Bleach fanfic, The Bride of the Death God 26 (wound)
title: The Bride of the Death God chapter 26: wound
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Ichigo/Orihime, Renji/Rukia, various
rating: M
summary: AU. A plague descended upon the village, and to appease the God of Death, they offered him a bride as a sacrifice.
words: 3690
Disembarking unto the embowered isle, she gently slipped her hand from the tow-headed god's hold and sent him a small smile of gratitude. Kisuke inclined his head in acknowledgment, and led her up on to the road proper, his pace matching her slow, albeit hesitant, steps.
At the fork, Orihime faltered, half-deriding herself for being so incumbent in her abject need to see her husband. There were so many things she wanted to say to him; but she could feel fear settle in her heart as her mind was plagued by the question of whether Ichigo would be just as willing to see her, especially this soon. For all she knew, what brought him to this island was business, the death of someone, perhaps. Not exactly because she happened to land here in her journey with the other gods.
She remembered back in Karakura the Tachibana couple who lived next door to her and her brother. They were notorious for always being the talk of the village what with their constant quarreling. It was no secret that Mr Tachibana had a pair of wandering eyes that equaled his pair of wandering hands. Mrs Tachibana was not at all afraid to voice her displeasure at this and the fights that resulted from his errant ways shook the thatched roof and the thin walls of the house next door.
But Orihime had never been vocal; rather there had never been such a time that she could recall being displeased enough to warrant such a show of behaviour. With such friends as Tatsuki and Chizuru, whom had never hesitated to demonstrate what they disapproved of or otherwise, Orihime had never really felt the need.
And at the core, the situation she found herself in was entirely different from the Tachibana's. The Death God's pre-marital relationship was not to be equated to Mr Tachibana's inability to be constant to his wife. She had met her husband's former paramour, had even resolved to be friendly and even accept a wedding gift from the woman. Bygones were to be bygones with such an act, she'd decided. Right? Nevermind that the two former lovers had a hand in the macrocosm of the fate that befell Karakura. What was now between the three of them only affected each individual, and not the lives of many.
Or so Orihime would like to believe.
It was still difficult for her to think of herself as someone who could have the fate of mortals in her hands, being a mortal herself once.
She tried to keep her hands from drumming against her thighs, but it wasn't easy. Since Orihime had come to live in the gods' domain, even before she had been changed, she hadn't been able to keep a proper track of time the way she had been able to in the mortal world. Staying in the God of Life's house and having to spend nights that lasted longer as a favour from the God of Night and Spring certainly did not help. What ever circadian rhythm she might have been used to had gone awry, always having to mentally readjust herself to the elongated hours of night, and as a result, even though the last time she had seen her husband had only been yesterday morning, it felt as though it was longer, perhaps not as long as forever though it truly felt agonizingly like it.
She thought back to the way they parted. The atmosphere had been heavy; in her heart there was grief, confusion about the situation between Ichigo and Senna that had only been alleviated with the story behind it from one point of view, and the yearning to see what exactly it was that she had left behind, what exactly it was that came from her sacrifice.
What she had come to realize was that this whole situation was a cause of shame for Ichigo, something drastic enough that he felt as though he couldn't face her. It pained her to see that her marriage was already in an estranged state-not as drastic as Mr and Mrs Tachibana's, perhaps-but having felt the Death God's presence here in this island, she felt a flutter of hope in her belly. He yearned as much for her just as much as she did for him. Or so at least she would like to think.
Her heart fluttered inside her chest, threatening to soar away from her.
He's here was all that ran through her mind. Close by, a presence she could touch with her growing sense of power. She wanted some form of contact; she wanted to be held, and to hold in turn. Their previous parting was not on good terms, but over all throughout the journey she'd been through yesterday, she realized that her feelings of grief and upset had not really been directed towards him. He might have been at the root cause, and even though he had not been a long fixture of her life thus far, she was unwilling to relinquish her growing reliance on him.
Amidst her being a sacrifice, she had found stability in him, a day by day routine that unbeknownst to her had actually enabled her to cope with the many changes in her life, and she had come to the decision to repay him with her love, hadn't she?
