Compass-Point
Title: Compass-Point
Character: Kuchiki Rukia
Pairing: Kuchiki Rukia x Ukitake Jyuushirou
Author: tasogaretaichou
Rating: PG
Prompt: Navigation
Warnings: Not many spoilers, mostly just for the Soul Society arc
Summary: Life can be hard at times, especially when your role is relegated to the sidelines.
It's his duty to guide them, to watch over and teach those young souls assigned to him. To be a mentor to those fresh-faced and oft wide-eyed new hopefulls as they step from the doors of the academy and fall headlong into a life that he wonders at times if they were properly prepared for. He wonders because he cares, because whether they expect it or not, he expects it of himself to not only guide but to safeguard those young lives. He wonders at times if perhaps the reason why God -- whoever "god" really is, for that matter -- chose not to make him a father is because in so many ways he already is one.
They all pass across his radar, and like a compass on the seas he points every one of them in the right direction, steers them as a captain steers a boat into the gentle winds and lets go the sail so it can soar. Some of them are harder to steer, willful and stubborn nearly to a fault, others placid as a gentle lake in the summer, but ultimately he manages to guide them all. It's what makes him good at what he does, but beyond that it's what makes him good.
Every single one of them leaves their mark on him, just as surely as he knows he leaves his mark on their lives. Footprints and scars and even tears at times, but markings nonetheless. And then... sometimes there are those who leave deeper memories. Who touch his heart on a much more profound level than their comrades.
She was one of those cases.
At first, she was simply another face among the crowds, a head of dark hair shading wary and overwhelmed eyes coupled with hands that trembled when they held a sword and a countenance that quaked inside at the thought of fighting. Another child thrust into a world of adults, unsure of her footing, her every fibre showing how green she truly was. He'd welcomed her into their midst as he'd welcomed anyone else.
He'd watched the girl grow, watch as she walked what he was now beginning to see would likely be a solitary path through life. It pained him to see, to stand by and simply guide as she walked, draped in the robes of duty and dilligence that her adoptive family placed upon her. She wasn't like them, wasn't meant for that life of order and structure and coldness. How he knew that, even he himself honestly didn't know, but he could see it in her eyes. See that spark, that shine that spoke of a spirit beyond that which they relegated for her, of a desire and a yearning to be free and soar on the winds.
There was little he himself could do for her, little that he could say or bring to change the life she was brought to. Instead, he left that up to his vicecaptain. To the genius child he'd guided from academy, whom he'd watch grow to be the proud and confident man that Shiba Kaien was today. And, as he'd known she would, he'd watched the little bird of the Kuchiki clan begin to spread her wings under her mentor's watchful eye. He'd seen her begin to smile, watched as the layers of shields began to melt away and the girl inside grew.
He'd cried for her the night Kaien died, cried even more inside to know that she blamed herself for what had been his mistake. Watching as she withdrew into herself again, keeping silent vigil as the spark again locked itself tightly behind the walls of rules and duty she built around herself, he could only regret, only curse the illness that had stolen his strength and sapped his energy in that moment when it had counted the most, that moment when he should have struck. It should have been his blade that severed the thread of life from the perverted creature that had taken over Kaien. Not hers. But it was too late for anything other than regrets.
Comforting her wasn't his duty, no matter the responsibility he felt, or the fondness that had grown for her. Had he been a younger man, a healthy man, a different man, perhaps. Perhaps then, he would be able to take the sadness from her eyes, lift the heavy burden of guilt from her back and place it squarely on his own shoulders where it belonged. But he isn't that man, and so that role remains closed to him. She shies away at times, deferring to her duty and the distance in rank between them and he smiles and accepts it and accepts that to her he will always be simply her superior, simply the one she reports to.
It's hard, at times, especially when he sees her sitting on the hill, that cloud of sadness threatening to overtake her, not to wrap arms around her, pull her into his embrace and tell her that it will be alright, that the loneliness won't last forever. Not because he can take it away -- he knows better than that -- but because he sees the way another pair of young eyes watch her, and because he recognizes the way her face lights up when she says the boy's name. But right now, she isn't ready to see that, isn't ready to let go of the past and accept the future. But he knows that one day, she will be. And when that day comes, he will simply step back. Step back and continue to be her compass, navigating her as he can towards whatever future she chooses to lay out. Because that, like so much else, is his duty.
