Chapter Text
The first problem they encountered was where to put all the boxes.
His room didn’t look like his room anymore —the mattress was stripped of the sheets and blankets, the desk had been emptied and cleaned, and the shelves held no books. He had taken all of the clothes and shoes from his closet and packed them into the biggest suitcase his family owned, until Rukia pointed out that, starting that day, he wouldn’t need human clothes anymore.
From then on, he would only wear the shihakushō and little else.
So he put his clothes back into the closet and got started on packing his books.
Soon, there were so many boxes that there was barely any space in his room to freely move around. Ichigo kept bumping into boxes and the edge of his desk, and Rukia had already knocked over a towering stack. That was when the problem arose.
“Ichigo,” Rukia called, eyeing the boxes with a frown. “Where do you suppose you’ll put all of these?”
He stopped sorting out his clothes for the umpteenth time —he’d been thinking that, after all, he could take some clothes with sentimental value to Soul Society— and looked over at her.
“Huh?” he asked, “in my new room. Where else?”
She took a deep breath, as if arming herself with patience. Ichigo felt vaguely insulted.
“You idiot, you aren’t getting a room for yourself. Since you’re starting as an unseated officer, you’ll sleep in the barracks with everyone else. There’s no space for your things there.”
Ichigo stared at her, blinking, uncomprehending, for several seconds. “Then what am I supposed to do with these? Are you telling me I spent nearly a week packing for nothing?”
Rukia seemed to ponder her answer for a moment, and Ichigo sincerely hoped she could find a way around the unexpected problem. Having to leave his childhood home and family was something he’d made peace with a long time ago, when he’d started his final year of high school. Even if, at that time, he had been convinced he would end up attending college in another city, that didn’t change the fact that he’d been getting used to the idea of living somewhere else for a while now.
The shift from college to Soul Society was a big one, but not an unwelcome one. After all, there had been a high probability that he would have ended up studying in a different city than that of his friends’ universities, where he would have been stranded in an unfamiliar place with no one to call his friend. In a sense, Soul Society seemed like a safer choice, considering the amount of people who lived there that he was on friendly terms with.
As much as the idea of moving to Soul Society attracted him, the thought of completely leaving behind his old life was daunting. As childish as it sounded, he wanted his personal belongings with him. He wanted to be able to reach for one of his favourite books whenever the whim to reread them struck him. He wanted to be able to put on a DVD and sit down to watch a movie, which was, to his dismay, impossible to do in Soul Society. He wanted the comfort and familiarity of his favourite shirt and, most importantly, he wanted to take his mother’s portrait with him.
“Well,” Rukia started, a pensive look on her face. “It’s not like you don’t have a family there. Maybe we could ask Kukaku if she would mind lending you a room to store your things?”
Ichigo frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to impose and, besides, we aren’t that close. I didn’t even have the chance to talk everything out with her and Ganju. I know they’d receive me, but still… it’d be awkward”.
Rukia sighed. “You have a point.”
“There’s really no way of putting everything in the Division? There must be some unused rooms or something.”
“No, Captain Ukitake makes use of them; they’re his living quarters.”
“I could ask him…”
“Ichigo, don’t be so disrespectful,” Rukia chided, bending down to pick up a stray pencil. She’d been sitting on the windowsill during the conversation, and now made her way over to Ichigo to hand him the pencil. He put it away in one of the drawers, knowing it would be pointless to bring it along with him to Soul Society. “Do you really need all of these?” she asked, gesturing to the boxes scattered around his room. “It’s not like you’ll have that much free time. Unless you’re planning on slacking off.”
“As if I’ve ever done that,” Ichigo muttered. “Maybe I could leave behind some things, but I want to take my mother’s portrait with me. That’s non-negotiable.”
Rukia’s expression softened at his words, and Ichigo turned away, unable to bear the full weight of her eyes. It had been two exhausting, overwhelmingly emotional weeks for the two of them. After Yhwach had been defeated and dealt with, Ichigo and Rukia had had two days to rest before other matters began to compete for their attention. During the war and the time they had spent training with the Zero Division, there had barely been any time to talk about their families and the past they unknowingly shared through Shiba Kaien. But, once there was no end of the world to avoid, Ichigo had started to itch to talk to Rukia.
So, they had talked. In the Kuchiki manor, after resting for two days after the final battle; in his house, when she had come with him to say goodbye to his family and Karakura for the foreseeable future. There was a lot to explain and a lot to sort out.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to the Thirteenth Division,” she’d confessed to him one night. She had slipped under the covers of his bed with him; it was a tight fit, and they both had to be lying on their sides, but Ichigo didn’t mind as much as he should. “With Captain Ukitake so weak after his sacrifice, I don’t know if he’ll stay as a captain much longer.”
