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She never really figured out why he persisted in trying to cheer her up when he failed so miserably at it. For many many years now, when she'd get in an odd mood or been dealt a blow that she couldn't let roll down the sleek furry back of her cat form, she'd find some place quiet to ponder things, to be gloomy, and he'd inevitably show up, his goofy self, and try to make her feel better. Most times she just smacked him into submission, which, in its own way, did help her feel better. But it wasn't his antics, it was his availability as a human punching bag, and that wasn't the same.
It got worse when they left Soul Society. She'd get the urge to go back in cat form, prowl around and see what had changed. She was curious about Sui Feng. She had never meant to hurt the girl, but Kisuke was her friend first, her oldest friend, her dearest friend, and making sure he stayed alive was her top priority in the escape. There had just been no time to grab her, too, and that was something that sat in the back of her mind and crept out at the most inopportune times.
When she finally came back to Soul Society and she saw the girl again, a girl who was a woman now, cold and bitter and harsh, she felt oddly depressed. Had she caused this? Had she turned her into the woman she was now? But then there wasn't time to think, only time to fight, and when the fight had ended with Sui Feng's anguished cries it was all she could do not to comfort her, but she knew if she did it would demean her.
And she was left with guilt, guilt that was only temporarily assuaged by dealing with Aizen. Oh, the smug bastard got away, but when he was gone and they were left with the full implication of what he had done there had been no time for guilt. No, guilt came later, when all was quiet, when she was wandering the streets of Seirieiti, contemplating old times, wondering if she could have done more to stop what had just happened.
She was not surprised when Kisuke joined her, since he had been invited back to Soul Society to tell them the truth of what happened to Shinji and the others. He was quiet at first, but then he started to talk, and when he talked you could either try and follow along or tune him out. She decided to tune him out tonight, making the occasional sound and saying “All right” when she thought it was appropriate. It took her almost an hour to realize he had lead her to the old training grounds, where she had just recently taught Ichigo bankai. She looked at him, and he shrugged, letting her in.
And then he stood there, arms spread open. She quirked her head, looked at him, and he stretched his arms out more. “What exactly are you doing, Kisuke?” she asked after a moment.
“Letting you fight me. First shot's free.” She looked at him, then walked over and punched him in the chest. It wasn't a hard punch It honestly couldn't be considered a punch, more like a tap with some weight behind it. He looked down, then looked at her, and lowered his arms. “Usually that makes you feel better.”
“Did I turn her into a cold, sadistic bitch?” she asked quietly. “Did my leaving her change her so much?”
“I don't know,” he said quietly. “Probably.”
She scoffed. “You're supposed to tell me it didn't. You're supposed to make me feel better by lying to me.”
“Okay, fine. She was always going to be that way. You leaving didn't affect her at all.”
She punched him in the chest again, a little softer. And then she hit him again. And suddenly she was hitting him over and over, not hard, but enough that he rocked back slightly each time. And then she started crying, and the punches went back to being taps, and only then did he wrap her in his arms and hold her close as she cried on her chest. He didn't rub her back, whisper platitudes in her hair, tell her everything would be okay. He just let her cry.
It didn't last long, and when she was done she pushed away from him, and he let her go. “When did you figure out how to make me feel better, Kisuke?” she asked, a sad smile on her face.
“I had to figure it out at some point,” he replied with a slight smile. “I am the smartest person Soul Society's ever seen. It's expected.”
This time, the fist that cracks against his jaw has enough force to turn his head involuntarily to the left. She pulled her wrist aside, shook it once, and then grinned at him. “Now I feel good again.”
“Anytime,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “How about some sake and some sparring until we both fall down drunk?”
“I think that's the best idea you've had in a while,” she said with a grin. “Thanks.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” he asked, slinging an arm across her shoulders and leading her back out.