Character: Kuchiki Rukia
Pairing: Kuchiki Rukia x Ukitake Jyuushirou
Author: tasogaretaichou
Rating: PG
Prompt: Navigation
Warnings: Not many spoilers, mostly just for the Soul Society arc
Summary: Life can be hard at times, especially when your role is relegated to the sidelines.
It's his duty to guide them, to watch over and teach those young souls assigned to him. To be a mentor to those fresh-faced and oft wide-eyed new hopefulls as they step from the doors of the academy and fall headlong into a life that he wonders at times if they were properly prepared for. He wonders because he cares, because whether they expect it or not, he expects it of himself to not only guide but to safeguard those young lives. He wonders at times if perhaps the reason why God -- whoever "god" really is, for that matter -- chose not to make him a father is because in so many ways he already is one.
They all pass across his radar, and like a compass on the seas he points every one of them in the right direction, steers them as a captain steers a boat into the gentle winds and lets go the sail so it can soar. Some of them are harder to steer, willful and stubborn nearly to a fault, others placid as a gentle lake in the summer, but ultimately he manages to guide them all. It's what makes him good at what he does, but beyond that it's what makes him good.
Every single one of them leaves their mark on him, just as surely as he knows he leaves his mark on their lives. Footprints and scars and even tears at times, but markings nonetheless. And then... sometimes there are those who leave deeper memories. Who touch his heart on a much more profound level than their comrades.
She was one of those cases.
At first, she was simply another face among the crowds, a head of dark hair shading wary and overwhelmed eyes coupled with hands that trembled when they held a sword and a countenance that quaked inside at the thought of fighting. Another child thrust into a world of adults, unsure of her footing, her every fibre showing how green she truly was. He'd welcomed her into their midst as he'd welcomed anyone else.
He'd watched the girl grow, watch as she walked what he was now beginning to see would likely be a solitary path through life. It pained him to see, to stand by and simply guide as she walked, draped in the robes of duty and dilligence that her adoptive family placed upon her. She wasn't like them, wasn't meant for that life of order and structure and coldness. How he knew that, even he himself honestly didn't know, but he could see it in her eyes. See that spark, that shine that spoke of a spirit beyond that which they relegated for her, of a desire and a yearning to be free and soar on the winds.
There was little he himself could do for her, little that he could say or bring to change the life she was brought to. Instead, he left that up to his vicecaptain. To the genius child he'd guided from academy, whom he'd watch grow to be the proud and confident man that Shiba Kaien was today. And, as he'd known she would, he'd watched the little bird of the Kuchiki clan begin to spread her wings under her mentor's watchful eye. He'd seen her begin to smile, watched as the layers of shields began to melt away and the girl inside grew.
He'd cried for her the night Kaien died, cried even more inside to know that she blamed herself for what had been his mistake. Watching as she withdrew into herself again, keeping silent vigil as the spark again locked itself tightly behind the walls of rules and duty she built around herself, he could only regret, only curse the illness that had stolen his strength and sapped his energy in that moment when it had counted the most, that moment when he should have struck. It should have been his blade that severed the thread of life from the perverted creature that had taken over Kaien. Not hers. But it was too late for anything other than regrets.
Comforting her wasn't his duty, no matter the responsibility he felt, or the fondness that had grown for her. Had he been a younger man, a healthy man, a different man, perhaps. Perhaps then, he would be able to take the sadness from her eyes, lift the heavy burden of guilt from her back and place it squarely on his own shoulders where it belonged. But he isn't that man, and so that role remains closed to him. She shies away at times, deferring to her duty and the distance in rank between them and he smiles and accepts it and accepts that to her he will always be simply her superior, simply the one she reports to.
It's hard, at times, especially when he sees her sitting on the hill, that cloud of sadness threatening to overtake her, not to wrap arms around her, pull her into his embrace and tell her that it will be alright, that the loneliness won't last forever. Not because he can take it away -- he knows better than that -- but because he sees the way another pair of young eyes watch her, and because he recognizes the way her face lights up when she says the boy's name. But right now, she isn't ready to see that, isn't ready to let go of the past and accept the future. But he knows that one day, she will be. And when that day comes, he will simply step back. Step back and continue to be her compass, navigating her as he can towards whatever future she chooses to lay out. Because that, like so much else, is his duty.