Title: Newton's Third Law.
Rating: PG
Summary: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Tousen and Shuuhei centric. For fictictactoe with Delwynmarch.
Word count: 1983.
Notes: Tousen's blindness. Everyone has a different philosophy on this, mine is that whatever 6th sense abilities he has allow him to 'see' the same things that a normal person can see. It might be through an interaction effect of all the different senses, so it's put together differently from a normal person, but if you waved a card in front of his face he was be able to say it was the ace of spades. This is a man, after all, who is left in charge of surveillance even when that requires him watching intruders being recorded by a surveillance camera. If he can tell what is happening on a TV screen, he can 'see' peoples' expressions (at least for the purpose of this story!).

Newton's Third Law.

There is blood on his hands, and Tousen finds he rather likes its texture. A slick, smooth sort of steel that stays even when the colour has retreated down the drain and taken all physical evidence of his deeds with it, the phantom blood is a testament to his purpose. There have been grand temples built to honor justice, sweeping statues that speak of a justice that domineers and judges.

Tousen's justice stabs, and slices, and silences.

He thinks his is more effective.

It is certainly more rewarding. Tousen has stripped his office of anything that even remotely feels like his previous captain. Kensei's desk has been replaced, his bookshelves ripped out. There is a new coat of paint on the wall, a new welcome mat at the door.

It is interesting, Tousen reflects as he straightens his pile of paperwork, just how much justice tastes likes success.

"Come in," Tousen says stately when his thoughts are interrupted by a shallow knock on his door. A perfectly worded order is already halfway to his lips before he realizes that his visitor is not one of his men, but a small rat of a child who looks like he has slunk up from the earth instead of being born into it. He bites back his disappointment, a glib smile slipping across his lips. "Yes?"

"Excuse me, can you tell me where the captain of the 9th division is?" The small boy fumbles slightly over the words, and Tousen is left with the distinct impression that politeness is not something that comes naturally to him. Dirt, maybe, but not politeness.

"I am the 9th division captain." The words taste so potent on his tongue that he cannot help but repeat them. "I am the captain." His smile slides into something more genuine. Oh, yes.

"No, you're not." The child's eyes narrow impatiently, and his words shock Tousen's smile away. "Where's Muguruma-taicho?"

There is a part of Tousen, a violent and base part that he hides from the rest of the world, that demands immediate justice for the unforgivable slight. To have his precious authority blackened with THAT man's name - and by a child! Tousen isn't used to children who challenge him instead of cowering appropriately.

Recollection slips methodically into place. Especially this child.

"Muguruma-san was killed on a mission almost a week ago," Tousen says calmly, idly noting how the boy's reishi spikes at his comment. Interesting. "Your name is Shuuhei, isn't it?"

"Eh?!"

"I believe we met briefly the night Kensei-san was killed." Tousen doesn't deal in cruelty but justice, and therefore the dark horror that sweeps across Shuuhei's features is no more than the boy deserves for trying to entrench Kensei so viciously back in the present. Tousen does not correct the slew of incorrect assumptions that shadow Shuuhei's eyes, although he finds the boy far more palatable stripped of his unwarranted confidence.

"Oh." Something that vaguely resembles recognition flashes in Shuuhei's spirit energy. "Then … these are for you," he adds flatly, thrusting a small bag out towards Tousen.

Curious, Tousen slips from behind his desk and takes the bag. Apples. Probably stolen from one of the nearby orchards, Tousen thinks derisively. Shuuhei had probably intended to share them with his heroic, wonderful Muguruma-taicho. For a moment, he considers turning Shuuhei over to one of the orchard owners, their swift and volatile retribution surely an apt punishment for the boy's audacious.

Tousen's gaze narrows thoughtfully.

That said … sometimes it is the stolen apples that taste the sweetest.

He likes his victories to be complete.

"Would you like to stay and share them with me?"

Tousen accepts the boy.

Shuuhei loses himself.

***

Shuuhei completes his first mission with Tousen three days before he sits his entrance exam for the academy, and it is an unmitigated disaster. Innocent humans get entangled in a conflict that is not their own, and there is a bruise on Tousen's left temple that makes Shuuhei flinch in shame. The words on the innocuous white pages of his exam paper dance beneath his heady gaze, twisting into elaborate doodles and phrases that don't query him about the different divisions but screech blame. He manages to add his name to the tangled mess of accusations, but very little else.

Shuuhei completes his sixth mission with Tousen the day before he sits his second attempt at the entrance exam, and the mission is an unqualified success. This time he approaches the exam with confidence, sure and certain and only bleeding a little through his bandages. It … doesn't end well.

He spends the morning of his third entrance exam in the human world, tracing hollows, investigating wayward shinigami, and reciting the incarnations of various kido spells under his breath as he speeds after a possible lead. This time, Shuuhei passes the exam with flying colors, even though he falls asleep at his desk the moment he finishes.

Tousen is bitter in his defeat, although it will be several years before Shuuhei is punished for his success.

***

Shuuhei comes to him eventually, he always does. Tousen doesn't ask Shuuhei how he has spent the last 24 hours – probably split between the infirmary and the first year student barracks if Tousen knows Shuuhei as well as he thinks he does – and Shuuhei offers nothing but a quiet apology for visiting so late as he slips into Tousen's personal quarters.

