Work Text:
The First Meeting
Ichigo was scowling darkly as he watched Keigo belt out the karaoke song at the top of his lungs, up to his usual clowny act. He was deeply regretting that he had ever let the silly skirt-chaser talk him into coming to this group date. Still, he was even more stumped as to how exactly he had managed to rope these poor girls into it. He knew that one of them shared a class with Keigo and they had done a group project together. Keigo had also boasted that the others invited to the group date were the girl’s friends from high school.
“From an all-girls high school,” he had enthused, grinning like an idiot.
The girls were all huddled together, and Ichigo well believed that they all were from an all-girls school, the three were all polite smiles and nervous giggles. One of them even kept blushing every time Ichigo as much as glanced their way.
Really, sweet girls like that; there was no way Keigo would be able to get a second date with any of them, Ichigo scoffed. As for Ichigo and Mizuiro, neither of them was really interested. Mizuiro was into older women, whereas Ichigo had his hands full with his studies. He had been a university student for a full of month and half. He was barely starting to get a hang of it, and obtaining a girlfriend was the furthest from his mind.
He frowned, glancing at the girls again. Two of them were getting up now that Keigo was finished, going to sing a song together. Ichigo saw his opportunity and got up as well. His womanizing friend would likely be too busy ogling the singing pair to notice anything amiss for a while. Ichigo told Mizuiro he was going to the bathroom, and then slipped out of the room. However, he took a left at the corridor, instead heading out towards the exit.
He stopped to breath in the fresh air after he stepped outside, listening to the sounds of the city. He weighed his options. It wasn’t really that late yet and he didn’t particularly feel like going home quite yet. His house had always been noisy and he had hated that, but now that he lived on his own, he found the quiet of his dorm room oddly disheartening. His stomach answered the dilemma with a demanding rumble, and Ichigo decided that a dinner would be good.
The door clicked after him and then a person stopped next to him. One of the girls from the group date; the petite, black-haired one. He glowered at her, earning a wry smile in return. The girl padded her pockets and pulled out a cigarette.
“Got a light?” she asked him casually.
Maybe not so sweet after all, this one, Ichigo decided, watching as the girl propped the smoke to her lips. He was about to answer no, when he remembered the lighter his father had given him as a going away present.
“A good luck charm,” the old man had said, for once appearing sombre. “It was a gift from your mother.”
His hand dug into his jeans pocket and pulled it out, flicking it at the girl.
She caught it deftly, without any trouble.
“Thanks,” she said, her violet eyes sparkling with mirth. She lit her cigarette. Ichigo realised he was staring at her lips and promptly diverted his gaze.
The girl handed him the lighter back and he accepted it, quickly pocketing it again.
“So, sneaking out already, eh?” she asked, a lilt of amusement in her voice.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“That’s a shame,” she said, her eyes laughing. “My friend seemed quite into you.”
“You can tell your friend that I’m not really looking for a relationship right now,” Ichigo replied.
“I hear you,” she said, exhaling smoke. It rose to the air in lazy swirls. “So what’s your plan?”
Ichigo stared at her, long and hard. The girl was answering his gaze evenly, smoking her cigarette. He did not understand her at all, and he had completely misjudged her earlier – not that he had paid much attention to the girls at any point of the date. Still, he felt oddly at ease in her company, and perhaps that was why he found himself answering.
“I was gonna go grab something to eat,” he muttered.
“Food sounds like a good idea,” she breathed. She put out her cigarette, dumping the stump to the ground and scraping her foot over it. “Mind if I tag along?”
Ichigo gave her another once-over, and then shrugged.
“Suit yourself.”
He started walking down the street, followed by the sound of the purposeful clicking of her heels on the asphalt.
The Second Meeting
Rukia switched her grocery bag to her other hand and ruffled through her pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She took one and propped it to her lips as she walked down the street. She slipped the cigarette pack back into her pocket and fished around for a lighter.
“Shit,” she hissed when she finally found it and realised it was running on empty and she had forgotten to fill it.