Nonetheless, dread settled in her belly like lead weights, halting her steps. As thoughts swam and scattered inside her mind, her eyes roamed the island they'd landed in. Large pots of flowers were lined along the terrace overlooking the lake, spanning the perimeter of the island. They filled her vision in bursts of colours she had no name for, and she couldn't help but drink in the tranquility they exuded.
Beside her, the God of Invention and Knowledge was but a shadow, present but silent, leaving her to her thoughts even as he seemed to have distracted himself with a walking cane he'd produced from his coat.
Part of her wanted to move forward ahead to where she could sense the Death God to be, but the other part held back, remembering his message to her. He had said that he felt as though he couldn't face her yet. Did he still feel so? Would she be intrusive of his decision by refusing his wish to not see her? What should she do? Should she still seek him out? Could she stand it if he was displeased if she did so?
Hands shaking, she curled them on her skirt to still them, deciding to distract herself by wandering through the Isle of Memory as she weighed the pros and cons in her mind.
Statues lined them upon the road. Gods whom had already passed, she'd been told, their power erupting out of them and encasing them in their very own tomb. Orihime couldn't help but shiver at that prospect. Now that she was one of them, this would eventually happen to her. Preserved for all eternity in an external liquefied bone rather than as a rotting corpse within the earth like the rest of the humans in the mortal world.
With a start, she remembered her first glimpse of the Death God in person; she had mistaken him for a statue as he waited for her arrival at his dock. All in white as the rest of these statues save for the black markings on his mask, and the only splash of colour and indication that he was alive were the pair of yellow eyes that peered at her from beneath the mask.
She found the realization astounding: how his white form mirrored the images of death that spread out around her in an orderly line, everyone set upon their proper places, much like the row of tombstones in the cemetery in Karakura. This-all this-was what he truly presided over. The end of life-and as the God of Invention and Knowledge remarked earlier-there was nothing beyond the end, beyond death. Save for memories and the monuments to those memories.
Orihime couldn't help the slight stagger in her steps, a hand reaching out to her side to lean against a statue as she paused to collect herself. Beneath her hand, the stone was cool to touch, the hard and uncompromising surface a reminder that the life and thoughts and blood that used to run beneath this stone that made this god alive had long since dispersed, leaving behind just an empty shell and a name that might spark joy or grief in the heart of another god.
She turned her head, gaze roaming over features that she was surprised to find she recognized: it was almost the spitting image of Rukia.
"Ah, that's Hisana." The voice of the God of Knowledge and Invention broke through the silence. "As you can likely surmise from the obvious resemblance, she had been sister to the Goddess of Snow and wife to the God of Spring and Night."
Overwhelmed, Orihime could offer no response, just a small bow of her head, and she began to walk again. As though a dam broke, Kisuke saw fit to name each statue they passed, now and then commenting snippets of what that god did or what kind of relationship he or she had had with another deity. Here was the blind God of Justice. There was the God of Wolves. Here was the god who loved nothing more than to fight the strongest, mortal and god alike, and there was the child goddess who was always at his side.
There was no end to them. Line and rank were equal in their death, even as they came to the first death that the Death God himself had to usher.
"Masaki," said Kisuke, "Goddess of the Home and Family. Wife to the God of Life. Mother to the God of Death."
A cheerful woman with unseeing stone eyes gazed gently on Orihime, her hair wavy, her eternal smile welcoming and gentle.
Within Orihime's chest there was a sinking feeling: regret and grief mingled. "I wish I could have known her," she whispered, voice hoarse from her prior ensuing silence. Maybe she would've been able to give me guidance on how to read the Death God's heart, she thought. I hope she would've approved of me.
Mustering a smile, she gathered her skirts and bent in a curtsey. "Nice to meet you," she said, then straightened and looked to the staircases that led up to the rest of the island.
He's up there, somewhere, she thought, biting her lips and willing to steady the sudden pounding of her pulse. Orihime didn't know who she could pray to, but she prayed even so. Please. Please let him be willing to see me. Please don't let him reject me.
Please, Ichigo.
I miss you.
No...
He fell to his knees, hands curling into fists on the ground, sharp nails digging into the white, hardened skin. If Senna was speaking the truth about Orihime accepting and consuming that goddess's gift, then this shriveled, dead thing before him-with one measly minuscule touch from him, this could be what would become of Orihime. So then, through all this time as he succumbed to his fear of loss, her revenge was of him to be the cause of that loss.
