The gut-twisting anxiety, his wild speculations, and exertion of running distract him so completely that he doesn’t even register the presence of the Hollow until it’s practically upon him-and then everything that was in his head a second before goes by the wayside.
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As he tears out into the night, Ryuuken has no clear idea why he’s running like a man possessed. Isshin, on the other hand, knows perfectly well--it is exactly the reaction he would expect of one who had lived through a massacre. Which means Kisuke is right: the memories must still be there, buried deep.
Isshin curses wildly, and then is out the door after the Quincy, Kisuke not far behind, with the bystanders wondering if Crazy Ishida has finally managed to get on Kurosaki’s bad side and is now fleeing for his life. In the narrow alleys of the old quarter, they lose sight of him around a blind corner, and-without breaking stride-split up to search in opposite directions.
Another blind corner, and then Isshin comes to a screeching halt: he’s found what he was looking for, but also something he really, really wasn’t.
Ryuuken is dodging the flames shot by a dragon-formed Hollow, and has just leveled his bow and prepared to fire when he catches sight of Isshin-
--and God be damned if it isn’t that moment of cornered-beast defiance all over again, as if nearly two hundred years hadn’t happened at all, because Isshin can tell the Quincy wants to have that arrow aimed straight at him.
But they’re both going to be sukiyaki if the Hollow isn’t taken care of, so he screams, “Shoot it already!” and ducks. There’s the clean crackle of energy, and a death-rattle from the Hollow, and then that horrible silence once again. He knows even before looking up that ‘Ken’s got his bow drawn.
“What do you want with us, Shinigami--to finish what you started, to make a clean sweep of it?? I won’t tell you anything, and I won’t go down without a fight!” The voice is ragged, conflicted.
Talking down nervous archers is far more Kisuke’s province than Isshin’s, but there’s no telling whether the other man noticed the Hollow and is doubling back to help, so he’s going to have to go it alone. “Please, ‘Ken,” he says, as gently as possible, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
It really, truly pains Ryuuken to be standing there aiming at Isshin-but if there’s a threat to the Clan he has to be the one to fight it off; there’s simply no one else! His father is too sweetly trusting to recognize malice in time to defend against it. Perhaps it’s a sign of the fallen era they live in that defending one’s own means turning friend against friend. Even if that’s true, there’s little comfort in the thought.
He is prepared to harden his heart against Isshin’s placating words…but his heart turns out not to be the problem. Perhaps it’s the words themselves, perhaps it has more to do with the context…but something heavy and dark, like a beast caught in tar, is stirring in the back of his mind. ‘Ken shoves it back with all his strength, trying to stay alert. But there’s a great deal of momentum behind the darkness, and it thunders through his consciousness…
Screaming-screaming-screaming...his hands are pressed to his ears, trying to muffle the chorus of death, but the screams are all inside his head. They are robbing him of the strength to stand, so he is on his knees in the forest, errand forgotten, screaming along with his kin as they are hunted and slaughtered like beasts.
His frightened son is tugging at his arm, uncomprehending-his powers are still too imprecise to register the destruction as more than a strange discordant echo. When his wife and father cry out as they are struck down, he grabs the boy and holds on tight enough to leave bruises.
When he is finally able to stumble back home, he finds only a village burned to the ground, familiar faces frozen in death…Everything is jumbled images of destruction, and the cacophony of a mind on the edge of shattering.
Piercing the haze of shock and grief: two Shinigami, offering hope in the midst of hopelessness.
Two nameless Shinigami, who tried to set things right.
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It takes Isshin a few moments to realize what is happening when Ryuuken's eyes suddenly go blank and his whole body seizes up with the arrow still aimed to kill. Once he understands, however, the anxiety coiling in his stomach goes into overdrive. Ohgodohgodohgod-he’s going to recognize me, he’s going to know! He would dearly love to be able to walk away from this, to escape having to face the inevitable betrayal and anger…but he can no more turn away now than he could back then.
When the blue eyes blink and clear, there’s something older, wearier, and more powerful than 'Ken behind them. They blaze at Isshin a few moments, utterly unreadable, and then the bow lowers and dissipates. “Back to the room. Now.”
He doesn’t say, “There are questions you had damn well better answer.” He doesn’t need to.
Kisuke bumps into them on the way back. He takes one look at the Quincy’s stony expression and raises an eyebrow at Isshin. If you need my assistance handling him… Isshin gives a bare shake of his head as a reply. No, it’s better if we do this one-on-one. Thanks, though. Kisuke nods his acceptance, and melts away into the city.
