"Sad Shun" AU RP Part One - Unohana (Complete)
Private RP based on a concept by clanoftheraven, who also plays all characters other than Shunsui. Originally written in Google Docs, copied here for convenience and to remind me that I really need to get back to this and finish it, even if I am sad-avoidant XDRetsu made her way through the snowy streets to Eighth Division, nodding occasionally to the passing shinigami, and pausing once in a while to inquire after some recent patient or another. As a rule, she found it pleasant to just take at least a few minutes to walk, rather than flash-stepping, from place to place; it allowed her a few minutes to enjoy the fresh air and simply relax for a few moments. Today, however, the scenery was the last thing on her mind, even though it was a crisp, clear day.
Because today, she had to tell Kyouraku Shunsui that his best friend was dying, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
She caught herself slowing down and shook her head at herself. Delaying would not do anyone any good, and she had a great deal she had to attend to. She jumped carefully up onto a rooftop and slid smoothly into flash-step, ice-cold wind whipping against her tidy braid as she headed for Eighth Division. She had told Kyouraku that she needed him out of the way so she could work on Ukitake without outside reiatsu interfering. That was true to some extent; Kyouraku’s reiatsu tended to be rather pervasive, and it twined easily with Ukitake’s, making healing a bit more difficult. In truth, however, she was worried at how much time Kyouraku had been spending in Fourth Division. She understood why he did it, but it wasn’t really healthy for him.
As she took a right turn, she leapt down lightly as she found herself at Eighth Division. She could sense Nanao in the headquarters, and Kyouraku not far away in his own quarters--not surprising, since he’d mentioned he would be using the time to get cleaned up. Retsu considered for a moment, then stopped by the headquarters first. Nanao looked up from her stack of paperwork and frowned to see the healer captain--a visit from Retsu could not be good under the circumstances. Aloud, she said, “Unohana-taichou, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Forgive the intrusion, but I would like to speak to you alone for a moment, Ise-fukutaichou,” Retsu said politely.
Nanao nodded and asked the others in the office if they would excuse her for a moment, and then walked out onto the terrance with Retsu. When they were out of earshot, she asked, “Ukitake-taichou...it’s bad, then?”
Retsu said, “It would be best if you didn’t plan to have Kyouraku-san around too much for the next few weeks, at least..”
Nanao nodded sadly, but squared her shoulders with determination. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you,” Retsu said, as they both looked towards Kyoraku’s quarters. “I’d best go and speak to him now.”
---
Kyouraku felt Unohana's reiatsu long before the single, quiet knock at the door to his quarters alerted him formally to her presence.
He had sensed it the moment that she took her first step into Eighth - a quiet undercurrent of power that he had been aware of for most of his life - that he knew almost as well as he knew Ukitake's. Wherever Unohana Retsu went, she brought with her the warmth of deep, sea-green waters and the soft, soothing touch of Minazuki. It had long ago settled into his awareness alongside the contrasting coolness of Ukitake's own oceans and the subdued inferno that was Yama-jii's resting state.
Unohana was not, he knew, in the habit of making purely social calls - her position as the Captain of the medical division rarely allowing her the time. And that knowledge had been enough to wake him from the exhausted half-doze which had overcome him the moment he had slipped into the tub and felt the first wave of warm steam wash over his face.
He didn't hurry to dress - courtesy demanded that a Captain take their time when making non-urgent, unannounced calls to other divisions - time for the Taichou and Fukutaichou to receive them in the proper manner. And Unohana, of all the Captains, had impeccable manners.
As preoccupied as he was, it had not escaped his attention that his quarters were tidier than he remembered leaving them; that the clothes he had tossed unceremoniously on the floor less than half an hour ago were no longer there and that instead a stack of fresh ones had been placed neatly by the door of his sleeping quarters. That in his absence, the small oil heater in the centre of the living area had been replenished with fuel and that a still-hot pot of black tea and two steamed sake buns rested on a covered tray on the low table awaiting his attention.