His hands unfurled, looking for all the world like the gnarled branches of an ashen tree, tipped with sharp claws that could easily draw Orihime's blood if he so much as touched her, or drain it all and leave her as an empty husk of skin if this apple was any indication.
So that was it? A few weeks of longing, a few weeks of bliss, and then it was all gone. Their separation now would have to be prolonged; the time when he could easily touch her had passed. It was as though they were back in Karakura when she was still a human and ignorant of his presence always close by her side. A longing so sweet and heady and laden with an underlying intense sorrow.
Cruel, yes, it was cruel. To have received the taste of how it was to truly feel, to have become something more than the embodiment of his psychopomp duty, to have changed because she entered his life...and the one person that had brought her to his attention had just as easily severed that connection. For all that he feared that that outside interloper to be the one to place harm to Orihime, it was himself that he truly should have feared. He was the one who would bring her end, as he would bring about the end of everyone. It was what he was: the inevitability he represented, even in spite of the longevity of a god's life.
He wanted to scream, to let his frustration erupt out of him in waves of voice and breath, but that wouldn't accomplish anything, not even to make him feel better. All it would show was the Goddess of Autumn's power over him. All it would show was that he had lost, utterly and irrevocably, to her. He couldn't give her that satisfaction. He mustn't.
He felt broken. And how easily he broke, with just a simple gift from the Goddess of Autumn. Oh how her gifts were laced with torturous humour.
Ichigo's ears prickled with the sound of footsteps on the marbled stone steps, the brush of Orihime's voice filling his ears, and he couldn't help closing his eyes as the sound of it caressed his heart, feeling his chest closing in.
This wasn't over yet. He would a find a way around it. Find a way to keep her alive, just as he'd promised himself when she was still mortal. If it meant staying away from her. If it meant never feeling her skin against his and the whisper of her living breath against his lips-then so be it.
But first things first.
He straightened, face beneath the mask all at once impassive and yearning, drinking in the sight of her as she ascended the stairs to where he stood. Seven steps from him she stopped, and he relished seeing her chest heave from the climb, seeing evidence that she was still alive, seeing her fingers flutter on the fabric of her skirts or intertwine together, never stilling. Longing filled him: he wanted to stopper her nervousness by taking her hands in his, communicating through his touch that there was no need for her to feel that way towards him. But his touch now seemed to have become a palpable danger to her.
"Hello," she greeted, a tremour in her voice.
Beneath the mask he closed his eyes, cherishing the gentle sound of it, feeling the telltale jump in the beat of his heart, soothing him from his feeling of unrest, hardening his resolve.
When he opened his eyes, he sought the other presence he felt nearby. "Kisuke," he called out, flinching inside as he caught the look of dejection on Orihime's face. I'm sorry, he thought. But there's something I have to know first.
The God of Invention and Knowledge popped out from where he hid behind a pillar on the stone steps. "Yes, Mr Death, sir?" he responded, grey eyes hooded beneath his hat, unscrupulously filing away Ichigo's lack of acknowledgment to his wife's presence for later perusal and gossip with other gods.
Wasting no time for niceties, the God of Death and the Moon pointed to the object at his feet. "What do you make of this?"
"Hmm," replied Urahara as he made his way closer, using his cane to poke and prod at the decomposed fruit on the ground. "A gift from Senna, I take it?"
"Yes."
Whatever was left of the core disintegrated under Urahara's walking cane, and from behind, Orihime drew close to them out of curiosity, still smarting from Ichigo's lack of response to her greeting. That he had not sent her away was something she found herself taking comfort in. Just to be near him is enough, she thought in an attempt to console herself, unable to help sending him a wounded gaze.
All three crouched, scrutinizing the gift of the Goddess of Autumn.
Pulling a glove from within his coat, Urahara donned it and picked up a small seed from amongst the remains and held it up to his eye, and then to his nose, sniffing. "It's a wish," he said, after a fashion.
"A wish?" repeated Ichigo.
"Specifically, Senna's wish regarding you. It contains her malice and ill feelings towards you."