“I hardly doubt Kyoraku will make him retire,” Ichigo had answered. He kept clenching his hand into a fist, while the other was shoved under the pillow. There was a lock of hair falling across Rukia’s cheek that he had to constantly repress the urge to brush aside. Doing so would break the fragile normalcy of the moment. Rukia hadn’t bothered with the closet this time around and chose to sleep in his bed every night and, somehow, they’d managed to make the situation feel natural instead of uncomfortable or forced. But neither of them had touched the other, and Ichigo refused to be the one to make it weird.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and dropped the bomb. “I think they want to make me the captain after Ukitake retires.”
Ichigo stared at her, feeling wrong-footed all of a sudden. He could perfectly envision her clad in a white haori, even more regal than Byakuya. A captaincy would suit her like nothing else.
“I’ll be sure to change Divisions before that day comes,” he said drily. “Or else you’ll work me to the bone.”
She shot him a murderous glare and made an aborted, jerky movement forward before stopping herself. Ah, so she felt it too. She’d been about to punch him, but realized at the last moment that that would imply disturbing the carefully constructed balance between them.
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I don’t have more offers from the other Divisions.”
“Oh, excuse me, Mr Hotshot. I didn’t realize you were so popular.”
Ichigo grinned at her, but didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t want to derail the conversation any further. “But is that what you want? To be a captain?”
Her answer was infuriatingly demure. “It’s an honour to even be considered for the post.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I asked.”
Rukia broke eye contact, her eyes wandering over his face until they rested on an undefined spot above his shoulder.
“I would like to,” she said, “In time.”
“Well, when that time comes,” Ichigo started, shifting minutely on the bed to be more comfortable. “I’ll be there for you. I got your back.”
Once again, they found themselves in the middle of a charged moment. Rukia’s eyes snapped back to his, large and inscrutable. She nodded wordlessly, and Ichigo understood that there was not much to say back. He had only stated a fact, after all, and she could do little else but acknowledge it. She had expressed a similar sentiment to him a few conversations ago, when they’d been discussing his move to Soul Society.
After that, they had slowly drifted to sleep, and the next morning found Ichigo waking up alone in a cold bed while Rukia had breakfast downstairs with his sisters.
Ichigo felt as if the amount of meaningful, possibly life-changing conversations he’d had with Rukia over the past two weeks had completely eaten up his capability of having them without embarrassingly breaking down. The move was also fraying his nerves and, if they really couldn’t find a way to store his belongings in Soul Society, he feared he would officially be at the end of his rope.
“Oh! I know where to put everything,” Rukia exclaimed suddenly, snapping Ichigo out of his trip down memory lane and bringing him back to the present. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner, but there’s plenty of space in the manor. I’m sure Nii-sama wouldn’t mind.”
Ichigo’s eyebrow twitched. “How can you be so sure? It’s his house, and I doubt he’d be pleased to see my things there.”
“Don’t be a moron, of course he won’t mind. He likes you.”
“He has a funny way of showing his affection, then,” he said, knowing he was being unfair to Byakuya but unable to resist the comment.
Rukia narrowed her eyes, but let it pass. “Besides, he has a huge, empty room exclusively dedicated to Hisana’s altar. Not to mention all the unused rooms, and the fact that you always stay with us whenever you are in Soul Society. You practically have a room already.”
He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea, but its convenience was undeniable and, on top of that, Rukia did have a point in that he would be living in the barracks of the Thirteenth Division. It wouldn’t be as if he were moving in.
“Okay,” he conceded, “if you’re really sure that your brother won’t mind.”
She gifted him with a luminous, breath-taking smile.
“Positive.”
Saying goodbye hadn’t been as hard as he’d expected. Most of it, he knew, was due to the fact that nobody had cried, and he suspected that his family, especially his sisters, had adopted the mentality of seeing this as him going away to college. It felt more like inevitability, rather than a necessity, and they had the Soul Passes to come and go to Soul Society as they pleased, which would be cheaper and faster than taking a train to visit him in a different city.
When the time came to say goodbye to his friends, the moment held a more melancholic note, mostly because he wasn’t the only one going away to start a new chapter in his life. Their paths were, at last, diverging, but that didn’t have to mean that they were drifting apart.
Thankfully, no one had made jokes that they would see each other again for the next world-destroying crisis.
