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pocketsfullof2010-08-08 01:16 am
toppedbyfishies.livejournal.com) wrote in pocketsfullof2010-08-08 01:16 am
Entry tags:
Rise and Shine
[Jyuushiko has been waiting here at least three hours now - Retsu has already come by once to ask if she'd rather just rest in her own room and be called when Shunsui finally woke up, but she wanted to be here, this time. With any luck his fever had broken enough that they could talk, at least.
The wheelchair was a concession to Retsu - one she had to somewhat grudgingly admit was necessary after her first attempt at walking to Shunsui's room had ended rather abruptly less than halfway through with her curled on the floor, racked with coughs that brought up blood. Still, she could have done without the reminder of her current continued infirmity. The blanket tucked in around her lap only makes her feel more like an old woman, even though she knows right now she'd be shivering otherwise.
Still, she knows Shunsui will not judge her weaknesses, which is a small relief. Of course, he'd have to wake up, first.]
The wheelchair was a concession to Retsu - one she had to somewhat grudgingly admit was necessary after her first attempt at walking to Shunsui's room had ended rather abruptly less than halfway through with her curled on the floor, racked with coughs that brought up blood. Still, she could have done without the reminder of her current continued infirmity. The blanket tucked in around her lap only makes her feel more like an old woman, even though she knows right now she'd be shivering otherwise.
Still, she knows Shunsui will not judge her weaknesses, which is a small relief. Of course, he'd have to wake up, first.]
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I know.
[The smile fades fast, and she sighs. She knows he's right, on both counts - she's very fond of Toushirou, but even compared to the other captains, he was still just a child, one who's talent had perhaps pushed him up faster than was good for one so young. And Soifon... skilled, certainly, but not cut out to be a leader.]
It's only temporary, until we recover. Then they'll appoint someone new. Probably Retsu or you.
[She knows it's not likely to be her - between her illness and having enrolled at the academy under false records, she's had enough strife about just retaining her captaincy. And, to be entirely honest, even if they were to offer her the position...she's not sure she would want it.]
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Not me, Ukitake. I'm not good at setting an example - unless it's a bad one. And besides...
[There's a slight hesitation there, because he knows he's been caught - not quite in a lie, but at least an omission - and his tone is half-wary, half-resigned when he speaks again. It's not as if he ever expected that the question would arise, after all.]
... I guess I never did get around to having my name officially removed from the Kyouraku list of succession.
[He doesn't bother to elaborate on that - Jyuushiko knows that there's no chance that the noble houses of Seireitei would accept the head of a family as the leader of the Gotei Thirteen, nor anyone who had even a chance of succession. The fear of shinigami and their zanpakutou becoming used as a private army in a bid for power was too great.
The Central 46 had never dared to argue openly with Yama-jii ...and there's a stutter of grief there at the thought of his Sensei which Shunsui closes his eyes against... or question his ability to keep the affairs of the Yamamoto house separate from those of the Gotei. But even then there had been little faith to speak of, and Shunsui knows as well as anyone that there were times that thin thread of trust had been worn almost to breaking.]
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When she could breathe again, she gave him a small, wry smile.]
It figures. I suppose it'll be Retsu, then - and I think she'll murder us both for it.
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After the fever-dreams, the sound of it rakes across his senses - he's never found Ukitake's bouts of illness less than nerve-wracking to deal with, despite the passage of time. And now, with the fresh memory of feeling her reiryoku flutter and fad to nothing, over and over again... Abruptly, the fear is as deep and painful as it had been the first time, back at the Academy, when he had watched with horror as his room-mate coughed up more blood than Shunsui had believed it was possible for a living soul to lose.
He shifts position again - enough that he can support her body with his - grunting at but otherwise disregarding the fresh pain as bandages rub against on burned skin and the jarring that comes with each cough.
There's no attempt to speak - he doesn't trust his voice to remain steady or his mind to form words that make any sense. And for the first time since he woke he's half-grateful for his depleted spiritual power - for the fact that neither his fear nor the relief when the fit subsides are obvious to Jyuushiko.
Lowering his eyes when she looks back at him, he conjures up the ghost of a smile, lifting a hand to brush a thumb softly against her cheek.]
I doubt that, Ukitake. I've never known Retsu to allow her healing to go to waste.
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But, as usual, she hides it behind a smile, because it's all she can muster.]
Well. I'm sure she'll find another way to make our lives hell.
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I'm sure she won't have to look too hard - we've given her plenty of opportunity to practice, after all.
[For a few moments he doesn't say any more, attention apparently absorbed in tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. But his mind is elsewhere, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again.]
There is another candidate, Ukitake.
You know that the Kyouraku house, at least, would recognise you. I still have some influence with them over Gotei affairs - and my brother may be many things, but he's no fool. Soul Society needs a strong Gotei as much as it needs government, and he knows it.
[His hand strays to her hair - gently pulling one of the loose strands through his finger and thumb. She almost doesn't feel real to him - none of it feels real - compared to the vivid fever dreams of the past few days...
