Chapter Text
Most people, when faced with pain, react to it in some way. Of course, it’s easy enough to push through, with enough will, or enough reiatsu. But most people subconsciously retain some reaction to the presence of pain: either steeling themselves against it, or seeking it out.
Ayame Shō was not one to push through pain. They weren’t a fighter at all, really. It was expected of Company Four, sure, but more than that—they weren’t particularly passionate about being a Soul Reaper at all. Naturally, that lack of enthusiasm meant their skills were more or less stagnant. It didn’t bother them much. Company Four had room for any halfway competent healer.
Ayame’s healing skill didn’t come from a zanpakuto or kido expertise, but rather from their attention to details others might miss. It wasn’t very impressive, but they prided themself in observation. They enjoyed it. Seireitei had many people and many things to notice, to puzzle out, to remember when no one else did. The single broken stem on the flower bed they passed this morning, the way their Lieutenant always put on her hair beads in the same order, the quirks to their squad mates’ reiatsu when performing healing kido.
It was very nice, to keep those mundane little secrets with yourself. They had no ambitions beyond that. It was easier to observe things when you were no one worth noticing, of course.
This was how they found themself overlooked in a Sixth Division courtyard, quietly going about their assigned tasks in the presence of two captains.
There was certainly something intriguing about the mundane actions of high-ranking Soul Reapers, the sort of people you usually considered as more figureheads than individuals, heard gossip about their feats and politics and rarely encountered.
Ayame continued rolling bandages and airing out futons. While most medical treatment was performed at Company Four’s headquarters, the other twelve kept basic supplies for convenience, and keeping each of these in good order was the role of Four’s unseated nobodies.
Across the courtyard under a breezy awning, they had full view of the two captains taking tea. They could even hear their conversation, if they cared to listen.
Other than a superficially similar manner of elegance, they couldn’t be more different.
Ayame had encountered Captain Kuchiki on occasion—well, crossed paths at a distance, when they’d visited the Sixth’s buildings before. He carried himself with the elegance of nobility: rigid, unyielding, cold. The sort that was engrained at a young age and had no room for error. His reiatsu was imposing, awe-inspiring: perfect strength and stern composure, nothing less. His seiza posture and expression were like a marble statue.
On the other hand, they’d never met the captain of Squad Thirteen before, if you could call this fly-on-the-wall observation ‘meeting’ anyone. Ayame didn’t have any idea of what to expect: everything they’d heard seemed a bit contradictory.
Captain Ukitake’s reiatsu was less like a marble statue and more like placid water. Less a demonstration of strength, and more the quiet, warning potential of it. It was a bit unsettling, but mostly intriguing. He was taller than Captain Kuchiki but sat less rigidly, and even though his reiatsu was steady his expressions weren’t hidden as the younger captain’s were.
“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries. You cannot still expect me to have bent our laws for one person. I will not apologize for my actions, or would you have had me upend the authority of Seireitei for personal affection?”
“That’s not why I’m here. I wouldn’t ask that of you, and honestly, there’s no point in lingering on the morals of a false order. Don’t you think?”
Ah, of course. They’d heard rumors that the execution order hadn’t been from Central 46, and was instead part of Captain—no, just Aizen’s plan. The details hadn’t made it to the majority of Soul Reapers yet, so they didn’t really know how the false order fit in, or what the traitorous captain’s plan really was. Ayame really shouldn’t be listening in. They kept folding bandages deftly, and didn’t look up. It was the easiest place to do their work, and they’d create more of a disruption by moving now, wouldn’t they?
“You requested to meet with me. If not for that, why? I’m a busy man, I’ve been remiss in my duties for too long.”
It was sort of terrifying, to think of a captain being injured so grievously, wasn’t it? Captain Kuchiki seemed to be fully healed by now, back to normal, if a bit short-tempered.
Ayame finished their work, and began rearranging the futons to air out better, just to seem busy for a little longer. Their squad-mates had called them nosy, but they preferred to think of it as a thirst for knowledge, no different from how so many Soul Reapers trained themselves and their blades.
Neither captain spoke for a moment.
“That’s it exactly. I wanted to reassure you with news of your sister’s health, and to ask after your own. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have been bothered by her death. It was quite an ordeal, and if there’s anything another captain can do to ease the stress of it, I’d be—”
“There’s no need. My own company is more than capable of keeping itself in order. To put it bluntly, you aren’t the first person I’d come to for reliable assistance in running my division, Captain Ukitake.”
He had the grace to laugh. “You aren’t wrong. But I’ll help anyways, if I’m able to.”
“Yes, that’s my point.” Captain Kuchiki was known to be a prickly, prideful man, but he was not cruel. “It’s good to know her superior is willing to protect her, even if you were a fool to try such a treasonous act as that.”
There was nothing else for Ayame to do, or to pretend to do. They had another two divisions’ medical supplies to restock, and they’d listened in long enough.
As the day passed and they attended their duties, they grew only more curious about the intriguing paradox of the captain of Division Thirteen.