When he stepped into the Senkaimon with Rukia, he felt his heart clenching in his chest, half in fear and half in excitement, and couldn’t help shooting Rukia a quick grin.
“Ready?” she asked, with a matching grin in her face.
“I was born ready.”
Rukia rolled her eyes, huffing, but her smile remained in place, untarnished, while they made their way through the long, wide aisle that connected the living world with the Seiretei.
The Senkaimon led them to a bright, traditional Japanese garden that he recognized instantly. After all, he’d spent several hours sitting there, recovering from his wounds, sometimes with Rukia or Renji (and, on one memorable occasion, with Byakuya), and the place was now as comfortingly familiar as his house.
Ichigo saw Rukia relax out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her fully. “So, what now?”
“Now, we go to your room to check that the servants put all of your things there, as requested. Have you thought about where you’d like to put your mother’s shrine?”
Ichigo wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, wherever? I don’t know, we’ve never had one for her.”
Rukia hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t offer an answer. Ichigo appreciated her tact, but realized she had probably known that already, after living with his family for so many months. It was no secret that his father had foregone an actual altar for that weird poster of his mother. He would have been more surprised at how she took her father’s eccentricities in her stride if he hadn’t known about Byakuya’s shrine for his late wife. Rukia was probably used to those extravagant displays of love and grief, which was such a sad thought that he tried to drive it away as soon as it came.
They weren’t too far away from the room in which he usually stayed in when Rukia stopped short in front of a closed door.
“What is it?”
“This is Hisana’s shrine.”
“Oh, do you… Do you want to go in and say hello?” he asked awkwardly, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.
“No, just… I don’t actually know why I stopped. Probably because we were talking about it earlier. Let’s go on,” Rukia said, taking a step forward, but he took hold of her sleeve to stop her.
“Are you sure? It’s your sister, you know. It’s okay if you want to go in,” Ichigo had tried for an encouraging tone and expression, but, judging from the reticent look on Rukia’s face, he wasn’t succeeding.
“I told you, I don’t want to go in. Come on, let’s get you settled,” she replied, with that tone of voice of hers that usually brooked no argument.
Rukia tugged at her sleeve and Ichigo promptly let it go, wisely deciding to follow her this time when she resumed walking.
They hadn’t even neared the end of the aisle when she stopped again.
“Argh, let’s just go in quickly. I’ve never introduced you to her, after all,” she said with a touch of exasperation, pivoting on her heel to retrace their steps until she reached the door, which she slid open.
“I told you we should’ve gone in,” he muttered under his breath, following after her and slipping for the first time into the room dedicated to Hisana’s shrine.
Rukia was right; it was a large and empty room, the only furniture the lavishly intricate altar at the back. Perhaps due to its vastness and purpose, the room gave off an ominous feeling, and Ichigo started to suspect the reason why Rukia avoided the place.
They knelt before the altar and bowed their heads in respect. They were in silence for a short while before Ichigo lightly nudged Rukia in the ribs. “Didn’t you say you were going to introduce us?”
Rukia seemed to hold in her breath before speaking, “Right. Hisana, this is Kurosaki Ichigo. He helped save Soul Society more than once and now he’s in the Thirteenth Division with me. Ichigo, this is Hisana, my sister and Nii-sama’s late wife.”
It was a rather spartan introduction, but Rukia’s sheer discomfort was almost tangible. It was strange, he reflected, for Rukia to be so tense about this. He had no connection to Hisana and, in fact, they had already had a conversation about her in the past, back when he had barged in Soul Society to stop her execution. He’d lent an ear while she tried to wrap her head around the news that she’d had a sister that had abandoned her, and even offered his two cents when she’d asked.
They had openly talked about Shiba Kaien and his Quincy heritage, far more awkward topics of conversation than her sister, so why was Rukia so wound-up about it?
“Does it make you uncomfortable, that I’m here?” he blurted out before his brain could fully process the words.
Rukia looked at him strangely. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“You’re acting weird about this. If you would rather be alone right now to talk to your sister, it’s no big deal. I can find my way around the manor.”
Rukia kept looking at him, gaze unflinching, and he had no choice but to look back. Truth be told, if Rukia chose to send him away now, it would hurt, because they were already all the way in. They’d unearthed personal and family secrets to each other, bared their souls, and for Rukia to figuratively close the door on his face now would feel like the most definitive of rejections. They were stuck in a weird limbo, waiting for something to happen and tip the balance one way or the other, and Ichigo wasn’t sure yet that Rukia closing the door on him was the disturbance they were awaiting.