...Or had it been weeks? It suddenly occurs to Kyouraku that he has not asked how much time has passed since the battle in the Karakura Town Construct, and he knows better than to try and judge by the healing of his wounds. In two thousand years he can't recall anyone in Seireitei being subjected to the brunt of Ryuujin Jakka's full release.
[He meets her eyes for a moment - not to seek permission, but to reassure her that it's more than just an automatic gesture - then dips his head slightly to press his lips against hers.
It's the briefest of kisses, and there's the faint taste of blood that he knows well enough - but it's enough to drown out the fear which lingers on in the back of his mind in the wake of her coughing.]
Though... if they make you my Soutaichou, I suppose I'll have even more work to do and even less of a say in the bedroom.
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A soft, pleasured sigh escapes, and she's almost too lost in the physical sensation to listen to what he's saying. She leans into the kiss, the slightest push back against his lips to show that yes, she knows this is more than just habit, and she agrees.
After she pulls away, though, she lets out a slightly more frustrated sigh.]
Kyouraku might - and Ukitake and Shiba both would, of course - not that Kuukaku-sama has much say any more - but they wouldn't be able to get the council to recognize it. I'm going to have enough trouble just holding on to my captaincy after this stint of medical leave.
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It's not like you to underestimate yourself, Jyuu. Especially in a fight.
[The rejoinder is quietly teasing - in the best part of two millennia, Kyouraku can hardly recall a day when she has not stubbornly challenged either her own limits or those imposed by others. More than once, he has wryly accused her of trying to turn his hair white too, and more than once has received an elbow in his ribs for the trouble.]
Without the Central 46, it's down to the noble houses alone. And while they may not vote in your favour, do you really think that Shihouin would stand against you? Or even Kuchiki, if Ginrei retains control. Unohana will back you if Retsu stands down - they're long-sighted enough to see that there's no better candidate.
Yamamoto, I think, will vote according to their conscience, and it's no secret that Yama-jii thought of you almost as a daughter... unless that's just something he liked to say when he knew I was listening.
[His lips curve in the faintest of smiles at the last, though the loss of the man who had been his sensei for so long is too raw and recent a wound for even Kyouraku to gloss over.]
Even if they wanted to take your captaincy, my friend, they have no one to promote in your place. If they had they would have made a move already. The noble houses lack subtlety, and Retsu isn't here all the time.
[Another smile to accompany his words, this one darker than the last.]
If they lose Thirteenth, then they lose Eighth as well. And if they try to take it by force, I'll kill them.
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If I have another coughing fit trying to shout reason into them, I'm telling Retsu it was your fault.
[There's a small surge of worry - that the possibility is even on the table for someone to go that far in opposition to her, but she hides it under the smile]
I'm not sure if I should be honored or worried that you'd kill for me.
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Much as I prefer to avoid being in Retsu's bad books - and especially when I'm stranded in Fourth - I think she'd forgive me this time.
[He avoids her eyes, closing his own and pressing another kiss to her forehead. He doesn't pull back, murmuring the words quietly against her skin.]
I already failed to protect too many people, Ukitake. I won't make the same mistake again.
...how is Lisa-chan?
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Alive. Annoyed.
[There's the barest hint of amusement there - Yadomaru Lisa had never been one to hold back her opinion, and it seemed that much had not changed in the last century, at least. Much to the disappointment and fear of many Fourth Division shinigami]
She went back to Living World as soon as Retsu let her up for more than five minutes at a time. Said she'd wait for us to sort things out here, first.
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She was never one to submit quietly to a stay in Fourth.
[Another silence, this one slightly more prolonged, because his words recall to him the last time he had seen her, a hundred years ago. It had been barely more than a glimpse - of a face and body he had once known almost as intimately as Jyuushiko's, but which had been barely recognisable under the blood and the bruises and that white... filth that crawled over her like a parasite. And then she was gone, lost in a sea of onmitsukidou while he was firmly ushered away by Unohana, despite his arguments and the searing mix of guilt and grief and rage that had made him careless even of Yama-jii's displeasure.
Finally he smiles, opening his eyes and letting his hand drop from Jyuushiko's face back to his lap. His other arm, however, remains firmly around her waist, and he leans back slightly despite the protest from his still-healing body at the sudden change of position.]
Yare yare. Then we'd better not make her wait too long, Ukitake. She might think better of it and come back just to kick my ass for not working fast enough.
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When you stay it like that, you make me want to stall just to watch the ensuing fall-out. Just like old times, ne?
[Like before Aizen, before the war, before their companions were taken from them, changed - she hadn't been affected quite so directly then, at least - but she had seen Shunsui's grief, and it had mirrored her own, decades later, with Kaien's loss. It's foolish to think they can really go back to the way things used to be, but she can dream a little.]
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[To the rest, he doesn't say anything - just squeezes her fingers between his own with a quick and gentle pressure. He's never been able to lie to Ukitake - not really - not even to himself, if she was ever around to see it.
There were subjects they avoided - half-healed wounds which ran deeper than the physical - like the aftermath of Kaien's death, or Urahara's trial - or the fear that one day, either Ukitake's illness or Kyouraku's reluctance to fight would catch up with them. Like the unborn child who had died before either of them had known of her existence, extinguishing a possible future that Kyouraku had not even consciously realised he either wanted or expected and forcing him to face the limitations of Ukitake's health after centuries of denial.