The Death God swallowed, gears of thought swirling in his mind. "Just me?" he asked, eyes flickering briefly towards his wife before looking to the other god.
Urahara nodded. "Just you."
"What did she wish for?"
The tow-headed god glanced between the seed and Orihime. "Your fear."
Yellow-on-black eyes were directed to the auburn-haired young goddess, meeting her worried gaze. He broke contact, looking to Kisuke once more. "Senna said she had also given the same kind of apple to Orihime. Does it contain the same wish?"
"It's hard to say. I would surmise that not all her apples contain her wishes. It would depend on the colour, I imagine." He produced the gift he had been given from the recesses of his coat, a shiny green apple, still uneaten. He pulled the curved head of his cane from its base, revealing a hidden blade, and proceeded to slice his apple in half, digging out a seed from its core with one hand as the other sheathed the blade. Likewise with this seed he performed the same perusal as the previous. "This one is empty," he concluded, holding it out to the Death God.
"Empty?"
"No wish is contained within it."
With reluctance, Ichigo plucked the seed from Kisuke's fingers, holding his breath as he waited. Nothing. He frowned, heaving a disappointed sigh as he lowered it to the ground, seeing the half of the fruit that it had come from. He nodded to it. "May I?"
Urahara, never one to deny his own curiosity and wanting to see for himself what would happen, waved a hand. "If it pleases you, Mr Death, sir."
Gingerly, Ichigo picked up one of the green halves, unsurprised yet disappointed to find that it did not produce the same result as his own red apple, and set it back down on the ground. His gaze fell to Orihime, silent all this while, his chest constricting at the thought of what could happen if he so much as reach over to stroke her hair.
"And yours?" He finally addressed her, watching as her eyes lit up even at this gesture. His heart thundered at seeing the small smile at the corner of her lip, instantly dissolving the worry in her glance.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a half-eaten blood red apple, and he felt his heart plummet at the sight. Closing his eyes, he swallowed, pulling back down the bile and the fear that lingered in his throat. With an excruciating amount of effort he forced his voice to not reveal his fears. "Kisuke, what do you make of it?"
The tow-headed god turned to Orihime, his hand held out. "May I, madam?"
Wordlessly she placed the apple in his grasp, and he wasted no time in reaching inside for a seed. Almost immediately, he said, "There is a wish."
Ichigo's head turned to his so fast, fists closing at his sides. "What is it?" His voice was coarse, shaking with a growing rage he could barely control. From his periphery he saw Orihime reach out to him, and though it wounded him he was grateful that her touch never reached him.
Puzzlement sparked in the God of Invention and Knowledge's grey eyes. "She wished for Orihime to wish for your child to be born into the world."
"What?! I don't understand." Ichigo sat back on his haunches and ran a hand over his mask. What's with Senna? What is she planning? Had she seen something in her mirror? Something to do with my child?
Picking up the two other seeds, Urahara swirled all three in his palm. "Compared to the one she gave you, this one contains no negative feelings at all." Grey eyes watched him shrewdly, then the tow-headed god threw Orihime's apple to Ichigo. It was dangerous, he knew as he watched him fumble with the fruit, to tease the god so while in his white form, but he was comforted by the thought that no harm would come to him since Orihime was present. He was certain that with her being there and with such unresolved issues looming between them, the Death God had other things on his mind and thus would not entertain the thought of hunting Kisuke down. Nevertheless he quickly made himself scarce, quickly flash-stepping out of there, leaving the two alone.
Ichigo panted, fingers and palm shaking as he stared at the apple in his hand, breath held as he watched as nothing happened to it. For a few long seconds, he waited still before finally setting it down on the ground beside its rotted mate.
Nothing happened to it, he thought as colour began to seep onto the tufts of fur on his wrists, orange staining his white hair. I touched it and nothing happened. Orihime-
Unable to hold himself back any longer, he took his mask off and reached over and pulled Orihime to his chest, swallowing her gasp with his mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as the other wrapped around her waist. He felt her arms snake tightly around his neck, felt her bridge the remaining gap between their bodies, felt the very pulse of her life inside her chest against his.
A relieved smile pulled at the edges of his lips, still pressed against hers, feeling her answering smile. "Hello," he breathed against her lips, unwilling to part, heady with the sensation of losing themselves to each other.