Back in their room, now a surreal neutral territory, Ryuuken retreats to his bed with his back against the wall, so he can keep his eyes on Isshin at all times. "You were a Shinigami, captain-class. So was Urahara-san." It isn't so much a question as a command to speak.
“Yes, we both were.” He’s leaning against the desk, too tense to sit down, wondering if Quincies like to play with their prey before the kill, like cats.
'Ken's gaze roves about him, searching for any hint of reiatsu. “You’re not, now.”
“No, because captain or not, a spirit can’t court a living woman. I’ve no more power than an ordinary human as long as I'm in this gigai. Kisuke's still got his powers, but he's on bad terms with Seireitei, and he's got no interest in anything but sleeping and finding new ways to singe his eyebrows off.” The blue eyes drop for a moment, accepting the reply, then snap up again as the interrogation goes on.
“You knew I was a Quincy. How long ago?” Ryuuken’s soft voice is commanding, but not angry.
Isshin can't meet his gaze. "From the moment you showed up, standing there in the doorway."
“I'm guessing you don't know that I'm of royal rank.” This IS new information, but somehow he's not surprised-there's a certain regal quality in the way the Quincy holds himself that speaks of centuries of heavy authority. “You knew we’d met in a past life. From the same moment?”
“Yes.”
"Yet you never mentioned anything until today." The anger has finally made its appearance.
Looks him in the eye now. "Would you rather that I did? I didn't know if you had any memories of that, and if you didn't, why on earth would I dredge it up?”
'Ken pulls his knees up and leans his forehead on them, looking even younger than ever. "That wasn't me you met back there, you know. I'm not the same person this time...even if I have his memories.” His knuckles go white as his grip tightens. “Dear God, I can still smell the burning...”
Comfort seems rather feeble in the face of such remembrance, but all the same Isshin tries to put into words what he has been turning over in his mind all these months. “You're you alright, but...more than you too? Like...like another movement in the same symphony. Holding its own, but part of the whole picture.”
Ryuuken snorts, almost laughs, at this-he gave the ex-Shinigami an impromptu lesson in Mozart yesterday afternoon. He is calming a little now, as the churning memories begin to settle. They fall into place, into places that he hadn't even realized were cleared for them until this very moment. They are a part of him, and yet....and yet. “His wife and child...it's clear he loved them, but the feelings don't make any sense. I can't understand the way he thinks about them.” He does not notice the slip into present tense.
Here, at least, is a mystery that Isshin does not have to strain to understand. It does not require knowledge of cosmology to unlock, only experience. Isshin has centuries of experience. “That's because you've never been in love.” He cuts off Ryuuken's retort before it can leave his lips. “IN love; that's totally different from what you feel for your father. TRUST ME.”
A vision of Isshin and Masaki sitting on a couch together, lost in each other eyes, comes to his mind--compelling enough that Ryuuken decides not to press the issue. There are so many other things to consider, anyway, like....“You know. I know. Obviously by now you don't mean to kill me. It would be a waste of my time to try and kill you. So--where do we go from here? Pretend it didn't happen? Say we've both started new lives and the old ones don't matter?"
“I dunno how you feel about it, maybe you just want to bury all that. but when I remember it...it makes me want to DO something. CHANGE something. Spite the bastards who made it happen.” Without realizing it, he is leaning forward, eyes snapping.
The spark he strikes falls near and dear to Ryuuken's heart. He has never had his father's optimism, to dare to dream that the Clan would live in harmony with the Shinigami. But it's one thing to doubt the peaceful intentions of a military junta, and quite another to doubt the intentions of a man you've hauled home piss drunk and dumped ice-water over the next morning. “Well, I already hunt to spite them-is there any way we can make that an even bigger eff-you? You have no power to fight with, but maybe you could help me...?” In a rare moment of confession, he continues, “I could use the help. It can be hard out there alone: trying not to let the bystanders see me, tending to my own injuries, making excuses to the professors when I can't get up the next morning in time for class.”
Plenty of Shinigami who swore up and down to have repented the Genocide would be deeply insulted by the mere suggestion of taking a supporting role to a Quincy in battle, but Isshin is clever enough to see how subversive this could be. It is a complete reversal of all that the Center 46 had declared to be the Natural Order of Things. It is Machiavellian brilliance. Grinning like the maniac he is, he sticks his hand out. “Ishida Ryuuken, you have yourself a deal.”