She stopped and turned back to the convenience store but a quick glance at the clock told her that she only had a few minutes until her laundry was finished.
Rukia huffed, rolling the cigarette on her lips and decided it was not worth it. She grabbed the smoke and twirled it in her hand as she started walking down the street again, heading towards the laundromat.
She came to a quick halt as she reached the shop and noticed someone was sitting inside. Rukia always did her laundry in the evening to make sure the machines would be free and she never really ran into other people.
But now there was a young man, his nose buried in his text book. His wild orange hair and dark scowl caught her eye. She was sure she had seen him before but where…?
Ahh, of course. This was the guy she had ditched the boring group date with a month or so ago.
A smirk touched her lips and she leaned against the doorframe.
“Got a light?” she called to the young man.
He looked up from his text book, still scowling, and his brown eyes widened as he recognised her.
“You?!” he cried. “What are you doing here?”
“My laundry, obviously,” Rukia replied, nodding to the machine that only had a minute or two of the washing program left.
The man shook his head but dug into his pocket and tossed his lighter to her. Why he carried one in the first place was a mystery to her, since she didn’t think he smoked. She finally lit her cigarette and enjoyed the first deep inhale.
“Thanks,” she told him, walking over and handing him back the lighter. “Didn’t take you for the studious type,” she commented, raising her brow at the text book.
“We’ve got a quiz tomorrow,” he shrugged. “Figured I might as well study as I waited for my laundry to finish.”
“Makes sense,” she nodded, taking a closer look at his book. “You’re studying law?” her brow quirked again.
He grunted.
“Yeah, what about it?” his voice had gained a notable edge, and she tried to picture him with his permanent scowl and spiky orange hair among the law students. He didn’t seem to particularly fit in that kind of a crowd, and she could just imagine the kind of crap he would get for sticking out.
“Nothing,” she shook her head, blowing out smoke. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine lawyer.”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer,” he said.
She was intrigued, but didn’t want to press the issue. If he wanted to talk about it, he would have freely spoken to her about it.
“Well, good luck in whatever plans you have then,” she wished him politely and put out her cigarette.
The washing program had finished so she walked over to the machine and opened the hatch, starting to pull out her clean clothes.
“What about you then?” she heard his terse voice behind her back.
“What about me?” she asked turning to glance at him over her shoulder.
“What do study then?”
She rolled her shoulders, and unabashedly tossed her underwear into her bag.
“Dead people,” she quipped, a grin playing on her lips. She saw him gawking and swallowed her laugh.
“I’m in med school,” she clarified
His brows knitted together and she turned back to her laundry, reaching into the machine to get to the clothes lying on the bottom.
“You’re a med student,” he spoke incredulously.
“I know,” she said casually. “I don’t really fit the bill, do I?”
His ears turned pink and he pointedly looked away.
“Nah it’s just… Didn’t expect that.”
“It’s fine, I get that a lot,” she reassured him as she pulled the last items on clothing from the washing machine.
“I meant that you look too cool to be a med student.”
“Too cool?” this time, she actually laughed.
His cheeks flushed.
“You seem very laid back,” he bit out, very nearly squirming in his embarrassment. “Med students are often stuck up overachievers.”
“You do realise that could describe most of the law students as well?” she grinned.
“Yeah,” he agreed glumly.
“Well don’t let them to get you down,” she giggled, tossing her back over her shoulder. “We misfits need to stick together.”
“I guess.” Finally, a smile touched his lips.
“Nice meeting you,” she told him, turning to leave.
“I’ll see you around,” he called after her, his voice rising in a question.
She looked over her shoulder.
“Maybe you will,” she said, and with a small departing wave, walked away from the small laundromat and her newly made friend.
Years Later
The cloying smell of decay lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of disinfectants. The stench turned Rukia’s stomach and she gritted her teeth. She was a professional and this was her job! The smells of death and chemicals were as familiar to her as the back of her hand after years and years of practice, and they shouldn’t be affecting her like this.
Jaw clenching in frustration, she got up from her chair – only to sink right back when the motion made her head spin. She hissed a few choice words under her breath. She was a doctor, so she had caught on quickly to what was going on. But unfortunately that did not make the symptoms any less annoying.
