[fic] Brokenness and Healing {PART V: EPILOGUE}
Title: Brokenness and Healing
Author: alstair
Pairing: Ichigo x Ishida Uryuu
Rating: G
Summary: The scars they bear are not only physical. The hurts they've received still endure.
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach and the Characters of Bleach
The final installment.
PART V: EPILOGUE
The group of shirtless teenage boys playing basketball in the fenced-in court stopped to look at the two men, one wearing a blue and white polo and the other wearing a bright orange shirt as loud as his own hair, enter the abandoned house situated at the corner of the street. They had never seen anyone go in or out of the place in the past seven years even if a gardener dropped by once every year to make sure the gardens were not overgrown. The gossips of the neighborhood had always assumed that the upkeep was because the house was soon to be sold. But the months and then the years passed and it was never put on sale and everyone forgot about the house and its once inhabitant, a stern bespectacled man who had once been the director of the hospital.
So it was a surprise that anyone visited the place and apparently had the keys to it as they watched the shorter dark-haired man slip a key in and turn the doorknob. But boys being boys their attention once more reverted to their game and with a look and a shrug assumed that the two men were the new owners of the property, never mind that no one ever saw any agent hawking the place.
Across the block the neighborhood grocer resumed his inventory. He too had noticed the two men who appeared at the doorstep of that large corner house that everyone privately agreed was closer to "mansion" than house, never mind that the place was built very traditionally and not at all like the modern ones that were being built not too far that looked too American or too British for some of the older folk's tastes. But unlike the boys his attention was riveted on the man holding the house keys. There was something so familiar about the man that he couldn't shake a sense that he'd seen him before, maybe years ago, on that very same doorstep. He watched as the two men talked to each other and, just before entering, the taller orange-haired man place a hand on the other's shoulder.
Not one realized the gravity of the moment they were witnessing.
Standing in the foyer of the house, Ishida felt the same slight nervousness and contempt he had always associated with the times he had faced his father. Except now it wasn't about facing a living father but a dead one. The memory of him. He could feel the weight of Ichigo's hand on his shoulder and though he would not admit it he was grateful--grateful for the past years the ex-Shinigami had adamantly refused to leave his apartment, slowly but surely pushing at the walls Ishida had erected around his heart until the festering wounds of his soul could heal.
Even now he knew what sacrifice Ichigo was undertaking just to be with him, the memory of his own losses in this town and the ever-present possibility of a relapse to the state he had been in before he'd left the Karakura train station those many years ago. But with his own quiet promise Ishida knew that if that point ever came he would make sure he'd be there for Ichigo until his partner could himself heal.
Partner.
Though they had never actually done much in the way couples normally did to express their love, much less anything sexual in nature, there was that tacit acknowledgment that they loved each other--that Ichigo would die for Ishida and, Ishida knew but never once voiced out, he would too.
It was that afternoon late in the summer of last year that their relationship had taken a definite turn. Ishida had been poring over a new medical textbook he had recently borrowed from the local library while Ichigo sat beside him on the couch, legs sprawled, arms looped behind the seat staring at who knows what. The day had been breezy and the wind had ruffled the pages Ishida had been carefully turning; had ruffled Ichigo's hair, returned by then to its original orange hue. His own hair had been blown about, strands falling chaotically down until he felt the warmth of a finger tuck them behind his pale ear. And he had let it happen, let the moment of contact come and go and linger. Had let the fingers trace the shell of his ear. Had let the summer sun and wind lull them both until with a contented sigh he pulled away to resume his perusal of the texts.
But in the musty and dust-streaked rooms of his childhood home where no summer light entered, Ishida relived piece by piece the memory of his past, of his past with the man he had only been able to call father after the latter's death. Slowly, the soles of the leather shoes he wore leaving smudged prints on the dirt settled over the wooden and tatami floors, he passed banisters and railings, lingered beside the moth-eaten sheets, thumbed the sharp edges of picture frames half-obscured by time.
They stopped before the last room on the second floor. More than the bedrooms it was here where his father had resided, where his memories of his father were the strongest--and most bitter. The study had been his father's domain, a place where his family was excluded and dared not enter. The last time he'd been there he had coldly informed his father that he was moving out, still insisting on calling him Ryuuken as he'd had ever since he was ten and realized he had lost all respect he had for his father. Back then his father had not even turned around, not even tilted his head in acknowledgment of his son's decision, nor had he ever asked for Ishida's reasons.
Perhaps he had already known.
The grip of Ichigo's hand on his shoulder tightened. "Are you sure about this, Ishida," he asked.
"Of course." He would finally let the ghosts of his past come to rest. He owed it to himself. And he owed it to the man beside him now.
Straightening, he reached up and pressed his palm across the back of Ichigo's hand, covering it. He saw Ichigo's eyes widen at the sudden contact, a contact initiated by Ishida and Ishida alone. It was the first time Ishida had reached across. It had always been Ichigo. But there before the dusty and worn-down door that once represented his greatest resentment and his greatest fear, Ishida felt it was only right.
After all, what was making peace with his father if only to finally free Ishida from the shackles that had prevented him that day at the train station and ever since then from reaching out and touching the hand he knew he should have never let go of.
