Chapter Text
Ichigo stares at her ceiling in contemplation. It was a nice ceiling, really it was. A nice off white to match the walls, dependable in all things. It kept her dry, it supported the roof, it never expected more from her than what she could give. She winched, that echoed too close for comfort, it was white… The door to the twin’s room slid open almost silently. Ichigo frowned at her ceiling, it was late, really late, and it was a school night. While a lot of things could be said about her former friends, they mostly kept Karin from fights on school nights, which meant the fight was so bad, they needed help from a thirteen year old to succeed. It meant Karin could get hurt, could stumble on her way home. That was unacceptable.
Ichigo glanced down, she had gotten ready for bed an hour ago, grey sweatpants covered her legs and a holey shirt her torso. Even powerless as she is now, she never wears pyjamas, always ready to leap into action, always ready for an enemy attack. With a wryly twist of her mouth she acknowledges the fact that its useful, even if it meant she never feels safe enough to let her guard down. Ichigo slips on her shoes and trails after Karin. She doesn’t know if it’s because she lacks enough Reiryoku to create her own Reiatsu, or if her friends and family are so conditioned to glide over her that they don’t notice, but no one sees her on nights like these. She wasn’t screaming her presence, she acknowledges, but she wasn’t trained in stealth either, she was used for frontal assault usually, drawing enemy fire to let her allies escape. But no one notices anyway, no one but grey eyes crinkled at the corner, lips pulled up in an unnoticeable smile before a fan hides it, – No one notices, and on nights like these she was glad, relieved, so, so angry. She wasn’t fit for company, not when she had to stand still, had to keep watch, had to witness and be powerless to do anything. A silent observer, a ghost.
Karin was doing okay, keeping a keen eye out Ichigo saw her stumble but aside from some bruising she seemed to be handling it. Ichigo was proud and so, so angry of, at, her little sister, she was doing well, was keeping the town safe, was keeping their family safe. Who was keeping Karin safe? But Ichigo couldn’t keep down a flicker of hurt, of rage. Why hadn’t Karin come to her? Why did she try to hide this? Was Ichigo not always there, was she not the one who raised her, who cared for her, who protected her? Was Ichigo only worth her Reiryoku? Was powerless now synonym to worthless? Why, Karin why? So, on nights like these she was not good for company, but Kisuke Urahana never seemed to know where the line is.
“Geta-boshi” She acknowledges, her mouth tilting down slightly, her jaw clenching. It’s been three nights since she had last seen him, since the first time she had seen him since she lost her powers and it stung. Her thoughts were a mess, and she was torn between punching him in the face and begging him to stay. But Ichigo is no one’s fool, once bitten twice shy and all that. No matter that she would forgive him in an instant if he gave her the slightest hint that he was sorry, if he gave her the slightest reason for his absence. But Ichigo was always a fool when it came to this man, even when she should know better, should be wary. This she acknowledges, is the reason I’m waxing poetry about my ceiling, trying to stop thinking, stop hoping. Because Kisuke Urahana has always made Ichigo foolish and now with a deadline hanging over her head, with sisters to prepare for a life without her, with trying to find peace in it all, trying to understand, she has no time to be foolish.
“Kurosaki-chan” He hummed, without turning to face her. It suited Ichigo, it let her observe him from the corner of her eye, even though she knew he knew, it created the illusion that she desperately needed. The space between them felt like a chasm, but it brought distance, it brought calm. It hurt like nothing she had felt before, tore things she thought long broken, why, why, why? She bit her lip trying to hide her frown, hoped the angle hid her eyes, as angry as she was at him, as hurt, she cared even when she shouldn’t, when she couldn’t, when it felt it was all that she did. He had lost weight, not a lot but enough that Ichigo noticed. She hadn’t really looked at him last time, too blindsided by his presence, blinded by her anger, her hurt, but Urahana did not look well. It wasn’t obvious, she doubted anyone would notice, but to Ichigo who had studied this man once, who had lived as close to him as he allowed, could see the signs. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, she deducted unhappily. Where was Yoruichi? Who was there to make sure he wasn’t living in his labs? Where was Tessai? Why hadn’t they stop this spiral? There are shadows under his eyes that are not from his hat and his fingers are tapping his fan, a tick she knew he did to hide his hand shaking from cramps caused by working too long with the lab’s fine instruments.
She tore her eyes away, focusing on Karin. It wasn’t her problem, he was an adult, he was responsible for himself. There were others who needed her more, who depended on her, who didn’t. She was not his mother; she wasn’t even his friend. She had waited, the first day for him to appear with a casual Kurosaki-chan. She had waited that first week for a slight smile hidden behind his stupid fan. She had gone looking for him, thinking something was wrong, to find the shop empty. She had interrogated her father, trying to find him, only to hear he needed space. Still, she had waited, because she had hoped that when he was ready, he would know he could come to her. She had waited months, she had waited a year, and then she coughed up blood and knew she couldn’t wait for someone who wasn’t coming.