***
As luck would have it, Ayame didn’t have to wonder too long.
Not even a month later, and they’d been summoned by Vice-Captain Kotetsu. It wasn’t too surprising. Seireitei was still shaken up from the loss of three traitorous captains, and scrambling to prepare for confrontation with Aizen. Everything was out of sorts, and duties were being swapped around to whoever was free at the moment. And, supposedly, the better healers of Squad Four couldn’t help beyond what Ayame could do, in this instance. All they had was acceptable healing kido, and a precise, attentive manner. Unlike some, they didn’t overlook problems that couldn't be solved by reiatsu, and had no qualms about more simple tasks. Supposedly it translated to a passable bedside manner. Ayame had their doubts.
Regardless, Ayame found themself at the entrance to Ugendō, adjusting their glasses and trying to make sense of the two Third Seats’ rambling. It seemed they were competing to see who could explain things the best, or at least the loudest. As if Ayame hadn’t already been briefed on what to expect, and what would be expected of them.
At least Vice-captain Kotetsu had warned them about her sister’s…enthusiasm.
“Yes, thank you,” they said tersely, once they could get a word in. “I’ll be speaking to your captain now, if that’s alright.”
They didn’t stop Ayame, but they did fight over who would open the door to their captain’s room.
The curtains were drawn, and only a dim light flickered in, even in mid-morning. The room smelled like bitter medicine and blood.
As the doors shut behind them, Ayame began their rehearsed introduction so they wouldn’t interrupt themself by beginning to think.
“Ayame Shō of Company Four, sir.” They bowed briefly. “I’ve been asked to assist you. To be clear, I’m not skilled in regard to reiatsu, as you can likely tell, but I assume if healing kido was the solution I wouldn’t be here.”
They stopped short. “I’m sorry, sir, that wasn’t what I meant, just that Squad Four would’ve sent someone better.”
Captain Ukitake laughed hoarsely from his bed. He was sitting upright, a book held loosely in his hands, sweat-damp hair clinging to his neck. The placid water of his reiatsu was exactly the same as before.
They’d meant the other thing too, though. If healing kido were the solution, this would’ve been solved a long time ago.
“Would you be so kind as to open the curtains, just a little? Just enough to read by, and to greet you properly.”
Ayame did as they were told, careful not to brighten the room too severely. The curtains were sturdy fabric, hung neatly and tied with embroidered sashes.
“Ah, I thought you seemed familiar. You were attending the Sixth a little while ago when I was visiting, weren’t you?”
Ayame stilled. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, sir—but, yes, that was me.”
They doubted that he should be reading, let alone talking, but they weren’t here to tell a man who’d been ill since before they’d been born how to manage himself.
They took a step closer, dropped their bag next to the door. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
Captain Ukitake’s hands rested atop the book in his lap, clasped together loosely. They were slender but clearly strong: he’d spent longer training than Ayame had been alive, too. Alongside the callouses of a skilled swordsman were the faint blue of veins showing through pale skin, and his wrists were angular and thin.
“Some tea, maybe? If your Third Seats would let me get it for you.” They reminded themself they were speaking with a captain, and their typical manner when speaking with a patient might not be welcome.
“They do actually have their own tasks to keep them busy, even if they tell you otherwise.”
Right, that’s what Vice-Captain Kotetsu had said. Captain Ukitake’s bouts of illness were usually managed well enough, but with everyone so busy lately, and with the Thirteenth Division already lacking a lieutenant—oh, and Ayame had heard one of the ryoka had been training with the Thirteenth for the past week. She’d likely be at their training field, not out here at Ugendō, but Ayame did want to meet her, if—
Captain Ukitake cleared his throat, then began coughing, muffled into his sleeve. He took a breath as if to say something, but only succeeded in coughing again.
“Sorry about that,” he said a moment later. He smiled easily.
“Don’t be,” Ayame shrugged. “I’d be terrible at my job if that bothered me. Tea?”
The captain took a few shallow breaths, lowered his hand to his chest with a wince. “That would be wonderful, thank you. You’re welcome to make some for yourself, if you like.”
He spoke with a halting cadence that signified to Ayame that each breath came intentionally, and with uncomfortable effort. Yet his reiatsu did not change in the slightest: still calm, still pleasantly steady.
“I’ll be back in a moment, sir.”
Ayame was able to prepare tea without encountering Squad Thirteen’s enthusiastic Third Seats, fortunately. When they returned, Captain Ukitake set his book aside and gave them another cheerful smile.
Ayame set their tray onto the table beside the bed and began pouring two cups of tea. The tsutsu-gata cups were green and painted with delicate leaves. They lingered a bit to look at them as they poured the tea. When he took the offered cup the captain’s hands were steady, and warmer than they’d expected.
Standing closer, Ayame watched him as he held the tea, in no hurry to drink. He moved gingerly, as if his muscles and joints ached, and he was clearly hot with fever.
