so, i haven't written anything decent in over a year, but i AM sitting on literal tens of thousands of words of unfinished fic, and i figure, what the hell, there's some good writing in here that deserves to see the light of day. so in that vein, here's a couple chapters of my absolute favourite unfinished fic, the one i'm almost too scared to work on because i just want it to be thatgood. god give me the perseverance and skill to finish this one day because if i leave any legacy behind in the bleach fandom i want it to be this fic.
It's rotating
Rotating
Every time the sun and the moon touch each other
Constantly changing its appearance to something new
If there's something that doesn't change
It is my impotence
It's rotating
If destiny is made of gears
And we are the sand in between that is torn apart
There's nothing left to do but be powerless
If I cannot protect by just extending my hand
I want a blade so I can reach in front of her
The power to crush destiny
—looks like a blade that has been swung down
One
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12 years ago
Karakura Town
Rukia sleeps like the dead. The irony of this isn't lost on Ichigo, as he glances out the corner of his eyes to see her out like a light against his covers, her homework splayed everywhere like she isn't just going to make him do it for her at the last minute again. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful, even as her arms are twisted under her at an awkward angle. She was going to get cramps if she kept sleeping like that. He calls her name, softly and then a little louder, but she doesn't budge an inch.
He sighs and gathers her up in his arms; she stirs a little, murmuring a sleepy protest that he ignores. He settles her in the closet and arranges the blankets, taking a moment to study the lines of her face.
"Idiot," he mutters, "stop falling asleep on my bed. I'll just push you onto the floor next time."
It's a lie. Rukia's only reaction to this is to shift a little in her sleep, to curve her body in his direction like a plant tending towards the sun. He smiles a little at that, despite himself, and fights an inane urge to sweep her hair off her forehead and place a kiss there.
"Sleep well, Rukia," he whispers instead, and slides the closet door shut.
She does.
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Present Day
Soul Society
Rukia never sleeps.
She wanders through the halls of Kuchiki Manor like a ghost, weaving in and out of lucidity; she's never slept particularly well, even as a Rukon street rat, but this… this sleepwalking is new. Renji himself tended to be a light sleeper, a product of their shared childhood when uninterrupted sleep had been a luxury they couldn't afford, but not to this extent. He silently watches the dark circles under her eyes grow bigger and deeper with every passing day, and worries.
In the beginning, the smallest things had woken her up. She often stirred beside him, restless and alert, till well into the small hours of the morning. When he'd brought it up, she'd brushed it off; she's always had trouble sleeping, she said. He should know this by now, and it isn't anything to worry about—she can take care of herself, Renji, didn't he trust her? It had sounded an awful lot like a dismissal, a warning to drop it, so he had.
But then she'd had Ichika, and things changed.
The first time he catches her slipping out of bed, he assumes that she is going for a walk in the garden. It was a habit she was slipping into more nights than most, and he doesn't think twice. But when he wakes up again in the pre-dawn, and discovers the futon beside him still empty, he panics. He finds her at the gate, a cold hand on the latch, as if to walk out; god knows how long she's been there for. When he touches her on the shoulder, turns her around, she blinks like she's surfacing from a trance. Her eyes haze, then refocus.
"Renji…?" she asks, in a voice so thready it's barely audible, "What are you doing here?"
He swallows the same question rising in his throat and mutters something hasty about how she's been too tired lately; she should take the day off. She looks surprised at that, and quietly follows him back to the manor. She does as he advises and stays home that day.
It doesn't help. The very next night Renji catches her slipping out of bed again. He grabs her by a wrist, but then she turns to him and whispers, eyes lucid and clear—
"Ichigo?"
He freezes, and when she pulls her arm from his grip, he lets her slip through his fingers once more.
Ichigo?
His hands fist in the sheets of their shared bed; he hasn't seen an expression like that on her in over a decade. Hopeful, young, happy—
A boy with bright orange hair, and a sword as long as his height.
Renji finds, once again, that he is at a loss for what to do next.
He thinks that maybe he didn't have a clue from the start.
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Present day
10:05 am
Karakura Town
A beat of silence, then—
"Yo."
"Hey!"
His face is familiar, but the carefully mild expression on it is not. Rukia finds that she dislikes it, but it isn't her place to say anymore. She shoulders her way into the clinic, and ignores the way the heat of his body still radiates like it did ten years ago. She scoffs a little, wracks her mind for an appropriate jab that might recapture their easy banter from once upon a time; but what leaves her lips makes little sense, considering the fact that this is her first time seeing him in ten years (let alone setting foot in the clinic). Thankfully, he rises to the bait.
"I see this little place is as empty as ever. And is that—yup, I think I even hear some crickets!"
"Shut up. This is an emergency clinic, so it's a good thing it's empty, isn't it?"