(END)
Author: alstair
Pairing: Ichigo x Ishida Uryuu
Rating: G
Summary: The scars they bear are not only physical. The hurts they've received still endure.
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach and the Characters of Bleach
The final installment.
PART V: EPILOGUE
The group of shirtless teenage boys playing basketball in the fenced-in court stopped to look at the two men, one wearing a blue and white polo and the other wearing a bright orange shirt as loud as his own hair, enter the abandoned house situated at the corner of the street. They had never seen anyone go in or out of the place in the past seven years even if a gardener dropped by once every year to make sure the gardens were not overgrown. The gossips of the neighborhood had always assumed that the upkeep was because the house was soon to be sold. But the months and then the years passed and it was never put on sale and everyone forgot about the house and its once inhabitant, a stern bespectacled man who had once been the director of the hospital.
So it was a surprise that anyone visited the place and apparently had the keys to it as they watched the shorter dark-haired man slip a key in and turn the doorknob. But boys being boys their attention once more reverted to their game and with a look and a shrug assumed that the two men were the new owners of the property, never mind that no one ever saw any agent hawking the place.
Across the block the neighborhood grocer resumed his inventory. He too had noticed the two men who appeared at the doorstep of that large corner house that everyone privately agreed was closer to "mansion" than house, never mind that the place was built very traditionally and not at all like the modern ones that were being built not too far that looked too American or too British for some of the older folk's tastes. But unlike the boys his attention was riveted on the man holding the house keys. There was something so familiar about the man that he couldn't shake a sense that he'd seen him before, maybe years ago, on that very same doorstep. He watched as the two men talked to each other and, just before entering, the taller orange-haired man place a hand on the other's shoulder.
Not one realized the gravity of the moment they were witnessing.
Standing in the foyer of the house, Ishida felt the same slight nervousness and contempt he had always associated with the times he had faced his father. Except now it wasn't about facing a living father but a dead one. The memory of him. He could feel the weight of Ichigo's hand on his shoulder and though he would not admit it he was grateful--grateful for the past years the ex-Shinigami had adamantly refused to leave his apartment, slowly but surely pushing at the walls Ishida had erected around his heart until the festering wounds of his soul could heal.
Even now he knew what sacrifice Ichigo was undertaking just to be with him, the memory of his own losses in this town and the ever-present possibility of a relapse to the state he had been in before he'd left the Karakura train station those many years ago. But with his own quiet promise Ishida knew that if that point ever came he would make sure he'd be there for Ichigo until his partner could himself heal.
Partner.
Though they had never actually done much in the way couples normally did to express their love, much less anything sexual in nature, there was that tacit acknowledgment that they loved each other--that Ichigo would die for Ishida and, Ishida knew but never once voiced out, he would too.
It was that afternoon late in the summer of last year that their relationship had taken a definite turn. Ishida had been poring over a new medical textbook he had recently borrowed from the local library while Ichigo sat beside him on the couch, legs sprawled, arms looped behind the seat staring at who knows what. The day had been breezy and the wind had ruffled the pages Ishida had been carefully turning; had ruffled Ichigo's hair, returned by then to its original orange hue. His own hair had been blown about, strands falling chaotically down until he felt the warmth of a finger tuck them behind his pale ear. And he had let it happen, let the moment of contact come and go and linger. Had let the fingers trace the shell of his ear. Had let the summer sun and wind lull them both until with a contented sigh he pulled away to resume his perusal of the texts.
But in the musty and dust-streaked rooms of his childhood home where no summer light entered, Ishida relived piece by piece the memory of his past, of his past with the man he had only been able to call father after the latter's death. Slowly, the soles of the leather shoes he wore leaving smudged prints on the dirt settled over the wooden and tatami floors, he passed banisters and railings, lingered beside the moth-eaten sheets, thumbed the sharp edges of picture frames half-obscured by time.
They stopped before the last room on the second floor. More than the bedrooms it was here where his father had resided, where his memories of his father were the strongest--and most bitter. The study had been his father's domain, a place where his family was excluded and dared not enter. The last time he'd been there he had coldly informed his father that he was moving out, still insisting on calling him Ryuuken as he'd had ever since he was ten and realized he had lost all respect he had for his father. Back then his father had not even turned around, not even tilted his head in acknowledgment of his son's decision, nor had he ever asked for Ishida's reasons.
Perhaps he had already known.
The grip of Ichigo's hand on his shoulder tightened. "Are you sure about this, Ishida," he asked.
"Of course." He would finally let the ghosts of his past come to rest. He owed it to himself. And he owed it to the man beside him now.
Straightening, he reached up and pressed his palm across the back of Ichigo's hand, covering it. He saw Ichigo's eyes widen at the sudden contact, a contact initiated by Ishida and Ishida alone. It was the first time Ishida had reached across. It had always been Ichigo. But there before the dusty and worn-down door that once represented his greatest resentment and his greatest fear, Ishida felt it was only right.
After all, what was making peace with his father if only to finally free Ishida from the shackles that had prevented him that day at the train station and ever since then from reaching out and touching the hand he knew he should have never let go of.
(END)