"Have I told you how much I missed you?"
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author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Ichigo/Orihime, Renji/Rukia, various
rating: M
summary: AU. A plague descended upon the village, and to appease the God of Death, they offered him a bride as a sacrifice.
words: 3690
Disembarking unto the embowered isle, she gently slipped her hand from the tow-headed god's hold and sent him a small smile of gratitude. Kisuke inclined his head in acknowledgment, and led her up on to the road proper, his pace matching her slow, albeit hesitant, steps.
At the fork, Orihime faltered, half-deriding herself for being so incumbent in her abject need to see her husband. There were so many things she wanted to say to him; but she could feel fear settle in her heart as her mind was plagued by the question of whether Ichigo would be just as willing to see her, especially this soon. For all she knew, what brought him to this island was business, the death of someone, perhaps. Not exactly because she happened to land here in her journey with the other gods.
She remembered back in Karakura the Tachibana couple who lived next door to her and her brother. They were notorious for always being the talk of the village what with their constant quarreling. It was no secret that Mr Tachibana had a pair of wandering eyes that equaled his pair of wandering hands. Mrs Tachibana was not at all afraid to voice her displeasure at this and the fights that resulted from his errant ways shook the thatched roof and the thin walls of the house next door.
But Orihime had never been vocal; rather there had never been such a time that she could recall being displeased enough to warrant such a show of behaviour. With such friends as Tatsuki and Chizuru, whom had never hesitated to demonstrate what they disapproved of or otherwise, Orihime had never really felt the need.
And at the core, the situation she found herself in was entirely different from the Tachibana's. The Death God's pre-marital relationship was not to be equated to Mr Tachibana's inability to be constant to his wife. She had met her husband's former paramour, had even resolved to be friendly and even accept a wedding gift from the woman. Bygones were to be bygones with such an act, she'd decided. Right? Nevermind that the two former lovers had a hand in the macrocosm of the fate that befell Karakura. What was now between the three of them only affected each individual, and not the lives of many.
Or so Orihime would like to believe.
It was still difficult for her to think of herself as someone who could have the fate of mortals in her hands, being a mortal herself once.
She tried to keep her hands from drumming against her thighs, but it wasn't easy. Since Orihime had come to live in the gods' domain, even before she had been changed, she hadn't been able to keep a proper track of time the way she had been able to in the mortal world. Staying in the God of Life's house and having to spend nights that lasted longer as a favour from the God of Night and Spring certainly did not help. What ever circadian rhythm she might have been used to had gone awry, always having to mentally readjust herself to the elongated hours of night, and as a result, even though the last time she had seen her husband had only been yesterday morning, it felt as though it was longer, perhaps not as long as forever though it truly felt agonizingly like it.
She thought back to the way they parted. The atmosphere had been heavy; in her heart there was grief, confusion about the situation between Ichigo and Senna that had only been alleviated with the story behind it from one point of view, and the yearning to see what exactly it was that she had left behind, what exactly it was that came from her sacrifice.
What she had come to realize was that this whole situation was a cause of shame for Ichigo, something drastic enough that he felt as though he couldn't face her. It pained her to see that her marriage was already in an estranged state-not as drastic as Mr and Mrs Tachibana's, perhaps-but having felt the Death God's presence here in this island, she felt a flutter of hope in her belly. He yearned as much for her just as much as she did for him. Or so at least she would like to think.
Her heart fluttered inside her chest, threatening to soar away from her.
He's here was all that ran through her mind. Close by, a presence she could touch with her growing sense of power. She wanted some form of contact; she wanted to be held, and to hold in turn. Their previous parting was not on good terms, but over all throughout the journey she'd been through yesterday, she realized that her feelings of grief and upset had not really been directed towards him. He might have been at the root cause, and even though he had not been a long fixture of her life thus far, she was unwilling to relinquish her growing reliance on him.
Amidst her being a sacrifice, she had found stability in him, a day by day routine that unbeknownst to her had actually enabled her to cope with the many changes in her life, and she had come to the decision to repay him with her love, hadn't she?
