Chapter Text
There are whispers these days in the Seireitei, though many would argue they’re more akin to murmurs. Around every corner comes a sibilant soprano hiss, a bass rumble of words and excitement, the flat vibration of a soul pager as it brings gossip to all ears that will listen and all eyes that will see, and even those that can’t. These tangles reach notes along the full scale of sound, but still they bear the same message. They at last swell and shed the last vestiges of quiet to break into a symphony of screams, for this rumor can only be true:
Lieutenant Kuchiki is taking over the captaincy of Squad Thirteen.
(“Finally,” some add.)
Rukia is not ignorant to the gossip flashing like a whip over her head. But she does not correct its course with the actual truth, that she only received a letter from Captain-Commander Kyoraku nominating her for the position, which she has yet to respond to. The paper sits in the upper right hand corner of her desk, held in place by a large, shiny rock Ichika found when she was three and that Rukia now uses as a paperweight. The letter is an excellent conversation starter, or it would be if any of those who came to drop off their paperwork and overbearing questions noticed it. Rukia doesn’t blame them, of course, for the training schedules, heating bills, and legal memos usually littering a lieutenant’s desk are of little concern to anyone but the lieutenant themself.
But it’s okay, Rukia says to herself. She has a party to attend later tonight. She’ll announce the news then. Blow the Seireitei sky-high with the news. At last have an excuse to call the World of the Living.
--
“That kimono makes your ass look great,” Renji whispers in her ear as Ichika runs ahead of them, rapidly unsheathing her Zanpaku-to against pretend-enemies that appear from around corners and upon rooftops.
Rukia’s cheeks burn viciously, nearly matching the crimson kimono she’d carelessly tossed on after rushing home to change. She might not ever be larger than petite, but the ghost of Ichika’s birth lingers just enough that her rarely used wardrobe is not always as forgiving as it once was. Her clothing now coats her like honey, draping sweetly around her frame to gather all the flies it can.
“Ichika, you know you’re not supposed to unsheathe your sword in public,” she calls out to tune out the insects’ buzzing. “Especially not in a populated area.”
“I don’t see anyone,” Ichika retorts. She faces her parents and thrusts her blade into the ten feet separating them.
“You see us, now put it away,” Rukia says. Somehow she withholds the sigh in her throat, but only to save it for later.
Ichika closes her eyes, thrusting blind this time. “Now I don’t see anything—ee!”
Renji has grabbed Ichika, holding her tightly under one arm and extending the other so she can’t reach the Zanpaku-to he yanked from her. “Obey your commanding officer, Abarai Ichika,” he tells her, sending a wink above the child’s head to Rukia.
Rukia lets the wink fly past, keeping a stern gaze on her daughter.
“Tou-sama, let me go!” Ichika shouts as she writhes against her father’s grip. “I was just kidding!”
“Kidding?” Renji holds the sword up to the sunlight, not a trace of tangerine or violet touching it yet in the early evening. “Looked like direct insubordination to me, soldier.”
“Apprentice,” Rukia says sharply as she walks past her family. If Ichika has to be anything more than a child, let her hold the lowest rank possible.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Ichika shouts, finally tossing her fist close enough to the family jewels that Renji sets her back down.
“And?”
Ichika huffs. “And I promise not to unsheathe my Zanpaku-to in public anymore.”
“See? Wasn’t so hard.” Renji hands her back her sword, and before long, Ichika runs past Rukia so she is once more in the lead.
“I was taking care of it,” Rukia mutters when Renji catches up to her.
“Yeah, but I’m faster.” Renji points to the looming gray of the building before them. “Besides, we’re here.”
Rukia frowns, but in the music she can already feel pounding through the compound-like Shihouin manor, she finds a smile for the guards manning the open gate. They’re bowed into the foyer, which they only just start to appreciate when they’re ushered to the inner courtyard. Already the place is packed with Shinigami and—Rukia lets out the sigh she had on reserve—flashes of a green and white striped hat. Scattered across the tiled ground are high tables, around which are gathered other party guests holding sake dishes and champagne flutes (Rukia suspects these have something to do with the green and white stripes in the crowd). A live band is playing a steady, jazzy tune off in the corner, amplified to a sound level just above classy.
With stealthy hands, Rukia pulls at her kimono, hunting for relief in the tight fabric. This might not be the formal event of the season, but she could have put more effort into presenting herself. She owes it to her reputation and legacy, to her announcement, to represent herself as honestly as possible. Only right now, she may as well be some B-grade prostitute, pretending to be a society woman just long enough to get through the front gates of the manor and into her rich john’s bed.