With a sigh, “You are going to use this as excuse to go out and get drunk tonight, aren't you?”
“Fuck yeah. But I'll find my own ride home, don't worry.”
“Just so long as we're clear on that.” His grip is sure and firm as he shakes the offered hand. “We have an arrangement then, Kurosaki Isshin.”
As they seal this promise, deep in the future beyond anything either of them can forsee, peopleplacesthings shudder, shift, rearrange, and change.
Crossposted to quincy_papa and kurosaki_clinic
Uhmmm, all I can say is....^__^;
Here is a link to the original, which has been retroactively retitled:
Karma, Part I: Death
(Part III will be “Transmigration”.)
Title: Karma, Part II: Rebirth
Author: thenakedcat
Characters/Pairings: Isshin, Ryuuken, Urahara, Masaki; background Isshin/Masaki
Rating: PG-13 for persistent imagery of death, some sex, some swearing.
Summary: The older generation of Bleach learns that the weight of karma endures from one lifetime to the next.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Or a television. But you didn't need to know about the television.
Author's note: It is helpful for understanding this fic to know that in Japan, unlike in America, medical school lasts 6 years, and applicants are admitted directly from high school, instead of after getting a BA.
Dedication: To hidden_gems, for waiting so long for this, and lotus_seed for waiting equally long, and for innumerable little bits of help. Love ya both, ladies.
A young man with brilliant blue eyes and a very familiar reiatsu stands holding his packing box, wondering if he’s got a bit of toilet paper stuck to his shoe because the two men are staring at him like he is some sort of exotic bird thought extinct centuries ago.
“Um, hello,” he says nervously. “One of you must be my roommate. My name is Ishida Ryuuken.”
There is another beat of shocked silence, and then Kisuke puts on his salesman grin and says, “Oh, ~so lovely~ to meet you dear boy, but would you mind ~ever so much~ waiting out in the hall for a moment<3<3<3?” in a single breath, simultaneously steering Ryuuken out the door--and shutting it in his face just as he is about to make a protest.
(Out in the hall, a nonplussed 'Ken is joined by a cheerful scholarly man with equally blue eyes. “Is there a problem, dear?” he asks. “This is the right room number, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s the right one,” his son replies morosely. “But I think I just got evicted.”)
Isshin abandons making the bed for flopping back on it and moaning, “Kisuke, what the hell am I going to do?”
Kisuke still has his back against the door as if he expects Ryuuken to attempt to break it down. “He didn’t recognize us. That’s just as it should be-reincarnation is supposed to wipe memories of past lives. But he’s also still a Quincy, and not likely to react well to Shinigami. Therefore, what you are going to do is act as if nothing odd has happened, and you don’t know anything about Soul Society, Quincies, or blue-eyed holocaust survivors. Got it?”
Isshin takes a couple deep breaths to pull himself together. “I’ve got it.”
Kisuke nods and moves to open the door, but freezes as Isshin says quietly, “Urahara-taichou, I think we may have actually changed something all those years ago.”
“We may well have, Kurosaki-taichou.” And then he opens the door, to face the two pairs of bright eyes.
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The metaphysics of reincarnation is not something Isshin has previously spent a great deal of time contemplating, nor is this really the best moment to start, considering that he’s got classes to worry about and the one true love of his life already taking up a good deal of his available brain power. Yet he can’t help but watch his new roommate and think of the nameless Quincy father.
How much of the man he knew back then (though the encounter was so brief and strange that his claim to having known the Quincy is tenuous indeed) survived the cleansing of rebirth? How much of the present-day Ryuuken is a product of the very different circumstances of this new life?
'Ken is barely eighteen and fresh out of twelve years of Catholic school-so naive sometimes that it hurts Isshin’s brain (like when he has to explain that the burly man in the leather jacket and piercings did NOT just want to discuss Kant over crumpets). He is fussy and prim, starches his shirts, and frets far too much about his schoolwork, considering that he’s making the bell curve tilt like a pinball game. Masaki thinks he’s a dorky sort of cute, with his big gloomy eyes and long coal-black ponytail.
It is not hard, sometimes, for Isshin to draw that line in his mind-to say “This is ‘Ken, he’s just my prissy-ass roommate. No more to it than that.”