Nonetheless, dread settled in her belly like lead weights, halting her steps. As thoughts swam and scattered inside her mind, her eyes roamed the island they'd landed in. Large pots of flowers were lined along the terrace overlooking the lake, spanning the perimeter of the island. They filled her vision in bursts of colours she had no name for, and she couldn't help but drink in the tranquility they exuded.
Beside her, the God of Invention and Knowledge was but a shadow, present but silent, leaving her to her thoughts even as he seemed to have distracted himself with a walking cane he'd produced from his coat.
Part of her wanted to move forward ahead to where she could sense the Death God to be, but the other part held back, remembering his message to her. He had said that he felt as though he couldn't face her yet. Did he still feel so? Would she be intrusive of his decision by refusing his wish to not see her? What should she do? Should she still seek him out? Could she stand it if he was displeased if she did so?
Hands shaking, she curled them on her skirt to still them, deciding to distract herself by wandering through the Isle of Memory as she weighed the pros and cons in her mind.
Statues lined them upon the road. Gods whom had already passed, she'd been told, their power erupting out of them and encasing them in their very own tomb. Orihime couldn't help but shiver at that prospect. Now that she was one of them, this would eventually happen to her. Preserved for all eternity in an external liquefied bone rather than as a rotting corpse within the earth like the rest of the humans in the mortal world.
With a start, she remembered her first glimpse of the Death God in person; she had mistaken him for a statue as he waited for her arrival at his dock. All in white as the rest of these statues save for the black markings on his mask, and the only splash of colour and indication that he was alive were the pair of yellow eyes that peered at her from beneath the mask.
She found the realization astounding: how his white form mirrored the images of death that spread out around her in an orderly line, everyone set upon their proper places, much like the row of tombstones in the cemetery in Karakura. This-all this-was what he truly presided over. The end of life-and as the God of Invention and Knowledge remarked earlier-there was nothing beyond the end, beyond death. Save for memories and the monuments to those memories.
Orihime couldn't help the slight stagger in her steps, a hand reaching out to her side to lean against a statue as she paused to collect herself. Beneath her hand, the stone was cool to touch, the hard and uncompromising surface a reminder that the life and thoughts and blood that used to run beneath this stone that made this god alive had long since dispersed, leaving behind just an empty shell and a name that might spark joy or grief in the heart of another god.
She turned her head, gaze roaming over features that she was surprised to find she recognized: it was almost the spitting image of Rukia.
"Ah, that's Hisana." The voice of the God of Knowledge and Invention broke through the silence. "As you can likely surmise from the obvious resemblance, she had been sister to the Goddess of Snow and wife to the God of Spring and Night."
Overwhelmed, Orihime could offer no response, just a small bow of her head, and she began to walk again. As though a dam broke, Kisuke saw fit to name each statue they passed, now and then commenting snippets of what that god did or what kind of relationship he or she had had with another deity. Here was the blind God of Justice. There was the God of Wolves. Here was the god who loved nothing more than to fight the strongest, mortal and god alike, and there was the child goddess who was always at his side.
There was no end to them. Line and rank were equal in their death, even as they came to the first death that the Death God himself had to usher.
"Masaki," said Kisuke, "Goddess of the Home and Family. Wife to the God of Life. Mother to the God of Death."
A cheerful woman with unseeing stone eyes gazed gently on Orihime, her hair wavy, her eternal smile welcoming and gentle.
Within Orihime's chest there was a sinking feeling: regret and grief mingled. "I wish I could have known her," she whispered, voice hoarse from her prior ensuing silence. Maybe she would've been able to give me guidance on how to read the Death God's heart, she thought. I hope she would've approved of me.
Mustering a smile, she gathered her skirts and bent in a curtsey. "Nice to meet you," she said, then straightened and looked to the staircases that led up to the rest of the island.
He's up there, somewhere, she thought, biting her lips and willing to steady the sudden pounding of her pulse. Orihime didn't know who she could pray to, but she prayed even so. Please. Please let him be willing to see me. Please don't let him reject me.
Please, Ichigo.
I miss you.
No...
He fell to his knees, hands curling into fists on the ground, sharp nails digging into the white, hardened skin. If Senna was speaking the truth about Orihime accepting and consuming that goddess's gift, then this shriveled, dead thing before him-with one measly minuscule touch from him, this could be what would become of Orihime. So then, through all this time as he succumbed to his fear of loss, her revenge was of him to be the cause of that loss.