He hasn't lost his habit of grumbling under his breath about her insults. Rukia allows a small smile to touch her lips as she makes her way to the living room, confident with the layout of the place; she doubts renovation is a thought that crosses his mind with any frequency. She encounters the old Karakura gang, and the twins; they'd all grown so much. The twins, especially; she would have gathered them both into hugs and pat them on their heads, had they not both been grown women and far taller than her now. Orihime comes down to greet her, beaming, in an apron—there's an edge of surrealism to all of this, almost. She looks well, and for that, Rukia is glad. Everyone looks well. Peacetime suits them.
There's a small kerfuffle as Ichigo rejoins them, and he points out that her daughter is missing. Rukia starts, and finds it to be true. She and Renji split up to find her; Ichigo accompanies her, nagging all the while.
"—nbelievable, how do you lose your own daughter—"
"Hey, I don't see your child hanging around the premises! Don't you have a son, too?"
"Kazui's—Kazui's fine, Orihime's keeping a watch on him—"
"Yeah, well, I'm telling you Ichika's fine too, there's nothing in the human world that could possibly hurt her—"
She stumbles; a wave of vertigo hits her and she loses her balance, careening towards the asphalt in front of his house. He's there in an instant, arms strong around her waist; he pulls her back upright and doesn't let her go. "Easy—"
She pulls away, only to sway again and grip onto his arm for support. Shit, not this today. She thought it had been getting better lately—Ichigo didn't need to deal with this.
His brow furrows, and he almost looks fifteen again. "Hey, Rukia, are you—"
"—I'm fine," she cuts him off, struggling to sound nonchalant, but the hand fisted in his shirt is trembling. She'll let go soon, when the world around her stops spinning. "I'm just a little tired—"
"Rukia," he says quietly, and she ignores him, focusing on channelling strength back into her legs. For the love of everything holy, why couldn't she stop shaking—
"Rukia," he repeats, louder, and grips her shoulders. "Rukia, stop—"
"Stop what?" she asks weakly, then: "Oh."
His hair and clothes are dusted white with snow; the tips of his fingers, where he's touching her, are frosted over blue. Ice creeps over the street and telephone poles in tendrils. Rukia heaves an unsteady breath and closes her eyes, pulling the fraying edges of her reiatsu back within herself.
When she opens them again, he's inches from her face.
"Kami—" she jerks back, snatching her arm from his grasp. "Have you ever heard of personal space, Ichigo—"
"Like you ever respected mine?" he retorts, but straightens up; his hands rub the nape of his neck. "What was that, Rukia?"
"Nothing," she snaps. She draws her arms around herself to still the trembling. "Like I said, I'm tired—"
"To this extent? How hard are they working you over at the Seireitei—"
"I can take care of myself!" the words come out too loud, echoing in the empty street. "Need I remind you, I'm centuries older than you are—"
"Well maybe if you weren't such a midget I'd remember that once in a while—"
"Hey, Ichigo, Rukia! We found her!" Renji's call interrupts their bickering, and they draw away from each other hastily; they'd been leaning in towards each other again. Rukia deliberately turns away from Ichigo.
"You found her? Where was she?"
"In Ichigo's room. Well, Yuzu's room, now, I suppose. She was with Kazui. I think we were worried for nothing, Rukia, they get along like a house on fire."
"Oh—good. Good." She's still a little disoriented, so Renji's words are taking some time to sink in; he eyes her face, paler than usual, and steps up to put an arm around her. Ordinarily, she would have been annoyed at him for that, but today she appreciates the support. She tries not to visibly sag as she leans against him.
Ichigo's eyes burn holes into her all the way back to the clinic.
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9:46 pm
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Rukia disguises the fatigue that has settled over her like a shroud by staying close to Renji and surreptitiously leaning against him whenever things get too hard. She puts on a bright façade for everyone else; she thinks she does a convincing job, too, but Ichigo's eyes linger on her all the same. Orihime prattles on about how they hadn't seen each other in ages and she's so happy for the two of them and isn't Ichika just a darling? They must be so proud—
She nods weakly, glad that Orihime is the kind of person who can hold up entire conversations on her own. She has missed them too, she has, how could she not—but the circumstances of their reunion are less than ideal, and she knows that she won't be able to see them again for a long time after this. Even after ten years of stability, opening a doorway into the gensei is precarious business; missions in the world of the living are now all long-term, to minimise the number of passages being opened. Their own trip had been a very, very special extenuation, granted only because the reason the universe still stood as it did today was Ichigo.
A week was all they'd been given. After that, who knew when they could return? So, she is trying, she is trying—but her body is so, so heavy, and the pressure of keeping her wildly fluctuating reiatsu under wraps is taking its toll. She participates less and less in the conversation, hoping people won't take notice.
Ichigo puts his foot down when she nods off for the fifth time in as many minutes; he cuts the party short and ushers everyone out, with the promise that they could all return tomorrow. She tries to protest when he directs them to the guest bedroom – 'Urahara has a place for us, we shouldn't intrude'—but it's Orihime who tells them don't be silly, Kazui and Ichika are such fast friends, it'd be a shame to split them up already. The children are excitedly building a pillow fort under the dining room table, and, too tired to argue, Rukia acquiesces.