These things they rarely spoke of directly, and even then only with intent. Instead, Jyuushiko would bury her grief and self-recrimination with work, while Kyouraku drowned his with sake, or the pleasures of the flesh. Occasionally things would boil over into a fight, either verbal or physical - each knowing the other's weaknesses well enough that it was only too easy to select the weapon that would cause the most pain. But even then it's anger born of an habitual honesty which Kyouraku has been unable to suppress since the first night he held Jyuushiko in his arms until her coughs subsided into sleep.
Right now, he doesn't have the strength to risk a fight - his thoughts still too disconnected to make perfect sense even to himself. A soft hum and he matches her smile with one of his own, though it's not reflected in his eyes, and he knows it.]
You always wanted to make something better, Ukitake - even then. Something different.
[His brow furrows in a slight frown, and he reaches up to rub tiredly at his right eye.]
Aizen wasn't insane. He betrayed Soul Society for a reason, whatever it was. We can't ask him now and maybe we'll never know for sure. But if there was a reason, it's still there - here.
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And Shun was right. They'd never have the 'whys' now - not from Aizen, anyway.]
I'm not sure I'd call a desire to sit on the throne of heaven a sane one. But you're right. His decisions were reasoned.
[Another small sigh, as she leans a little more heavily on Shunsui - less in need of the support and more for just the touch, the physical weight of his presence.]
Which leaves finding the reasons to us.
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Perhaps not. But if that's true, then what of the person who sits on it now?
[Kyouraku doesn't flinch or pull away when she leans back, despite the fact that her weight - even as reduced as it is (and there's another flare of worry at that) - presses uncomfortably against his ribs.
He doesn't know if the bandages there cover the wound left by Aizen's blade, or those caused by the last flare of his sensei's zanpakutou but either way, he's well aware that they're far from healed. But the discomfort is offset by the cool, if reduced pressure of Jyuushiko's reiryoku - amplified by the closer physical contact - and the involuntary intake of air that he can't quite suppress is instead disguised by another soft, but short laugh.]
Optimism has always been part of your charm, Jyuu.
Can it wait until tomorrow? Even I can only avoid so much work in a day, and I'm sure Nanao-chan already has enough outstanding paperwork to cover all the walls of Eighth.
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The soft laugh is a welcome distraction from those rather unhappy thoughts, and she gives Shunsui a small, sidelong grin.]
My life would be too depressing if I wasn't an optimist, I think.
[Though even that joke is a little bleak, for her. Too much looking mortality in the face, these last few weeks - there have been close calls before, for both of them. It was part of being a soldier for centuries. But this one was closer than all of those had been.
She realizes how off that sounded, tries to cover it with a smile.]
As if Retsu would let you do anything right now - she's probably annoyed you're even sitting up.
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To Shunsui, the words are a painful reminder of his own helplessness in the face of Ukitake's sickness. That no amount of anger at whatever or whoever had caused it to happen can ever change the reality; that no matter how much he wishes it, he can never take her place.
You are a fool. She would not want it, even if it were possible.
Katen's interruption is not unexpected - her opinion on the subject having been made clear many times over the centuries - and her remark prompts a small, though bitter, smile.
I know that. Though some might argue that makes her more of a fool than me.
Out loud he just exhales gently against Jyuushiko's hair, slipping his other arm back around her waist to keep her where she is.]
If Retsu didn't intend for me to break the rules, she'd never have let you in. You're too beautiful a temptress and she knows my weaknesses far too well.
[This time his attempt at a laugh catches in his lungs, ending as a cough that he can't quite hold back. Mercifully it's just the one, but it still brings with it a sharp pain in his chest and the taste of ash and blood.]
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Hmph. No temptress today - and you're not in any state fit to be tempted, I think.
[A small tease, though the humor in his voice makes her intent clear. The half-smile drops from her face at the slightly wet sound of that cough, though. Not the first time she's heard it outside her own body, but there's a surge of panic each time, knowing what it could mean.]
Are you alright?
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And besides - after two centuries, Kyouraku knows his own faults, and would never deny that an inclination to self-indulgence is of them, even at the worst of times... perhaps especially at the worst of times. Lowering his head slightly, he places a kiss on the exposed skin behind her ear.]
Oya, I'm always fit enough to be tempted.
[Still, he's careful not to inhale too sharply, especially with the weight of her against him - experimentally taking one slow, shallow breath after another. Kyouraku's memories of the past few days - weeks - are muddy, despite the clarity of the fever dreams, but he can remember the sensation of drowning all too well - of being unable to draw air into his lungs and the naked fear that had accompanied it.
It's something that he has seen for himself - that Ukitake has described to him many times after an attack, or after waking in a breathless panic in the middle of the night. But it's the first time that he has fully understood it, and his arms tighten around her a little at the question.]
You know me, Jyuu. It's nothing that won't heal - given enough time and enough sake.
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I didn't think to smuggle some in with me, unfortunately - though I think Retsu would have frisked me if I so much thought of it.
[The jest makes her feel a little like her old self, the rhythm between them familiar.