His hands unfurled, looking for all the world like the gnarled branches of an ashen tree, tipped with sharp claws that could easily draw Orihime's blood if he so much as touched her, or drain it all and leave her as an empty husk of skin if this apple was any indication.
So that was it? A few weeks of longing, a few weeks of bliss, and then it was all gone. Their separation now would have to be prolonged; the time when he could easily touch her had passed. It was as though they were back in Karakura when she was still a human and ignorant of his presence always close by her side. A longing so sweet and heady and laden with an underlying intense sorrow.
Cruel, yes, it was cruel. To have received the taste of how it was to truly feel, to have become something more than the embodiment of his psychopomp duty, to have changed because she entered his life...and the one person that had brought her to his attention had just as easily severed that connection. For all that he feared that that outside interloper to be the one to place harm to Orihime, it was himself that he truly should have feared. He was the one who would bring her end, as he would bring about the end of everyone. It was what he was: the inevitability he represented, even in spite of the longevity of a god's life.
He wanted to scream, to let his frustration erupt out of him in waves of voice and breath, but that wouldn't accomplish anything, not even to make him feel better. All it would show was the Goddess of Autumn's power over him. All it would show was that he had lost, utterly and irrevocably, to her. He couldn't give her that satisfaction. He mustn't.
He felt broken. And how easily he broke, with just a simple gift from the Goddess of Autumn. Oh how her gifts were laced with torturous humour.
Ichigo's ears prickled with the sound of footsteps on the marbled stone steps, the brush of Orihime's voice filling his ears, and he couldn't help closing his eyes as the sound of it caressed his heart, feeling his chest closing in.
This wasn't over yet. He would a find a way around it. Find a way to keep her alive, just as he'd promised himself when she was still mortal. If it meant staying away from her. If it meant never feeling her skin against his and the whisper of her living breath against his lips-then so be it.
But first things first.
He straightened, face beneath the mask all at once impassive and yearning, drinking in the sight of her as she ascended the stairs to where he stood. Seven steps from him she stopped, and he relished seeing her chest heave from the climb, seeing evidence that she was still alive, seeing her fingers flutter on the fabric of her skirts or intertwine together, never stilling. Longing filled him: he wanted to stopper her nervousness by taking her hands in his, communicating through his touch that there was no need for her to feel that way towards him. But his touch now seemed to have become a palpable danger to her.
"Hello," she greeted, a tremour in her voice.
Beneath the mask he closed his eyes, cherishing the gentle sound of it, feeling the telltale jump in the beat of his heart, soothing him from his feeling of unrest, hardening his resolve.
When he opened his eyes, he sought the other presence he felt nearby. "Kisuke," he called out, flinching inside as he caught the look of dejection on Orihime's face. I'm sorry, he thought. But there's something I have to know first.
The God of Invention and Knowledge popped out from where he hid behind a pillar on the stone steps. "Yes, Mr Death, sir?" he responded, grey eyes hooded beneath his hat, unscrupulously filing away Ichigo's lack of acknowledgment to his wife's presence for later perusal and gossip with other gods.
Wasting no time for niceties, the God of Death and the Moon pointed to the object at his feet. "What do you make of this?"
"Hmm," replied Urahara as he made his way closer, using his cane to poke and prod at the decomposed fruit on the ground. "A gift from Senna, I take it?"
"Yes."
Whatever was left of the core disintegrated under Urahara's walking cane, and from behind, Orihime drew close to them out of curiosity, still smarting from Ichigo's lack of response to her greeting. That he had not sent her away was something she found herself taking comfort in. Just to be near him is enough, she thought in an attempt to console herself, unable to help sending him a wounded gaze.
All three crouched, scrutinizing the gift of the Goddess of Autumn.
Pulling a glove from within his coat, Urahara donned it and picked up a small seed from amongst the remains and held it up to his eye, and then to his nose, sniffing. "It's a wish," he said, after a fashion.
"A wish?" repeated Ichigo.
"Specifically, Senna's wish regarding you. It contains her malice and ill feelings towards you."
The Death God swallowed, gears of thought swirling in his mind. "Just me?" he asked, eyes flickering briefly towards his wife before looking to the other god.