Still fussing over her kimono, Rukia drops her hands when their hostess slides over to them. “The Abarai clan has arrived!” Yoruichi proclaims, receiving Renji and Rukia’s bows with a wide smile. “Well, the parents have, anyway. Where’s your daughter?”
Rukia waves her hand absently in lieu of specifics, and more than a little relief; she’s suddenly feeling extremely overdressed, her kimono modesty incarnate compared to the tight, form-fitting Western piece of fabric that only Yoruichi could pull off in a place like the Soul Society. “Congratulations on your tenure, Yoruichi-sama,” she says smoothly.
“Yeah, congrats,” Renji says, already eyeing the bar at the other end of the courtyard.
“Oh, get out of here,” Yoruichi scoffs. She shoves Renji in the direction of the booze and turns back to Rukia. “Thank you, Rukia.”
“Well, it’s not every day the academy takes you on full-time,” Rukia offers.
“The poor bastards have no idea what they’ve done.” Yoruichi’s smile angles into a smirk. “They better watch it before I’m running the entire damn school.”
Rukia laughs politely, though a part of her isn’t so sure that would be a totally bad thing.
“Speaking of promotions,” Yoruichi continues, leaning forward, “a little birdy told me you’re on the way up too.”
Slowly nodding her head side to side, Rukia says, “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a ‘little’ birdy—”
“Oh, just tell me if it’s true or not!”
It’s now Rukia’s turn to smirk. “We’ll just have to see at the end of the night, now won’t we?”
“Hijacking my good news with your own, then?”
Something invisible punches Rukia in the gut. “Oh, um, unless you don’t want—”
“Are you kidding me? That means we can party even harder!” Yoruichi slinks an arm around her shoulders and pulls her deeper into the crowd. “I’ll make a special announcement later. How does that sound?”
Rukia smiles primly, only for it to grow into a wide grin. “It’s a deal.”
“Attagirl.” Yoruichi leans closer. “Juushiro would be proud. There’s no one else in this world who could properly take over the squad after him.”
A touch of red comes to her cheeks, but where it stung earlier, now it only warms her. It has been all Rukia can do to keep the squad afloat after their captain selflessly abandoned ship, and while nothing is truly set to change save which monthly meetings she attends, there is something more reassuring about having her rank cloaked over her shoulders rather than tied around her arm.
“Thank you, Yoruichi-sama,” she says as quietly as the music and chatter will allow.
Yoruichi nods. “I mean it. Now go get a drink.” She pushes Rukia toward the bar, and it is all she can do not to test the limits of her already irritated kimono.
Thankfully, the evening proceeds without the busting of a single seam. Rukia initially spends her time conversing with the other guests, offering additional congratulations to Isane, who was vested her own captaincy just two months prior. At some point someone places a drink in her hand, which only after the effervescent liquid almost goes up her nose she realizes is champagne. More aware, she gives it another sip; while she can’t say the bubbles are enjoyable, there is now a mild taste of flowers on her tongue. They bring with them memories of a distant meadow, laughter, the light touch of a hand. So much sunlight.
She’s asking for a second glass when Byakuya appears at her side, his proverbial feathers rather ruffled.
“Welcome, Nii-sama,” Rukia says, grabbing a dish of sake in addition to her glass of champagne. “Yoruichi-sama certainly knows how to show her guests a good time.”
“Does she?” Byakuya extends a gracious hand for the sake dish, and the siblings sip their drinks. “I will only be here a short while.”
“Understandable.” Rukia glances up at the sky, which has begun to threaten purple. “I may leave with you. Ichika needs to get to bed in a couple hours.”
Byakuya blinks. “You are coming home this evening?”
Rukia shrugs. “The manor is closer than the barracks, so why not?”
“Your husband will be delighted.”
“I…yes, yes he will be.” Rukia busies herself drinking more champagne.
“He misses you terribly. If he does not tell me at home, he tells me at headquarters. It is insufferable.”
“My apologies, Nii-sama,” Rukia says. She bows low, if only because it means she doesn’t have to make eye contact just yet.
Byakuya sips his sake. “I do not fault you, Rukia. Your lieutenancy is a pressing matter. I remember all too well the trouble of balancing work with home.”
A shiver races down Rukia’s spine, but the sensation leaves a weight in her stomach, crushing the flowers still bubbling inside her. That was an unfair comparison, and Byakuya knows it. “I also have no captain,” she manages to say.
Byakuya nods, but then seems to catch himself. His brow smooths in silent apology.
Rukia gives him five seconds to live with his guilt, then offers a forgiving smile. When she first came to know him as her brother, she never expected they would be capable of having a silent conversation like that. But in the last decade or so, they’ve learned to speak each other’s language, whether that be the more expressive insight of Rukongai or the understated declarations of the nobility.