She wondered if she should say something, wondered if she asked, if he would answer. But for all that something claws inside her, with all the screaming of why, why, why in her ears, no question comes to her lips. There is, Ichigo muses, a different kind of bravery in opening your heart to those who hurt it. And as much as Ichigo would love to spit accusations at Urahana, would love to scream her questions at him, as much as she wanted him to acknowledge her pain, her anger. The fact is: he never promised her anything, and Ichigo for all her thoughtless bravery has learnt to be careful with her heart, has learned to be wary. So, she doesn’t ask, afraid of the answers, and keeps looking at Karin until the fight ends. She nods to him and follows her sister home. A memory echoing unbidden, of a warm afternoon drinking tea after sparring, Urahana smiling at her fondly without his fan, face free of all its masks, laughter ringing in the air. She can almost feel the phantom of the warm teacup in her hand, smell the tea leaves in the air. She sighed, banishing the image, tries hard to banish the haunting questions of why, why, why, that she doesn’t know how to ask.
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Kisuke frowned as his hand twitched involuntary, putting down his equations. His eyes are a bit blurry as well, he recognises, and walks to the kitchen, trying to think of the steps to make the perfect tea. In the two years since Tessai has returned to soul society he hasn’t had a decent cup of tea, nor a meal, he ruefully acknowledges. ‘Geta-boshi you are hopeless’ a phantom whispers, and Kisuke has to agree, he was hopeless. But he tries to focus on the tea, tries to remember how Ichigo did it, even though it hadn’t been the tea he had focused on back then. It had been her eyes, brown almost glowing gold, full of laughter and light even though they were laughing at him. How she carefully cradled his hands as if they were precious, as if she didn’t know how much blood was forever staining them. How she invaded his space, pushing at his shoulder to get him to pay attention, as if he hasn’t killed people that dared. That afternoon was hazy, a lazy afternoon with sunlight filtering in the window causing Ichigo’s hair to glow, as she tried to teach him how to make tea because the cup he had made was apparently a crime against humanity. ‘It’s gross Geta-boshi, super gross’
That doesn’t help him now, now does it? Kisuke was good at compartmentalising, was good at only using the useful things in his life to move forward. Had done that two years ago, when Isshin had come to him at the behest of Ichigo, had told him she doesn’t want him in her life, couldn’t forgive him this time, wanted a clean break. Had bottled up everything and started working, with Tessai in soul society and Yoruichi only dropping in every few years there was no one to stop him. He couldn’t get Ichigo off his mind though, couldn’t forget her or put her in a box, and even if she wanted nothing to do with him, even if she couldn’t forgive him this time, he could still make amends. So, he had started working, started inventing, tried to soothe the phantom haunting him by being productive. But now, staring at the cup in his hands, he resisted the urge to hurl it into a wall. Isshin had lied, and Ichigo was not okay, hadn’t been okay and all the amends in the world would never justify abandoning her for two years.
Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he relaxed, smoothing out all his tells, the only thing left was the tick tap of his fingers, something that was the only sign of the spasms on his hands. And maybe the anger in his soul, but Benihime was screaming in rage for both of them. There was nothing to be done he knew, but to fix this. All the rage was useless without direction, He was a master of plans, could make a hundred in a second. But this, he didn’t know where to start. Seeing a hollow fight happening he donned his Gigai and headed out, hoping to see Ichigo, hoping that all was not lost.
Seeing her leaning on that wall knocked out his breath, it wasn’t that she was particularly pretty, she was, she had on sweatpants and a shirt full of holes. It was the fact that this was the first time he saw her with the thought that maybe, maybe there was hope, that she could maybe forgive him one last time, that he hadn’t messed up bad enough yet. Hope, Kisuke knew, was dangerous. It made fools out of people, it led the greatest of minds astray, it led to mistakes that he couldn’t afford, but Kisuke was always foolish when it came to Ichigo Kurosaki. From the moment she saw and understood how damaged Kisuke was, and smiled like he was precious and worth protecting.
“Geta-boshi.” Kisuke wondered when he started missing the stupid irritating nickname. She always teased him with it, knowing he didn’t like it. He must, he admits ruefully, acknowledge that it is not the nickname he missed, but the person who utters it. Yet the way it is so cautiously voiced heightens his folly. He had made a lot of mistakes, done a lot of damage, accidental and on purpose. None felt as personal as listening to Isshin and staying away. Wrath bathes in her eyes, he doesn’t know how no one could see it. Anger sparks from her fingertips. But the thing that punched a hole through Kisuke though, is the sense of betrayed hurt simmering behind it.
“Kurosaki-chan” He hummed lightly, flicking his fan. He doesn’t turn to face her, can’t, wonders if he will be able to ever again. His fingers tick tack on his fan and he wonders where to begin. Does he say I’m sorry, will that ever be more than an inaccurate representation of how deeply he regrets? It can’t, it won’t, it never will. Does he bow in shame before her, something he had only done once before, before this same woman, the one who always makes him want to be better. Should he offer her his life, the useless thing it was, in atonement? Before he could decide he sees her glancing at him and stills, smoothing out every tell, projecting his harmless persona out of reflex. She doesn’t turn to face him, and even though he knows that she knows he can see her, she stays turned away. Kisuke wonders at it even as he stays still, wonders what she sees, what she gets from it. And then for a brief second, so brief he might have imagined it, concern paints over her features, overshadowing the anger. For that split second Ichigo cared, worried and still thought of him. Something howls inside even as he stays perfectly still. Hope is a terrible thing to have, it made fools of greater men than he, of greater minds. But hope was constant in his life with Ichigo near, and even now he is helpless in the face of it all.
She doesn’t turn to face him, doesn’t speak, and Kisuke doesn’t either. Tonight, already felt like a victory. That split second was all he needed, she still cares, as angry as she is, she still cares, and Kisuke had made plans work with worst odds before.
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