The young man that Tousen leads into his study is a cluster of contradictions. Shuuhei's hair is streaked with rain and the bandages covering his damaged eye are a rumpled mess, yet Shuuhei still somehow possesses an eerie calmness that borders on the disturbing.

There is also a handful of paperwork clutched in Shuuhei's hand, which fascinates Tousen exponentially. Not once has he ever assigned the young man any.

Shuuhei spreads the papers across Tousen's desk, carefully explaining each piece even as he keeps his back turned to Tousen. There are detailed summaries of their last three missions, a ridiculously long report listing possible ways communication could be enhanced within in the division ("I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous, Tousen-taicho"), and other, equally well thought out but bewildering areas of concern that Shuuhei would politely like to discuss with Tousen if he possibly has the time.

It's an interesting proposition, not the least because Shuuhei doesn't seem able to look him in the eye. The gallows humor brings a hint of a smile to Tousen's lips. With a quiet smoothness he moves away from the doorway and slides in behind Shuuhei. The other man is briefly startled when Tousen places one hand on Shuuhei's shoulder and leans forward, his gaze falling on Shuuhei's precious, safe paperwork. All it takes is a kind nod for Shuuhei to continue with his ridiculously sophisticated rambles, his hands flittering through the paperwork as he describes, deconstructs, and deliberates with far more ease than anyone should at 2am in the morning.

"You do not need to worry," Tousen interjects smoothly when Shuuhei dares pause for breath. "I will not abandon you as well." The young man stills at his softly spoken words, or at least valiant attempts to do so. The fluttered, constant movement is gone, but Tousen can still feel the tiny tremors that ripple up Shuuhei's shoulders and through Tousen's fingertips. Shuuhei doesn't react, hardly even blinks, but Tousen is a patient man. He has been slowly crafting his personal plans for justice for almost half a century, after all.

When Shuuhei does finally turn around - lethargic and slow, his face empty of all expression -Tousen pulls him into an approximation of a hug. Shuuhei is more a boy in this moment than when Tousen first met him, but there are no tears or sudden outburst of emotion. Tousen would have been disappointed if there had been. Instead, Shuuhei silently drops his head against Tousen's chest. It is only the way Shuuhei's fingers clench tightly in the folds of Tousen's robe that betray his quiet, soul deep desperation.

Tousen allows Shuuhei his silence. What the young student is offering up in its place is far more useful to Tousen.

And so, Tousen takes.

***

Aizen moves, slashing Seireitei to pieces and stripping away all that, while maybe not good or true, is at least known.

Tousen leaves. It is far easier than he expected.

Shuuhei stays. The world ends.

Justice briefly looks up in interest, before her gaze falls back to her newly manicured nails.

***

In Hueco Mundo, Tousen always walks one step behind. He does not trust Aizen with his back, not when Tousen knows how easy it is to slice someone down from behind. No, brilliance is best followed instead of shared. Tousen would rather be caught in the halo of Aizen's audacity and power than by the blade of his sword. He allows Aizen to take charge because the other man is good at it, and Tousen cares not for how the path is walked but the destination that awaits them. Why challenge Aizen when Aizen is right? Why insert himself unnecessarily when the shadows serve his purposes just as well?

Tousen follows, and the sleep he sleeps is that of the just.

In Seireitei, Shuuhei always has to stay one step ahead. There are reports that are due, shinigami to train, traitors to tease out of the woodwork. As Tousen's lieutenant, everything Shuuhei did had been reactionary. Now he initiates and anticipates, engaging in a subtle dance that keeps him in hold from the earliest spark of dawn until late at night. It's a strange dance, one that exhilarates and challenges on the same breath. Sometimes, the steps don't quite fit or feel as though they are more suited to someone else. Instead of adjusting the choreography, he changes the music and finds his own, unique beat.

Shuuhei leads, and sleeps the sleep of the exhausted.

***

There is blood on his hands, and Tousen rather likes the texture. His old friend lies at his feet, a broken monument to justice that should appease even the greediest of gods.

Only Shuuhei now stands before him, a slick, smooth sort of steel embedded in his frame and lending him a foreign strength that Tousen does not recognize. There are no more questions staining the younger man's eyes, just a clarity that is sharp and unforgiving.

Tousen is surprised, but not impressed. Shuuhei is still a child chasing after mythical heroes as though they are butterfli-

Kazeshini spits and spins, stealing away three of Tousen's braids and leaving a gash across his shoulder. Tousen knows his lieutenant's weapon far more extensively than Shuuhei himself does, yet as Kazeshini whistles through the air, Tousen finds he cannot predict its flight at all.

Shuuhei has forgotten their roles. Unfortunately for the younger man, Tousen has not. He steps, spins, slices-

Shuuhei sags to his knees, pain etched deeply into a face that already carries far too many scars. Blood rips across his chest and down his side, leaving a blazing trail of red heat.

Tousen's mouth twists into a small, mirthless smile. This is not the end he envisioned for his young lieutenant, but it is one that he is has no qualms completing. For blood to be saved, it must first be spilt. What a testament to his own dedication that he is willing to even do this, he thinks idly as he flash steps the short distance that separates him from his justice, and as Suzumushi slices through the air and down-

Tousen falls, the tail end of his smirk dipped in disbelief. Kazeshini shimmies back into Shuuhei's trembling hands, the glint of red on silver sparking past Tousen's fading senses. And Tousen falls. Not as a martyr, not as a shining light, but as a monster.

Still on his knees and fighting for each aching breath, Shuuhei rises.