Work Text:
Love is ... Duty, is swearing fealty to her, to her clan, to her dreams. Is feeling his bones ache, his muscles ache, his mind ache, but his stomach is quiet and not cramping for the first time, the longest time, in twenty years so he endures. He endures, he learns, he bows his head, he obeys. He learns to be fast, to be stealthy, how to lie and lie and lie and yet never speak an untruth. He learns by being cut. He learns the pain of bones, and torn muscle, and blood slicking his grip on metal fans, on knives, on needles, on swords that do not feel quite right. He learns to kill. To do so quickly, slowly, painlessly, a study in agony. And how to hide every single misgiving away; for she saved his life and he will not repay her by failing. Her desires are his goals to fulfill.
Graduating quickly is easy, he’s been able to speak to Her since he became proficient at meditation. He’s known Her deceptively delicate beauty since that one mission that left him perched in the eaves of a house for hours with nothing to do but wait and figure out how to perform meditation while still being aware of the world. But he has not formally called Her before they attended the academy, as to achieve Shikai before the princess does would put her in a bad situation and himself in a worse one.
He still loves her. And she still treasures him. Right? Even though she sent him to be Captain elsewhere he still looks to her first. Except, she doesn’t want him to do that now. Which is confusing. He is here because of her. No one else would have taken in and trained a Rukongai brat who hailed originally from the sixty-sixth district. Why would he not look to her? He’s not sure why she wants to cut the strings between them now after a century and change. Is he too clingy? Did he miss the subtle signs of her drifting away, of growing bored with him? Was she more bothered than he thought when he told her of his peaceful dreams of copper scented rivers with a lady in a formal red kimono who walked beside him. Or had she actually heard his mumble of stay I like being able to hear a companions heart beat instead of straining for my crimson lady’s non-present one. She had started drifting away a bit after that, had switched his mission role from assassination to detainment. And it grew more pronounced after he succeeded at the Captain’s trials she set before him. Maybe she thought giving him distance would help reduce his nightmares? Mostly though he just felt alone.
Love is ... Sleepless nights, and busy days, and planning out a training schedule for the third time because another one of his division has died and he won’t stand for it. It’s enduring their grumbling and having more retire, or choose to never take to the field again. It’s listening to his Lieutenant’s snarling critizations, of the poorly hidden snickers of other division Lieutenants at his facade of mild tempered eccentric Captain, of the distance that instantly forms between himself and an acquaintance when they discover that prior to his promotion to Captain of the Twelfth he served as Third Seat in Second Division. It is heartbreak unacknowledged by others with every member that dies or leaves. He didn’t want the position, but since it’s now his, these people are his now and it hurts to lose them. That others don’t realize this is a sign that his training was effective. He’s not sure why the others who are from major noble houses are so surprised or disturbed by his control; they should have had the same lessons in emotional control. It’s trying again and again and again to create things that might give his division, give her division, give any of the souls who fight Hollows an extra chance to survive an unexpected encounter.
He tries and tries, but cannot seem to connect properly with his new division. With really any of the other Captains and Lieutenants; those who are willing to let him in their presence seem to tolerate him and nothing more. Is it any wonder that eventually he stops trying to reach out? It’s just energy wasted that he could use to build something that might help save somebody’s life.
He who is hers has a far too generous heart. To those he has chosen to care for, to those he has gifted love: He gives and gives and gives and thinks that receiving the smallest gesture of genuine gratitude from those he has assisted is not merely the required politeness but a priceless gift. When in truth he should be treasured far more than he is. While she will always be grateful that the Shihoin heiress took a liking to him and gave him a purpose beyond survive; she will never forget how that Shihoin heiress had forced distance between Kisuke and herself once she had realized that he had used her presence as a cornerstone of his mind. She helped shape him, of course he would use her as a touchstone. Her believing he shouldn’t do such a thing merely emphasizes the last bits of naivety that she has. Nobles of a main line have such distinctive blindspots.