And yet…
Ryuuken never breaks his word-even when it forces him into difficult situations. His perfect surgeon’s hands are scarred and callused; some mornings Isshin has seen wounds on them that were not there the night before. (He must hunt alone, a dangerous proposition, since gentle Souken is the only other person around who smells even vaguely of Quincy.) There was a debate one day in their medical ethics class about whether genocide could still occur in the industrialized world, and Ryuuken had argued, eyes flashing thunder, that of course it could: the human race hadn’t changed any since the death camps of WWII, so why should it behave any differently?
That’s what has worried Isshin the most, so far-because for reasons he can’t fathom, he doesn’t want to lose ‘Ken’s regard.
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On Ryuuken’s first day in his new dorm, getting shoved out the door makes him wonder if he's exhibiting signs of mental illness and his new roommate is afraid to have him around. But after a few weeks to settle into a routine, and a consultation with the DSM-IV, he decides that no, his own behavior is perfectly rational. It’s the roommate who’s looney-tunes.
Because honestly? There’s just something wrong about a guy who thinks U2 is an abbreviation for something-and who has to be told that a communal bathroom is not the best place to have conversations with one’s “little friend”-and who thinks a pink yukata is acceptable classroom attire.
And yet for all the insanity, he’s been singularly fortunate. Part of that is Masaki, who’s just as adept and eager about shoving pencils up her nose as her boyfriend but better at pretending to be sane. Watching them be crazy-stupid-in-love is fast becoming 'Ken’s new hobby. And part of it is that his roommate has some damn uncanny gaydar and can head off a pick-up line before the long-haired virgin even knows he’s being ogled. But a pretty big part of it is that Isshin has never forced Ryuuken to justify himself, to explain his need for cleanliness and order, or the way his eyes sometimes track objects no one else can see, or his late-night disappearances.
That’s something he really wouldn’t mind getting used to.
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How much that automatic acceptance means to him doesn’t really strike home until one day when he comes back from class to hear voices in the room-Isshin, and that strange man that was there with him the first day, introduced as some sort of cousin. (He tries VERY HARD not to think about what the rest of Isshin's family must be like.) What was the name? Ah, yes…Urahara. But why…? Confused, Ryuuken pauses with the door a crack open, still unnoticed.
He hears Isshin say, with a mixture of anger and fear that suggests a guilty conscience, "...you said the cycle was supposed to wipe all of that--now you're telling me there's a chance that's not true??"
Urahara replies, sounding much more reasonable but with tension in the undertones, "It is supposed to suppress old memories completely, yes. But I did some research in the 12th Division records, and came up with at least a few documented cases of resurgence. The process is lot less like wiping a slate clean than it is like whitewashing over wallpaper, apparently. It's all still there, just at a subconscious level."
"Damn, damn, damn! I don't suppose there's a pill you can sell me that will wipe him for good? If he remembers me in a shikuhasho...”
'Ken gulps involuntarily, and Isshin and Urahara both turn and give him that same oh-shit look as on the first day. It is painfully clear they were talking about him. There are a few beats of terrible, terrible silence…and then there are only the echoes of Ryuuken’s running footsteps spilling through the hallway.
As he tears out the dormitory and across the quad, into the alley maze that is the oldest section of town (heads turning all along the way to see what the hell’s got into Crazy Ishida) ‘Ken’s mind is whirling--they were talking about him, he’s sure of it, and the only reason he can think of for that kind of talk-Shinigami?memories??wiping??--is something related to the Clan...and nothing that would be good news.
First he has to shake whoever’s following him…and call his father, warn him that there may be trouble brewing...after that…leave town and start over at another school? Another set of classes, professors, and students…another roommate.
(All the little quirks Isshin accepted so easily--was it simply because he knew what was behind them...and didn't want to chase his quarry away? The thought makes his stomach tilt for some reason.)
The gut-twisting anxiety, his wild speculations, and exertion of running distract him so completely that he doesn’t even register the presence of the Hollow until it’s practically upon him-and then everything that was in his head a second before goes by the wayside.
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As he tears out into the night, Ryuuken has no clear idea why he’s running like a man possessed. Isshin, on the other hand, knows perfectly well--it is exactly the reaction he would expect of one who had lived through a massacre. Which means Kisuke is right: the memories must still be there, buried deep.