Together, she and Byakuya reenter the ever-growing mass of party guests, where they are quickly separated. Rukia gives into it, riding the waves of the crowd, waving hello and goodbye as she responds to her name being called or strikes up a conversation herself. She even bumps into Renji, a full sake cup in his hand and even more drink on his breath.
He sweeps down to her ear and shouts over the music, “Dance with me. We haven’t danced together since our wedding.”
Rukia smiles demurely. She’s not exactly sober either, but it will take more than a little champagne for something like that. “You’ll have to find me first,” she says, slipping expertly back into the crowd.
“Oh yeah?” Renji smirks, thinking she’s serious.
Leaving him to his hunt, Rukia exits the crowd once more, a task made shockingly easy after the time she spent within the thrum. At once she spots the green and white hat again, only to blink rapidly. The sunset is in full force, giving them a brilliant show of color overhead and rendering them in shadow below, but dark as the party is, there is no reason that Urahara’s blond hair should be black.
“Urahara-san, did you dye your hair?” Rukia asks, tapping Urahara’s right shoulder. Only then does she notice that the hair texture is too smooth to be Urahara’s, that his right arm seems to be gone from the elbow down.
“Urahara-san...?” she says tentatively.
In slow motion, Shiba Kuukaku, Urahara’s hat jauntily placed atop her own head, turns toward her with a glare that could freeze the entirety of hell.
“Oh, look who came to join us!” the real Urahara says where he stands in front of Kuukaku. He has terrible hat hair and his face is deep red, more than likely the result of the sake bottle held in his hand.
“Yeah, welcome, Kuchiki,” Kuukaku says, now fully turned to incorporate Rukia into the conversation. Her glare is gone, replaced by a lopsided grin, but Rukia doesn’t trust it not to return.
“U-Urahara-san, Shiba-sama, long time no see,” Rukia says, bowing nervously to both of them.
“Oh, cut the crap, Kuchiki,” Kuukaku says, nudging Rukia out of her bow. “We’re all friends here. No need to mind those P’s and Q’s so much, yeah?”
“Ah, but Kuukaku-chan, Captain Kuchiki here can’t slip up too much now!” Urahara announces.
“Urahara-san—” Rukia begins, rapidly gesturing with her hands for the man’s silence. Because if Yoruichi knows about her promotion, so does her bestie.
“Hey, no need for modesty,” Urahara says, pausing only to sip more sake straight from the bottle. “It’s not every day you get promoted to captain!”
Shit.
Rukia sighs deeply...but then again, what does she have to be ashamed of? The news was going to come out anyway, and it’s not like he made the announcement to the entire party.
Rukia smiles wide. “Thank you, Urahara-san.”
She turns to Kuukaku for her congratulations as well, but whatever joy she feels shatters in an instant as something cold slips inside her. Kuukaku isn’t glaring at her, not by any means, but not one well wish crosses her pursed lips.
Rukia pushes down the sensation, turning back to Urahara. “I know it’s a lot of work, but I can do it,” she says confidently. Because it’s true.
Urahara raises his sake bottle in her direction. “That’s the spirit,” he says. “A captaincy isn’t for everyone, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you. We’ve got our eye on you, Little Miss Kuchiki.”
“Thank you,” Rukia says, bowing but stopping before Kuukaku can shove her again. “I’m going to do my best to—”
But she doesn’t have to worry about Kuukaku shoving into her, because Ichika has just slammed into Kuukaku instead.
“Ichika...!” Rukia cries, pulling her daughter away from Kuukaku. “Watch where you’re going!”
Ichika yanks her arm out of her mother’s grip, eyeing a most displeased Kuukaku as she finds her balance again.
“Listen to your mother, girl,” Kuukaku warns. “You could take out an old lady like me if you’re not—”
“Begone, foul demon!” Ichika shouts, drawing her Zanpaku-to and pointing it right at Kuukaku’s chest. “In the name of the Seireitei—!”
“Bakudo one, Sai!” Rukia hisses. At once Ichika’s sword clatters to the ground as the Kido binds her hands behind her back, and Rukia pulls her now screaming daughter away. “Shiba-sama, I am so sorry,” she says, bowing as low as she can manage.
Her eyebrow raised, Kuukaku eyes Rukia up and down. “Huh,” she says. “No issue. Captain.”
Kuukaku leaves, taking Urahara with her, and the something cold lands in Rukia’s stomach again. This shouldn’t have happened. Ichika should know better than to drag a Zanpaku-to and a member of the nobility into her games. She shouldn’t scream when told no.
But the real issue is that she’s a terrible parent, an awful mother, and not just for reasons beyond her control.