Even without the faint traces of spirit power or the fading scent of violets that lingered in the room, Kyouraku would have recognised the handiwork of his Vice Captain in the pencil sharp folds of the shihakusho and the way that the tea pot handle was aligned precisely along the centre of the lid. Even the heater had been carefully placed so that its warmth, when lit, would be directed in the most beneficial way. And there was a pang of guilt that he had left her with even more work than usual in his absence over the past few weeks, both from his own Division and from Thirteenth. No matter that he knew she would neither complain nor begrudge him the time spent at Ukitake's bedside; no matter that he never - whatever anyone else might say or think - took Ise Nanao's talents and loyalty for granted, the guilt was still there.
It only took him a moment after Unohana's knock to light the heater's wick, the first sparking of the oil bringing the warm scent of flowers into the room to mask the harsher smell of the burning fuel. Another pang that Nanao had even remembered that, and then he stepped over to the door, ankle bracelet jangling softly in the absolute quiet that had settled over Seireitei with the early blanket of snow.
For Unohana to come here... he knew - as he had when he first felt the undercurrent of cool sadness cutting through the tropical waters of her spiritual pressure - that it did not bode well. And there was a long moment of hesitation before he slid the door open - a wish that he could be far away, to not hear whatever it was she had come to tell him. It was a wish that was only reinforced by the chill blast of air blowing a few stray flakes around and over her, settling on the coal black of her hair and on her winter coat when he looked down and met her eyes, his own half-lidded to match the lazy smile that curved his lips.
"Missing me already, moonflower? There'll be a scandal."
--
“Kyouraku-san,” she said mildly. She knew perfectly well that he made jokes to cover his true feelings; he had been teasing her ever since they met nearly two thousand years ago. The truth, however--that he was worried sick about Ukitake, and hadn’t been taking care of himself at all--was easy to read from the dark circles under his eyes and the way he’d lost a bit of weight. His reiatsu was pulled tightly around him, and even if it wasn’t Retsu was inclined to give him his privacy at a time such as this.
As he allowed her inside, she slipped off her shoes in the entryway, glancing around the room--unfazed by the erotic picture hanging on the wall. His quarters were far tidier than usual, which was clearly Nanao’s doing, and she could smell tea in the air. As painful as the situation was and would be, there were social formalities to be observed--and in her experience, ritual could even be a kind of refuge when receiving painful news.
--
Kyouraku barely had the time to close the door and relieve Unohana of her coat before he felt another reiatsu signature approaching, though this one was as different to Retsu's as night from day. He was accustomed to feeling the presence of everyone in his Division whenever he was present - to be able to sort through the mass of difference and pick out particular shinigami by their spiritual pressure alone. But this one he could not quite place, its nature far from Captain level and barely controlled ; its owner clearly lost in a swirl of nerves and conflicting emotions.
He didn't bother to wait for the knock, the tight knot of worry that had been gathering in his chest for weeks momentarily overcoming common sense - with Retsu here, it was hardly likely to be urgent news from Fourth, and even if it were, he knew that Nanao would allow no-one else to deliver it.
"T-taichou!"
She was young - very young - her hair pulled up into a braid that curled neatly on top of her head and green eyes wide with a surprise that bordered on fear as she took a sudden step back. Her left hand was still raised as if to knock and in her right another of the covered trays wobbled, the muffled sound of rattling china forestalling his question.
Belatedly, he damped down the slight flare of reiatsu that the abrupt and irrational surge of fear had triggered, cursing silently at his own carelessness. Leaning an arm against the doorway above his head he looked down at her with an apologetic smile.
"Yare yare, two beautiful ladies at once - it's too much excitement for a man to bear."
It took him a moment to recall the girl's name. She had only joined the Division in the autumn, he knew - one of the most recent group of academy graduates. Normally, Kyouraku made a point of learning their names within a matter of days, either in the canteen or on the training field and particularly if they were pretty or female. The fact that he had to fish around in his memory for it was a forcible reminder of how much time he had spent in Fourth the past two months, his weekly zanjutsu lessons having been passed to Tatsufusa in his absence.