As soon as Renji hits the bed, he falls straight asleep. He's had a rough few nights, what with her tossing and turning keeping him awake, too, and Rukia feels a wave of guilt wash over her. She hopes tonight will be a little more restful for him. She stretches out gingerly on the double bed next to him, tucking the covers around her and closing her eyes.
The last thing she is conscious of before the suffocating embrace of sleep is the deep low hum of Ichigo's reiatsu through the house.
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.
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2:57 am
Ichigo wakes to the sound of the clinic door opening.
Beside him, Orihime is still sound asleep; his wife had always been a deep sleeper, capable of ignoring storms, earthquakes, and anything else the Karakura night cared to throw at them. Ichigo, on the other hand, woke often; a holdover from nights spent hunting hollows, from sleep frequently interrupted by a hiss in his ear and a small hand slamming into his forehead. He sits up and shakes the last vestiges of his dreams –curiously unsettled tonight—from his mind, and shuffles outside to investigate.
It's not the kids. They're both fast asleep, holed up in their pillow fort; he tiptoes past them, careful not to wake either. He steps out onto the street, and his breath catches in his throat.
Rukia's there. She's ethereal in the moonlight, white skin almost glowing, that true-black hair swaying behind her with the wind. She's looking up, up, up, to something he can't see, and the curve of her neck and the delicate line of her wrists and ankles captivate him. Had she always been this fragile-looking?
"Rukia," he rasps, voice still scratchy with sleep, "what are you doing?"
She turns her head to face him; her eyes are huge and dark like bruises in the pale moon of her face. Something about her gaze is both clear and dreamy; Ichigo has the feeling that she's seeing right through him to something beyond, but also focusing on him with the kind of relentless intensity he only half-remembers from dreams of the past. She takes a tentative step in his direction.
"Ichigo?" she asks, in a voice as intransient as smoke, and he does not back away.
"Yeah," he whispers, "yeah, it's me. I'm here."
She reaches for him and, instinctively, automatically, he mirrors her; he is expecting her to need support, to meet his hands with hers, but instead she goes straight past his open arms to place her hands on either side of his face.
Before he has time to react, she leans up and kisses him.
Everything in him short-circuits; the world slows and all he is aware of is the softness of her lips on his. They part slightly, and the breathy sigh she lets out electrifies all of his senses. Faster than his thoughts can catch up, his hands are gripping her shoulders and he thinks that maybe he meant to push her away, but finds he's only clutching her closer, closer. His eyelids fall shut with a groan as her mouth opens under his — and then the kiss changes, dangerous and hot and wanting.
He presses his face blindly into hers, and walks her backwards into the stone wall that surrounds his house. She lets out a tiny gasp as her back hits the rough surface, and he uses the distraction to sweep his tongue across hers. Her fingers curl viciously into his neck and he revels in the sensation; there's nothing but her her her in this world, her taste in his mouth and her scent in his nose and the feel of her skin, fever-hot, against his own. His fingers move to tangle in her hair and she makes a noise at the back of her throat that destroys what little rationality he has left; he hitches her up against the wall and kisses her as though she's about to dissolve into thin air.
They both draw back for air at the same time; their eyes meet across the infinitesimal space and then Rukia blinks, once, twice, before Ichigo sees something click back into those bruised-violet depths.
"Ichigo…?"
A realisation of his own slams into place; his eyes widen and he disentangles himself from her, stepping back frantically as though that will erase what has just transpired between them. He only barely resists the childish urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Rukia slides down the wall without his weight holding her up; the dreamy glaze is gone completely from her eyes, and it's replaced instead with a bone-deep weariness that sets Ichigo's instincts on edge. Half of him wants to run far, far away from her, the other half wants to gather her into his arms and—
"Ichigo, what are you doing here?"
The tone of her voice, slightly irritated, so ridiculously normal, brings him back down to earth. He casts about in his jumbled mind for a suitable response and flings the first one he finds at her.
"Y—I could ask you the same thing—"
She seems to notice her surroundings then, looking side to side at the deserted street. An expression somewhere between horror and resignation crosses her face. "I—was I sleepwalking—?"
"Was that what it was?" he retorts, the memory of the kiss burning in his mind. His face feels uncomfortably hot. "Rukia, what's going on with you—"
"Nothing!" she snaps, but then she sways on the spot; in a flare of panic, Ichigo shunpoes beside her, and she falls into his chest. The spike of reiatsu through his body after not having called upon it for years makes his head spin, but he braces them both against a telephone pole and they manage to stay upright. Her jasmine-scented hair tickles his nose.
"Rukia—" his voice is thick, choked, but she pushes him aside; impatient, indignant.
"I'm fine, Ichigo, you don't have to treat me like a child—sleepwalking is hardly a medical emergency."
She takes a deep breath, before standing on her own; her knees are a little wobbly, but she turns her back on him once more, just as she did that morning. "I'm going back to bed. You should, too."
A pause. Then, softer; "Goodnight, Ichigo."
The door to his clinic swings shut after her, and Ichigo slides down the telephone pole slowly.
His heartbeat thunders in his ears in a way that it hasn't in ten years.