And now she’s expected to lead, with full authority, a squad of the Gotei Thirteen?
Rukia hardly feels as Ichika breaks free, the Kido’s hold shattering from lack of focus. The child races away with her sword, but Rukia doesn’t bother running after her.
“...Kuchiki Rukia!”
Suddenly the crowd’s cheering, and Yoruichi has slipped an arm over her shoulder just long enough to push her forward.
“She’s a war veteran, proud mother, and lieutenant of the Gotei Thirteen,” Yoruichi announces to the crowd. “And now, she has some incredibly exciting news for us.” She looks at Rukia expectantly, with no sign of mischief.
Her heart pounding in her ears, Rukia looks out at the faces, desperately searching for even a single face she recognizes so she can avoid looking at them. She is not so lucky as she locks eyes with Renji, a calm Ichika suddenly manifested in his arms.
Rukia clenches her fists at her side. “I....” She can’t blink, can’t breathe, from the reassurance in Renji’s eyes. “I have....”
She thinks she’s going to be sick, and she looks to Yoruichi; the only support she receives is a carefree gesture back to the crowd, a needless reminder of her audience.
Rukia swallows hard, stares at the ground before her. “I...I am to become captain of Squad Thirteen,” she whispers.
“You heard it here first, folks!” Yoruichi announces, ensuring Rukia’s words are heard this time. “Kuchiki Rukia is being promoted to captain!”
A wild cheer erupts from the crowd, but Rukia is already fading into its depths, her too-small kimono finally tearing as she carelessly shoves her way out of the party.
This was a mistake. A terrible, awful mistake.
--
She awakes that night to frigid cold, one that bespeaks of ancient stones and chants from another place. She is curled up on hard ground, her face pressed into something that could be anything from tile to frozen earth. She sits up and discovers it’s both: she’s resting on the decayed floor of a building erected long ago.
She glances about the room, at the gray-black walls encased in ice, their torches unlit. The ceiling drips with sharp drops of snowmelt from icicles as tall as she is. In the middle of the ceiling is a skylight that lets in nothing more than white fog. Were it yesterday, the fog would allow glimpses of sunlight. Were it ten years ago, pure winter sunshine would have fought away anything that dared to hide it.
Rising to her feet, she sighs as she comes to face the far end of the hall, where rises a tall dais half crumbled into itself, half preserved by several layers of ice and snow. Upon the dais rests a narrow, knee-high altar, or so she’s been told. There is too much ice, which never melts, to discern what it could really be.
The door to an antechamber on the left opens, and from it emerges a tall woman bedecked in long, flowing robes of white. Her lilac hair is pinned back by two floral pins that are almost the same shade of indigo as her eyes. The woman exudes cold beauty, as befits her role in this frozen temple. But there is no denying the bitterness of her expression, the pure fire in her eyes.
Sighing deeply, Rukia glances away. “Shirayuki,” she says.
“Rukia,” the Zanpaku-to spirit answers as she approaches the dais.
Rukia busies herself with inspecting the floor as Sode no Shirayuki starts her climb to her usual position at the center of the dais. Since her Bankai training at the Soul King’s palace, Rukia knows it to be her own place, but Shirayuki remains a creature of habit. She won’t move from the dais unless Rukia orders her to, but tonight, the thought of raising her voice is more exhausting than the action itself.
Following her line of thought, Sode no Shirayuki pauses her ascent and glares over her shoulder. “You offend us,” she says, her voice smooth and utterly devoid of warmth.
Rukia is tempted to shrug. “I’ve been doing that for a while now, don’t you think?”
The spirit turns entirely toward her wielder, her ascent forgotten. “Offense I can forgive, but that is plain disrespect. Have you no shame?”
“What do you think?” Rukia says, now annoyed. “I could barely handle my own daughter this evening, something everyone got to see, and now I’m expected to lead an entire squad.”
“You already lead an entire squad. What is captaincy but a word at this point? You are prepared.”
Rukia narrows her eyes, disbelieving of Shirayuki’s words. Everyone cuts her slack as a lieutenant. Captain-Commander Kyoraku even once admitted to her face that he cuts corners for the Thirteenth. Once she’s promoted, however, there will be no more handholding. Just her at the helm of a ship that wasn’t even supposed to be hers, whether as lieutenant or, now, captain.
And Shiba Kuukaku knows that better than anyone, doesn’t she?
“You were there, Shirayuki,” Rukia mutters. “You’ve always been there. You know I can’t handle a captaincy. You know I’m a failure.”
Shirayuki glowers at her, her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You are something far worse than that, Rukia,” she hisses. “You are a coward.”
Rukia flicks a hand in the spirit’s direction, willing herself back into consciousness before she can hear any more.