Yoneda Natsuko. Katen Kyokotsu's voice cut in helpfully, though with the distinct sense that she had better things to do with her time. Acknowledging her assistance silently, he tilted his head with another smile, this one somewhat more teasing.
"And what brings you to my door on such a cold day, Natsuko-chan?"
"Ise-fukutaichou said that Unohana-taichou.... I mean... that is... I..." She flushed a bright red to the roots of her hair in a way that on any other day Kyouraku would have found both attractive and amusing. "I... have tea, sir."
The words out, she bobbed her head nervously, looking past him and slightly wide-eyed at Unohana. The tray wobbled precariously again and Kyouraku reached out to take it from her, lest its contents end up on the veranda rather than on his table.
"Thank you, Natsuko-chan. And you can thank Ise-san for sending the prettiest girl to sweeten the taste."
The wink that accompanied his words made her blush deepen, and the only acknowledgement she made was a squeak as she backed away for the requisite few steps before turning to scuttle back in the direction of the kitchens. Kyouraku watched her go, reminded of his own and Ukitake's first few weeks in First, where his own lazy swagger and his friend's over-zealous manners had barely covered their wide-eyed fear at suddenly being a real part of the Gotei. It was a memory that was bittersweet, given the present circumstances, and he sighed quietly, breath misting in the frigid air as he slid the door shut and returned his attention to his guest.
"Nanao-chan has a talent for anticipating my needs."
He carried the tray over to the table, depositing it beside the one that already rested there. Gesturing to Unohana to sit, he followed suit, settling into a seiza perfect enough that it would have raised eyebrows among those who did not know him well.
--
“She does indeed,” Unohana agreed calmly as Kyouraku poured her some tea and handed it to her, followed by pouring some black tea for himself.. “Thank you for the tea, Kyouraku-san.” She sipped it in silence for a moment, gathering her words together.
“I’m afraid you know why I’m here, Kyouraku-san. I wish I could bring better news...” she trailed off for a moment, swirling the tea in her cup. She had tried everything she knew of--and searched endlessly through every healing text in the library--for any possible way to help Ukitake, but nothing was helping. She hated to see a good captain, and one of her oldest and dearest friends, reduced to this. He’d been bedridden for weeks, and even when he was conscious, he was barely lucid most of the time. Retsu set her cup down, and gave Kyouraku a sad, compassionate glance. “Ukitake-san...is not getting better. I have tried everything I know of to help him, but...he is dying. I do not think he has more than a matter of weeks left--perhaps a bit more than a month at the most.”
--
The aroma of green tea brought with it a mixture of memories - of happier times with Ukitake, who had always had a fondness for the stuff as far back as he could recall. No amount of complaining and wrinkling his nose at both the flavour and the smell had shifted Jyuushiro's stubborn insistence that it was both healthful and tasty.
And after so many centuries, Kyouraku might have conceded the point, having learned to at least tolerate the beverage through constant exposure to it, and having observed that in Ukitake's case at least, it certainly seemed to be no less beneficial (and in some cases better) than some of the more esoteric cures that a variety of healers had tried on his friend. He might, that is, had it not also become associated in his mind with long nights spent at Ukitake's bedside in Fourth, where sake was banned and green tea was served in preference to its black-leafed cousin. Now, the taste of it recalled sleepless hours of worry and of watching Ukitake locked in the stubborn fight for breath and for life that his friend had been engaged in for as long as Kyouraku had known him.
Recently, such nights had increased in frequency - the previous two winters had hit Ukitake particularly hard, despite being relatively mild in temperature. He'd spent most of the weeks around his last birthday in and out of Fourth, Kyouraku dreading every cough with an intensity that he had not felt since those first days at the Academy when the specifics of Ukitake's illness were as new to him as the concept of friendship. But Ukitake had survived, just as he had back then and ever since - survived and celebrated the start of another year in the company of friends.