At last, Rukia broke the eye contact and turned to face her sister’s portrait, with a soft and rather downcast expression.
“Don’t be an idiot. You’ve let me into your family, and I want you to meet my sister, however futile this may be,” she said.
If it hadn’t been for the utter stillness of the room, Ichigo would have had to strain to hear her voice. He nodded once and kept silent, trying not to think too much about the uncanny resemblance Rukia bore to her sister. He wondered what Byakuya felt every time he looked at Rukia, if he saw his wife in her, and how messed up it had to be to live with someone that shared the exact same looks with the person he’d loved and lost.
Then he remembered his own resemblance to his cousin and Rukia’s past relationship with him, and this time it was harder to push his frustration away. The fact that so many things had been going on in the background of their relationship, without their knowledge, made him think of things like fate, and he didn’t know how to deal with those thoughts on top of everything else. What did it mean that their encounter had been predetermined and predicted so long ago?
“So many things are happening all at once,” Rukia’s quiet voice broke the silence.
“You can read minds now?” he asked, only joking slightly.
Rukia smiled blithely. “We’re both going practically through the same process, if you think about it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ichigo considered, for a brief second, bringing up the topic. Why not? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about it before, but he didn’t want to breach the matter of destiny sitting right in front of Hisana’s altar. He let out a quiet sigh and patted Rukia’s knee, startling her. “Let’s go. I still have to unpack.”
“And don’t forget reporting back to Captain Ukitake,” Rukia added, getting to her feet and offering him a hand up. She smiled teasingly at him, alleviating the atmosphere. “How does it feel, having to answer to someone?”
Ichigo rolled his eyes. “I’m not nearly as disobedient as you make me out to be,” he grumbled.
“I distinctly remember that time you were unable to sit tight for two days and ran to Hueco Mundo,” she replied.
“How was I supposed to know that Renji and you were coming too!” Ichigo huffed. “Honestly, when are you going to let me live that one down?”
“Never,” she shot back, mischievous grin still in place.
Ichigo had to suppress a smile of his own for the sake of their little spat. They bickered all the way to the room that he was slowly beginning to think of as his, which was as much of a mess as the one in his childhood home. The futon was rolled away in a corner of the room, a small kotatsu in the middle of it, and the boxes containing his belongings were scattered all around.
Rukia sighed heavily. “This is gonna take so long.”
She wasn’t wrong. They had only spent two hours just putting away a quarter of his possessions in the chest of drawers against one of the walls when Ichigo begged off, claiming he would rather get started on the necessary paperwork to be fully considered a Shinigami in service to the Seiretei.
Rukia was all too happy to comply, immediately closing the box she had just opened seconds ago. “Thank goodness. I was starting to think we would never call it a day. How can you have so much stuff?”
“Shut up, it’s perfectly normal,” he replied, and reached to slide the shoji door open.
They came face to face with an old woman so abruptly that Ichigo nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Aunt Shigeko!” Rukia exclaimed, and then bowed, recovering from her surprise amazingly quickly. Ichigo was still coming down from his near heart attack, and looked carefully at the woman.
She was old in the way most shinigamis were old: which was to say, there was something about the way they moved and carried themselves that tipped off any onlookers that they were in the presence of someone that had seen a lot in their time. She wore a lavish kimono, and a hairpiece glinted atop of her head.
Then his brain caught up with what Rukia had just called her. Aunt? The woman certainly looked the part of a rich noblewoman.
A sharp elbow digging into his ribs prompted him into a shallow bow and, when he straightened his back, he discovered the woman’s sharp eyes trailed on him.
“Rukia, dearest,” the woman said, voice sugary-sweet. It reminded Ichigo of Rukia when she was impersonating a high school student back in the old days, and he instantly knew where she had got the inspiration from. “Who would this young man be?”
“Ah, Aunt,” Rukia said, trying to cover how flustered she was at the situation. “This is Kurosaki Ichigo, former substitute shinigami. I am sure you must have heard of him.”
“Certainly,” Shigeko replied. There was something about her that made Ichigo glad that he wasn’t being included in the family conversation. “We’ve heard all sorts of tales about him. And, pray tell, what were you two doing in that room with the door closed?”
Ichigo felt himself flush at the implication. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed that Rukia wasn’t faring much better, as a faint pink color adorned her cheekbones.
“We were just leaving,” she told Shigeko meekly, which seemed to be the wrong answer. They both realized this when her eyes narrowed to slits, and her expression suddenly became so thunderous that Ichigo felt as if he were in the presence of Byakuya when they had fought so long ago.