Isshin curses wildly, and then is out the door after the Quincy, Kisuke not far behind, with the bystanders wondering if Crazy Ishida has finally managed to get on Kurosaki’s bad side and is now fleeing for his life. In the narrow alleys of the old quarter, they lose sight of him around a blind corner, and-without breaking stride-split up to search in opposite directions.
Another blind corner, and then Isshin comes to a screeching halt: he’s found what he was looking for, but also something he really, really wasn’t.
Ryuuken is dodging the flames shot by a dragon-formed Hollow, and has just leveled his bow and prepared to fire when he catches sight of Isshin-
--and God be damned if it isn’t that moment of cornered-beast defiance all over again, as if nearly two hundred years hadn’t happened at all, because Isshin can tell the Quincy wants to have that arrow aimed straight at him.
But they’re both going to be sukiyaki if the Hollow isn’t taken care of, so he screams, “Shoot it already!” and ducks. There’s the clean crackle of energy, and a death-rattle from the Hollow, and then that horrible silence once again. He knows even before looking up that ‘Ken’s got his bow drawn.
“What do you want with us, Shinigami--to finish what you started, to make a clean sweep of it?? I won’t tell you anything, and I won’t go down without a fight!” The voice is ragged, conflicted.
Talking down nervous archers is far more Kisuke’s province than Isshin’s, but there’s no telling whether the other man noticed the Hollow and is doubling back to help, so he’s going to have to go it alone. “Please, ‘Ken,” he says, as gently as possible, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
It really, truly pains Ryuuken to be standing there aiming at Isshin-but if there’s a threat to the Clan he has to be the one to fight it off; there’s simply no one else! His father is too sweetly trusting to recognize malice in time to defend against it. Perhaps it’s a sign of the fallen era they live in that defending one’s own means turning friend against friend. Even if that’s true, there’s little comfort in the thought.
He is prepared to harden his heart against Isshin’s placating words…but his heart turns out not to be the problem. Perhaps it’s the words themselves, perhaps it has more to do with the context…but something heavy and dark, like a beast caught in tar, is stirring in the back of his mind. ‘Ken shoves it back with all his strength, trying to stay alert. But there’s a great deal of momentum behind the darkness, and it thunders through his consciousness…
Screaming-screaming-screaming...his hands are pressed to his ears, trying to muffle the chorus of death, but the screams are all inside his head. They are robbing him of the strength to stand, so he is on his knees in the forest, errand forgotten, screaming along with his kin as they are hunted and slaughtered like beasts.
His frightened son is tugging at his arm, uncomprehending-his powers are still too imprecise to register the destruction as more than a strange discordant echo. When his wife and father cry out as they are struck down, he grabs the boy and holds on tight enough to leave bruises.
When he is finally able to stumble back home, he finds only a village burned to the ground, familiar faces frozen in death…Everything is jumbled images of destruction, and the cacophony of a mind on the edge of shattering.
Piercing the haze of shock and grief: two Shinigami, offering hope in the midst of hopelessness.
Two nameless Shinigami, who tried to set things right.
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It takes Isshin a few moments to realize what is happening when Ryuuken's eyes suddenly go blank and his whole body seizes up with the arrow still aimed to kill. Once he understands, however, the anxiety coiling in his stomach goes into overdrive. Ohgodohgodohgod-he’s going to recognize me, he’s going to know! He would dearly love to be able to walk away from this, to escape having to face the inevitable betrayal and anger…but he can no more turn away now than he could back then.
When the blue eyes blink and clear, there’s something older, wearier, and more powerful than 'Ken behind them. They blaze at Isshin a few moments, utterly unreadable, and then the bow lowers and dissipates. “Back to the room. Now.”
He doesn’t say, “There are questions you had damn well better answer.” He doesn’t need to.
Kisuke bumps into them on the way back. He takes one look at the Quincy’s stony expression and raises an eyebrow at Isshin. If you need my assistance handling him… Isshin gives a bare shake of his head as a reply. No, it’s better if we do this one-on-one. Thanks, though. Kisuke nods his acceptance, and melts away into the city.
Back in their room, now a surreal neutral territory, Ryuuken retreats to his bed with his back against the wall, so he can keep his eyes on Isshin at all times. "You were a Shinigami, captain-class. So was Urahara-san." It isn't so much a question as a command to speak.
“Yes, we both were.” He’s leaning against the desk, too tense to sit down, wondering if Quincies like to play with their prey before the kill, like cats.
'Ken's gaze roves about him, searching for any hint of reiatsu. “You’re not, now.”