There was a tie, a simple ribbon frayed at both ends, on the table next to the tea. It was a very pretty shade of blue. Ayame raised it between two fingers like a question. Their own hair was an unruly mess of dark curls, insufferable on hot days.
“Would it help make the fever more bearable, if I tied your hair? I don’t mean to overstep.”
He raised a hand to the damp white strands and smiled, easily as ever. “You’re much better at this than you give yourself credit for.”
Ayame didn’t answer. They were trying to decide—simply tying it back would be most effective, but less comfortable pressed against the pillows. A braid would be more comfortable, with the tie out of the way. That’s what they’d do then, tight enough that it kept the long hair off of his neck until the fever broke, but not so tight that it pinched.
With a second’s more hesitation to be sure they weren’t overstepping, they moved closer to the bedside and began working, combing the knots through with their fingers.
Typically, white hair was coarse, as the loss of melanin meant its place in the hair shaft had to be filled by more keratin instead. Somehow, the captain’s hair was soft and fine, even tangled and sweat-damp as it was.
Captain Ukitake began coughing again, breath snagging halfway through a careful exhale.
Ayame let the braid fall and took the tea from his hands, setting it aside and returning to stand close if they were needed. He managed a breath, but it was quickly spent as he coughed only harder. He drew a handkerchief from his sleeve, and with one hand clamped it against his face while the other was again braced against his chest.
Ayame let a hand rest on the captain’s thin shoulder as it shuddered against the painful spasms. Their reiatsu was far too weak for much, but it could offer mild relief sometimes, if—
Oh, Captain Ukitake’s own reiatsu had not changed in the slightest. As he spat a mouthful of frothy crimson into the handkerchief, as he fought for each wheezing, painful breath—his reiatsu was as placid as ever, completely at peace.
Finally the coughing began to slow. He gave a few testing breaths, and the coughs that interrupted them were quieter, more manageable. He sighed, then after another moment let his hand and the bloodied handkerchief it held fall to his lap.
Ayame did not say they were sorry, or that they wished they could have done more to help. They did not give useless, fussing platitudes or offer pity.
“The hemoptysis,” they began, once his breathing had slowed, “the—coughing blood, I mean. Is the blood causing the coughing, or is it the other way around? Because if it’s irritation from coughing that’s causing the blood, then you’d be alright to finish your tea, if you feel up to it.”
Captain Ukitake had laugh lines around his eyes. They creased pleasantly as he smiled, and cleared his throat again carefully.
“It’s very nice, you know, to not be treated like I’ll break if you mention my health directly. Often people don’t know what to do around illness that can’t be cured.”
Ayame stilled. After a moment, they took up the unfinished braid, redid the soft unraveled ends, and tied it securely.
Most people, Ayame had found, reacted in some way to pain. Even if it was slight, subconsciously their reiatsu tended to spike or shiver in anticipation, even without fear. To be so accustomed to pain that it garnered no response at all, that it was entirely expected and unremarkable—that was something they’d never seen before.
“That would be stupid of me. I’m completely aware you could make me faint from reiatsu if you chose to, even now. And I’m…thankful that you seem like you don’t pity me. I know I’m not a very impressive Soul Reaper.”
Vice-Captain Kotetsu’s instructions had been on what to expect, what would be asked of them. They hadn’t been told the nature of the man’s illness, if it was known at all. Maybe it was some unsolved inflammatory disorder or condition of the immune system, or perhaps a curse of some sort. Honestly, what was the difference? It might have been both.
“I see no reason to pity you,” he said. His voice was more hoarse than before, more quiet. “You’re very young, you know. Often strength and purpose comes with time.”
“It’s just, I don’t really have a reason to get stronger.” They weren’t sure why they were talking at all. They reached for the cup of tea and handed it back to him. “There’s…no one in my squad or any old classmates I’d consider a close friend, really, so I can’t say I have anyone I want to protect other than myself. I don’t really want to put my life on the line in battle. I’d like to stay alive and keep learning new things, keep having new experiences. Maybe it’s selfish.”
Captain Ukitake didn’t seem surprised, but they didn’t really expect him to be, at this point. He reached out and touched Ayame’s elbow lightly and looked at them earnestly, eyes clear and steady despite the fever.
“You’ve given me the impression that you find worth in things no one else notices, don’t you? The tea cups, the ribbon, even the curtains when you arrived. I think wanting to live to cherish common, small things is a perfectly good reason. It isn’t selfish at all.”
Ayame had no idea how to answer. It didn’t bother them much, that’s what they’d always told themself. They’d stopped looking for reassurance that there was value to a Soul Reaper who didn’t want to pursue strength or skill, who was content with mediocrity. Was that way of living really something they didn’t have to apologize for, to enumerate their failings in every introduction?
“Don’t let your tea get cold, after you went through all the trouble of making it. In the evening, if I’m feeling up to it, I’d like it if you saw the gardens with me. I have a feeling you’ll appreciate them thoroughly.”