“Are you telling me,” the woman started slowly, “that this boy here has dishonoured you?”
Ichigo choked on air. Rukia looked as if she wanted the earth to split open and swallow her aunt.
“No—”
“Rukia, this is a grave matter!” Shigeko shrieked. “I absolutely cannot let this slide! The situation must be dealt with right away!”
In that moment, Byakuya rounded the corner, and Ichigo had never felt so happy before at seeing his impassive face. Surely he would right this crazy situation and assuage the aunt’s fears.
“Aunt, I see that you’ve found Rukia,” he said, glancing at Ichigo and Rukia briefly, questioningly.
“Byakuya,” the woman blustered, walking up to him. “A most dire thing has happened under your roof. Rukia’s been dishonoured by that boy!” Shigeko pointed at him with one long finger. Ichigo felt like a deer in the headlights. “I caught them red-handed, coming out of that room.”
Byakuya looked at them, expression inquisitive. Ichigo knew right away that he didn’t believe that crazy old hag’s claims, but he was obviously expecting an explanation.
“I was just helping Ichigo unpack, Nii-sama,” Rukia hurried to explain, her face having returned to a more normal color. “And we were about to go back to the Thirteenth.”
“I see,” Byakuya replied. “Then there is no problem.”
Upon hearing his words, Shigeko seemed to calm down so fast that Ichigo wondered if she were right in the head.
“Oh, Rukia, dear,” she said, sounding so genuinely earnest and cheerful that it made the situation even more bizarre than it already was. “You should have told me that this young man here is your intended! I wouldn’t have made such a ruckus if I’d known,” she chuckled.
“What,” Ichigo finally found his voice. “Intended—”
Rukia’s quick slap to his side and Byakuya’s warning look shut him right up. Shigeko turned to him, expression sunny.
“Oh, dear, I am so sorry for my earlier behaviour!” she chirped. “I didn’t know you are going to be part of the family! You see, I was only looking out for our sweet Rukia.”
Before Ichigo could open his mouth and demand to know what the fuck was happening, Byakuya intervened, “Aunt Shigeko, would you mind coming with me to the library? I need to show you something.”
“Of course, dear,” she acquiesced. “And you must tell me everything about this engagement. He has the Shiba look, doesn’t he?”
Byakuya’s face became so incredibly pinched at his aunt’s comment that it wasn’t a wonder that his next words were through gritted teeth. “That’s because he is one.”
“How wonderful!” Shigeko exclaimed. With a happy smile on her face, she turned to Ichigo and Rukia, who had remained silent and paralyzed on the spot. “Such a good choice, dear. Congratulations to the both of you.”
Ichigo took his cue from Rukia and dredged up a smile for the crazy aunt. Byakuya beckoned Shigeko with a smooth movement of his hand, and they started to make their way to the library. Ichigo got the distinct impression that Byakuya was walking faster than normal.
When they rounded the corner and were out of their sight, silence reigned between them for a moment until Ichigo finally turned to look at her.
“Rukia,” he said. “What the fuck.”
Rukia didn’t fess up until they were seated in her office at the Division. She had flat-out refused to answer any of his questions as long as they remained in the manor, forcing them to move to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters. That didn’t drastically change his plans, since that had been their original intention before the crazy aunt had showed up.
“Don’t call her crazy,” Rukia chastised. “She’s just old. And a respected elder of the Kuchiki Clan, so don’t be rude.”
“Rukia, she made a complete 180 in the span of five minutes twice,” Ichigo felt the need to point out.
Rukia pursed her lips. “I know, okay? It’ll pass.”
When she didn’t elaborate any further, Ichigo pressed the issue. “Well? Spit it out. What’s the deal with your aunt?”
“Nothing. I already told you, she’s just old,” Rukia sighed. “Her mind is not the same as before; it wanders constantly. One day she’s perfectly sound, and the next she asks after her father or her brother, both dead for a long time now. Sometimes she doesn’t even realize we’re talking about her, while she’s in the room with us.”
“I didn’t know about her,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t see her very often, and neither does Nii-sama. She lives in another district of the Seiretei. And with the war and everything, I simply didn’t have the chance to see her. She just wasn’t on my mind.”
“I see.” Ichigo ran a hand through his hair. “So, what, we just don’t tell her that we are not, in fact, going to get married?”