Urahara nodded. "Just you."
"What did she wish for?"
The tow-headed god glanced between the seed and Orihime. "Your fear."
Yellow-on-black eyes were directed to the auburn-haired young goddess, meeting her worried gaze. He broke contact, looking to Kisuke once more. "Senna said she had also given the same kind of apple to Orihime. Does it contain the same wish?"
"It's hard to say. I would surmise that not all her apples contain her wishes. It would depend on the colour, I imagine." He produced the gift he had been given from the recesses of his coat, a shiny green apple, still uneaten. He pulled the curved head of his cane from its base, revealing a hidden blade, and proceeded to slice his apple in half, digging out a seed from its core with one hand as the other sheathed the blade. Likewise with this seed he performed the same perusal as the previous. "This one is empty," he concluded, holding it out to the Death God.
"Empty?"
"No wish is contained within it."
With reluctance, Ichigo plucked the seed from Kisuke's fingers, holding his breath as he waited. Nothing. He frowned, heaving a disappointed sigh as he lowered it to the ground, seeing the half of the fruit that it had come from. He nodded to it. "May I?"
Urahara, never one to deny his own curiosity and wanting to see for himself what would happen, waved a hand. "If it pleases you, Mr Death, sir."
Gingerly, Ichigo picked up one of the green halves, unsurprised yet disappointed to find that it did not produce the same result as his own red apple, and set it back down on the ground. His gaze fell to Orihime, silent all this while, his chest constricting at the thought of what could happen if he so much as reach over to stroke her hair.
"And yours?" He finally addressed her, watching as her eyes lit up even at this gesture. His heart thundered at seeing the small smile at the corner of her lip, instantly dissolving the worry in her glance.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a half-eaten blood red apple, and he felt his heart plummet at the sight. Closing his eyes, he swallowed, pulling back down the bile and the fear that lingered in his throat. With an excruciating amount of effort he forced his voice to not reveal his fears. "Kisuke, what do you make of it?"
The tow-headed god turned to Orihime, his hand held out. "May I, madam?"
Wordlessly she placed the apple in his grasp, and he wasted no time in reaching inside for a seed. Almost immediately, he said, "There is a wish."
Ichigo's head turned to his so fast, fists closing at his sides. "What is it?" His voice was coarse, shaking with a growing rage he could barely control. From his periphery he saw Orihime reach out to him, and though it wounded him he was grateful that her touch never reached him.
Puzzlement sparked in the God of Invention and Knowledge's grey eyes. "She wished for Orihime to wish for your child to be born into the world."
"What?! I don't understand." Ichigo sat back on his haunches and ran a hand over his mask. What's with Senna? What is she planning? Had she seen something in her mirror? Something to do with my child?
Picking up the two other seeds, Urahara swirled all three in his palm. "Compared to the one she gave you, this one contains no negative feelings at all." Grey eyes watched him shrewdly, then the tow-headed god threw Orihime's apple to Ichigo. It was dangerous, he knew as he watched him fumble with the fruit, to tease the god so while in his white form, but he was comforted by the thought that no harm would come to him since Orihime was present. He was certain that with her being there and with such unresolved issues looming between them, the Death God had other things on his mind and thus would not entertain the thought of hunting Kisuke down. Nevertheless he quickly made himself scarce, quickly flash-stepping out of there, leaving the two alone.
Ichigo panted, fingers and palm shaking as he stared at the apple in his hand, breath held as he watched as nothing happened to it. For a few long seconds, he waited still before finally setting it down on the ground beside its rotted mate.
Nothing happened to it, he thought as colour began to seep onto the tufts of fur on his wrists, orange staining his white hair. I touched it and nothing happened. Orihime-
Unable to hold himself back any longer, he took his mask off and reached over and pulled Orihime to his chest, swallowing her gasp with his mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as the other wrapped around her waist. He felt her arms snake tightly around his neck, felt her bridge the remaining gap between their bodies, felt the very pulse of her life inside her chest against his.
A relieved smile pulled at the edges of his lips, still pressed against hers, feeling her answering smile. "Hello," he breathed against her lips, unwilling to part, heady with the sensation of losing themselves to each other.
"Have I told you how much I missed you?"
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