She wishes she could rend the foolish into minuscule shreds. Be it physical or mental. He who is hers deserves nothing less happening to those who have hurt him so. The fools in Seireitai have hurt her Shinigami. Such insults deserve carefully calculated retribution so that all who have considered trespassing against that which is hers know that they will have performed an ill-thought course of action and should reconsider such things before they meet a similar gristly fate should they go through with it. And such plans take time to perfectly craft.
Those who now call themselves the Vizards are on thin ice with her. How dare they blame him for saving their lives? How dare they insist on trying to stay the same even decades after such a traumatic event? They are Hollow touched, their very spirit is scarred, and they think they can converse with their Zanpakutou the way they had prior to this injury? That they feel they can bottle up and lock away the emotional output of their now changed and scarred Zanpakutou? Such a thing is the folly of a child who has never been on a battlefield. It is unbecoming of those who were once Captains and Lieutenants and high seated members of Seireitai. Who have known loss and grief and been changed by it before. This is a denial of grief, a denial of self. And with all such things it will only end in tears and screams and blood. She would leave them to their lonely destructive fates, but her Shinigami still cares for these fools. So she will not kill them the next time hers must call upon her Bankai to subdue them. But there are many ways to hurt without causing death. She is no puppet on a string no matter what any file in Seireitai says. Sometimes revenge driven by pain inflicted on a loved one is much more satisfying if enacted slowly; after all they’ve hurt her little Shinigami through carelessness for decades, she has the justification to return the same length of pain upon them. Increased of course. All actions have consequences, she’s merely introducing them to the consequences of harming that which is hers. And if they will not listen to their Zanpakutou about the folly of angering her? Well it’s a consequence for that as well. Such a pity they do not want to listen to their more informed betters.
Love is ... Razor edged, so sharp you can’t feel the wound until the blood trickles down your face. It’s the ache of realizing that he’s willing to live for someone instead of die for them. It’s realizing he’s presented the damning truths of his soul to another, each darker and crueler than the last, and while they’ve examined each facet offered carefully they do not attempt to use them to twist him into something else. In fact they are so careful to never use the weaknesses he’s exposed by doing so. Had he offered some of those hidden facets up to her, she would have exploited them carefully but ruthlessly to ensure her goals. He’s not sure what to do with such careful consideration of his personhood. He’s not sure what he can offer someone who is willing to see him as he is and only asks that they be allowed to stay. Why would Ichigo want to stay with him after he had hurt him so? Why would he wish to stay with one whose decisions had resulted in him having to fight multiple times over a handspan of years for a people who wouldn’t claim him; who would have killed him and his sisters had they known they had existed anywhere in any realm they could access? He’d apologized for his actions that had brought direct harm to Ichigo, and offered his aid in any endeavors he’d fallen into, but surely that wasn’t enough for him to want to stay with him.
It hadn’t been enough for others in the past, and yet there he sat. Well, curled up in a sleeping ball partially underneath a quilt. Reiatsu presence tamped down to near nothing, like ripples on a deep lake instead of ship breaking waves. Utterly relaxed in his presence. He doesn’t know how to deal with that. Yoruichi seems relaxed, but he’s known her too long, he can tell that it’s a forceful relaxation; that one wrong move or word on his part and she’ll be gone. Ichigo though actually relaxes in his presence. He can see the tension flow out of him once in his presence even if he can’t understand why. He could go stroke his hand down Ichigo’s exposed soft points and all he’d get is a sleepy rumble, or if done when awake a curious look. It terrifies a little corner of his mind; the average shinigami won’t get within swinging distance of him. And he can tell Yoruichi and Tessai and the Vizored all have to consciously think about staying that close to him. Ichigo thinks about moving closer what is he supposed to make of that?
He should probably confess about his feelings to Kisuke, but Kisuke’s so freaked out about him just staying; as well as willing to be his friend, enjoying being around him, willing to let him inside his personal space bubble, and listening to his babbling, that he’d explode or have a breakdown or possibly both if told. Gentle coaxing and patience until Kisuke realizes himself that he’s not going to leave is probably better, especially since he’s not good with words. He can wait. He likes being here with him, and trustworthy companionship has always trumped romance in his eyes.