Ichigo chose not to ask why she had jumped to that particular conclusion. If he thought about it, it must have been due to a mixture of conservative thinking and the suggestive scene of two young people leaving a bedroom together. He was tempted to bring it up, but bit back his words at the last moment.
“It’s no use trying to dissuade her from the idea,” Rukia shrugged, and picked up a paper off a tall pile next to her elbow. “She’ll think whatever she wants, and it’s likely to change depending on the day. I reckon she’ll just forget it.”
“How can you be so sure of that? You just admitted you don’t see much of her.” When Rukia glared at him, he put up his palms in a placating manner. “You said it, not me.”
“It’ll be fine,” she reassured him, and then smirked, “Forget about it and start thinking about your new duties.”
Ichigo groaned. “What duties? I’m unseated!”
“Such lack of ambition,” she teased. “At this rate, you’ll never even be a fifteenth seat.”
“I’m fine with less responsibility for the time being, thanks,” he muttered under his breath, his words wiping the smile off Rukia’s face. Seeing how her expression became sombre almost instantly, Ichigo groaned again. “Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. Now, tell me about those new duties you were talking about.”
He pushed himself to his feet while Rukia rattled off what tasks had been assigned to him. He tried to show as much enthusiasm as possible, to convince her that this was what he wanted, and, surprisingly, he didn’t have to fake it as much as he’d expected. He’d always liked the Seiretei, when its members weren’t actively trying to kill him or his friends, and found himself actually looking forward to helping with the reconstruction of certain areas, although he could have gone without the guard hours —You’ll be bored to tears, Renji had said to him, but everyone does them at some point, it’s almost a rite of passage at this point.
However, his eyes lit up at the mention of leading morning practice in the Division, and Rukia finally smiled at his reaction.
“Now, off you go,” she told him. “Go get yourself acquainted with everyone else.”
He hesitated. “Shouldn’t I fill in the paperwork for my admission into the Division?”
“No, it’s not necessary now, and it’s not like nobody knows who you are already. You can do that tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s when I’m off duty,” he replied, furrowing his brows.
“I told you I’m not letting you slack off,” Rukia smirked, looking all too pleased with herself.
“Whatever.” Ichigo scoffed, and turned on his heel and made for the door. “See you later, dictator.”
Ichigo had been to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters before, on the sporadic occasion, but wasn’t intimately familiarized with the place or the layout. Thankfully, one of the few places he’d been to in previous visits was the Captain’s living quarters, which was where he had to go next. But, once there, he hesitated; he knew Ukitake was especially fragile after his sacrifice during the war and that his recovery was slow and draining, and he didn’t want to disturb him.
One of the third seats —Sentaro, his mind supplied just in time— was standing vigil in the foyer, and gave him the green light to go in and report to the Captain about his joining the Division.
He kept it as short as manners and proceedings allowed. Ukitake obviously didn’t want to drive him away, but his affliction was evident in his pale face, so Ichigo assured him that Rukia was taking care of everything with such emphasis that Ukitake let him go after a few minutes of conversation.
“Well then, I hope you settle in nicely, Ichigo,” Ukitake said once he was done, smiling sweetly at him from his half-reclined position at the kotatsu. “We’re very fortunate to count you among us now.”
Ichigo returned his smile. “I’m happy to be here, sir.”
Ukitake chuckled delicately, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes. “I’m not used to seeing you be so polite. What has brought this change about?”
“Um, Rukia, basically,” he answered without thinking, and then hastened to add when he saw Ukitake’s expression. “She’d promised me suicide laps if I was disrespectful, now that I’m officially part of the Seiretei.”
Ukitake’s laugh rattled his whole body. Ichigo was worried the man was going to topple over and hit something, but fortunately the Captain kept himself upright.
“Ah, dear Rukia. Please be patient with her,” Ukitake said. Despite his smile, his eyes looked more serious now, and Ichigo subconsciously straightened his back in attention. “She has so much pressure on her shoulders now. I’m sure she’s trying to do her best and do the Division proud.”
“Of course,” Ichigo replied dumbly. Of course Rukia was doing her best; he had never seen her doing anything less than that, and he couldn’t imagine anyone not being proud of her achievements. He hoped that the soldiers of the Thirteenth Division were appreciating all the hard work their lieutenant was doing in their behalf.
The conversation ended shortly after that and, once back in the foyer, Ichigo asked Sentaro to point him in the direction of the men’s barracks, and followed his instructions until he reached the building that housed the unseated male soldiers. He stood before its gates for a few seconds, took a deep breath and pushed them open.
It’s getting real now, he thought.
Omake