Her hands shook a little. It had been four weeks now, and she would have given her right leg for just one cigarette.
Sighing, she got to her feet again, slowly this time, and walked over to the gurney in the middle of the sterile room. For a moment, she studied the dead body lying before her. Then she exhaled, turned on her voice recorder and began the examination.
“The deceased is a male,” she spoke evenly. “Identified as Itou Hiroki, 42 years old. The cause of death at the preliminary examination appears to be a blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. The marks on the body suggest a violent death, Itou-san has a black eye and bruises on his chest. Judging by the bruising on his arms I suspect that he was trying to defend himself.”
Rukia bent closer, careful and methodical as she inspected the body inch by inch, making note of every scratch and bruise, pointing out loud each small thing that stood out to her.
This was work, this was a routine. Even back in med school she had known this was what she wanted to do, to study death itself.
So she fell into the familiarity and let the rest of the world fade away as her gloved fingertips gently probed at the traumatic injury at the back of the dead man’s head.
After the preliminary examination was over, Rukia took a small break. Her stomach still felt a little queasy much to her dismay. She took a sip of water, and wondered if she’d be able to work properly if this kept up. Scowling in determination, she reached for a surgical mask. Her fingers twitched as she tied it on. She was still dying for that cigarette.
But instead, Rukia picked up a scalpel and got back to work.
“The heart and lungs look good,” she dictated to the recorder, wiping her sweaty forehead with the sleeve of her gown, squinting at the bright lamp above her. “Three cracked ribs,” she added. From a kick, perhaps?
Rukia was listing the stomach contents when he marched in.
The sight of the petite woman nearly up to her elbows in the body cavity of a dead person didn’t faze him after all these years, though admittedly at first it had been a bit of a shock.
“Hey, Rukia,” he greeted, grabbing himself a pair of latex gloves from the box on her desk.
“Inspector,” she replied, her teasing voice muffled by the mask. She looked up and saw his scowl had deepened, and the corner of her lips quirked in amusement.
“This is Itou-san?” he asked, nodding at the dead man.
Rukia pulled her hands out and took a step back. She tugged down the surgical mask so she could give Ichigo her report.
“Yes. I’m still not done with the autopsy, but the cause of death seems quite clear.” Rukia walked over to the head of the gurney and beckoned Ichigo to come closer.
She gently lifted Itou’s head and turned it, to show Ichigo the wound.
“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” he muttered.
“Yup, that would do it,” Rukia replied. “Also notice the bruising here.” She moved to lift the dead man’s left arm.
“He was defending himself?”
Rukia nodded.
“Anything else?”
“He had bruises on his chest and three cracked ribs. I’ll send you the full report when I’m done.”
For a moment, Ichigo frowned at her in silence.
Then, almost hesitantly, he spoke.
“Are you all right, Rukia?”
Her eyebrow rose.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I was just wondering if you were okay to work, you know with all the heavy lifting and everything.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Ichigo. This is my job, and he’s not that heavy. Besides, I’m stronger than I look, as you should know.”
“I do know, Rukia, trust me,” Ichigo scowled. “I just thought that maybe you should be more careful now… take a better care of your body, all things considered.”
Rukia’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with his.
“You know?” Her question came out as a bizarre cross between a hiss and a whisper.
Ichigo turned away from her and her wide violet eyes, and rubbed his neck.
“I might not be a doctor, but I am married to one,” he said pointedly. “And I grew up with my dad running a clinic at home, so I’m not entirely clueless.”
She stared at him, and he shuffled his feet.
“Besides,” he added after a moment of tense silence, “you quit smoking four weeks ago.”
Finally, he turned to face her. “I’ve nagged you about it for years and you never gave in, so I figured there was only one reason you’d give it up.”
“Well,” Rukia breathed, finding her voice at last, “I suppose all your inspecting isn’t just for show, then.”
He huffed and shook his head, but she saw the fond smile tugging at his lips and smirked at him in return.
End.