“No, because captain or not, a spirit can’t court a living woman. I’ve no more power than an ordinary human as long as I'm in this gigai. Kisuke's still got his powers, but he's on bad terms with Seireitei, and he's got no interest in anything but sleeping and finding new ways to singe his eyebrows off.” The blue eyes drop for a moment, accepting the reply, then snap up again as the interrogation goes on.
“You knew I was a Quincy. How long ago?” Ryuuken’s soft voice is commanding, but not angry.
Isshin can't meet his gaze. "From the moment you showed up, standing there in the doorway."
“I'm guessing you don't know that I'm of royal rank.” This IS new information, but somehow he's not surprised-there's a certain regal quality in the way the Quincy holds himself that speaks of centuries of heavy authority. “You knew we’d met in a past life. From the same moment?”
“Yes.”
"Yet you never mentioned anything until today." The anger has finally made its appearance.
Looks him in the eye now. "Would you rather that I did? I didn't know if you had any memories of that, and if you didn't, why on earth would I dredge it up?”
'Ken pulls his knees up and leans his forehead on them, looking even younger than ever. "That wasn't me you met back there, you know. I'm not the same person this time...even if I have his memories.” His knuckles go white as his grip tightens. “Dear God, I can still smell the burning...”
Comfort seems rather feeble in the face of such remembrance, but all the same Isshin tries to put into words what he has been turning over in his mind all these months. “You're you alright, but...more than you too? Like...like another movement in the same symphony. Holding its own, but part of the whole picture.”
Ryuuken snorts, almost laughs, at this-he gave the ex-Shinigami an impromptu lesson in Mozart yesterday afternoon. He is calming a little now, as the churning memories begin to settle. They fall into place, into places that he hadn't even realized were cleared for them until this very moment. They are a part of him, and yet....and yet. “His wife and child...it's clear he loved them, but the feelings don't make any sense. I can't understand the way he thinks about them.” He does not notice the slip into present tense.
Here, at least, is a mystery that Isshin does not have to strain to understand. It does not require knowledge of cosmology to unlock, only experience. Isshin has centuries of experience. “That's because you've never been in love.” He cuts off Ryuuken's retort before it can leave his lips. “IN love; that's totally different from what you feel for your father. TRUST ME.”
A vision of Isshin and Masaki sitting on a couch together, lost in each other eyes, comes to his mind--compelling enough that Ryuuken decides not to press the issue. There are so many other things to consider, anyway, like....“You know. I know. Obviously by now you don't mean to kill me. It would be a waste of my time to try and kill you. So--where do we go from here? Pretend it didn't happen? Say we've both started new lives and the old ones don't matter?"
“I dunno how you feel about it, maybe you just want to bury all that. but when I remember it...it makes me want to DO something. CHANGE something. Spite the bastards who made it happen.” Without realizing it, he is leaning forward, eyes snapping.
The spark he strikes falls near and dear to Ryuuken's heart. He has never had his father's optimism, to dare to dream that the Clan would live in harmony with the Shinigami. But it's one thing to doubt the peaceful intentions of a military junta, and quite another to doubt the intentions of a man you've hauled home piss drunk and dumped ice-water over the next morning. “Well, I already hunt to spite them-is there any way we can make that an even bigger eff-you? You have no power to fight with, but maybe you could help me...?” In a rare moment of confession, he continues, “I could use the help. It can be hard out there alone: trying not to let the bystanders see me, tending to my own injuries, making excuses to the professors when I can't get up the next morning in time for class.”
Plenty of Shinigami who swore up and down to have repented the Genocide would be deeply insulted by the mere suggestion of taking a supporting role to a Quincy in battle, but Isshin is clever enough to see how subversive this could be. It is a complete reversal of all that the Center 46 had declared to be the Natural Order of Things. It is Machiavellian brilliance. Grinning like the maniac he is, he sticks his hand out. “Ishida Ryuuken, you have yourself a deal.”
With a sigh, “You are going to use this as excuse to go out and get drunk tonight, aren't you?”
“Fuck yeah. But I'll find my own ride home, don't worry.”
“Just so long as we're clear on that.” His grip is sure and firm as he shakes the offered hand. “We have an arrangement then, Kurosaki Isshin.”
As they seal this promise, deep in the future beyond anything either of them can forsee, peopleplacesthings shudder, shift, rearrange, and change.
Crossposted to quincy_papa and kurosaki_clinic