The 13th Division's winter birthday parties were famous throughout Seireitei - a tradition that had never wavered, even after Shiba Kaien's death. And after the celebrations died down and the last partygoer had been waved off with a smile there was another, more private tradition to be observed. That of two friends wrapped in blankets on the rooftops of Thirteenth, sharing a flask of sake and reminiscing about the past. And underneath it all, an unspoken acknowledgment of another year in which death had not come early.
Kyouraku held his own tea close to his face, masking the scent of Unohana's with the smoky aroma of the lapsang souchong which Nanao regularly acquired for him from her favourite supplier in Rukongai. He acknowledged his fellow captain’s thanks with the barest of nods, the silence settling around them as he waited for her to speak her mind.
When the words came, he barely even needed to hear them; knew already what they would be. Had known, since the moment he had looked into Unohana's face as she stood there among the swirling petals of snow; blue eyes regarding him with a quiet sympathy that he had seen far too many times over far too many comrades lost to hollows and to sickness for him not to understand.
This time, he didn't look at her at all, only at the cup that she had set down carefully on the table. His fingers tightened around the one in his own hand as he fought back the urge to throw it across the room in a release of the frustration, guilt and anger that welled up inside him in response to her words. Everything in him instinctively rebelled against them, even though he knew, without a doubt, that they were true. He had never seen Ukitake this sick for this long - even after Kaien. Had never known him need so much medication simply to stay alive - so much that half the time, Kyouraku was unsure if he even knew that he was.
If only he had insisted that Ukitake be examined when the coughing had started back in the height of summer. If only he had not listened to Jyuushiro's insistence that it wasn’t serious - just a minor infection due to pollen or to the heat. If only he had done anything, something... instead of nothing.
Slowly, deliberately, he put the cup down, ignoring the way that his hand shook as he took it away; the way that his vision blurred when his gaze snapped up to meet Unohana’s, such that her face was little more than a smudge of white in the encroaching gloom of evening.
"According to the healers, he should have been dead centuries ago. No one has ever been able to help him, and I doubt he expected any better of you."
A deep breath in and he closed his eyes for a few moments, pulling both his anger and his reiatsu back under tight control.
"...I'm sorry, Retsu-san.”
When he opened them again, he avoided her gaze entirely, dipping his head so that his loose and still-wet hair half-concealed his face.
"Does he know?"
--
She had known that Kyouraku would find the news--difficult. When she first knew him, Kyouraku Shunsui was frankly a selfish, self-centered brat (albeit a very talented one) determined to cause as much trouble as possible in the Academy he’d been forced to attend; moreover, he had a ruthless, even cruel, streak in him, behind his lazy exterior. Privately, she’d wondered why Yamamoto-sensei would have him room with Ukitake, who was stubbornly devoted to his studies, but suffered from bouts of illness. It seemed like a match that could lead to nothing but trouble.
Nonetheless, Ukitake’s friendship (combined with a tragic incident involving a hollow attack) had changed Kyouraku over the years. He had found a purpose, and largely hid or suppressed his darker side most of the time--saving it for enemies on the battlefield.
So when his reiatsu slipped slightly from his tight control, Retsu almost winced as it shifted to a deep, bottomless black, boiling and turned inwards, and almost shrieking silently with pain and anger. She raised her own slightly to meet it--countering the black void with a sorrowful but deep and tranquil ocean around herself and taking a deep breath.
She simply inclined her head slightly at Kyouraku’s harsh words. They stung--Ukitake’s illness had always been a source of medical frustration for her, and she too wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. But it was normal for those who had been told their friends and family were dying to be angry. It was even a healthy reaction, in a way.
Locking down your emotions, that was not so healthy--but she knew very well that Kyouraku would not welcome her prying. So she pretended she didn’t notice the way his hands were shaking or the slight scent of dirt and rotting things still hovering around him. “I tried to tell him,” she said. “I believe he understood, but he fell asleep again shortly afterwards, so it’s difficult to be sure.”
--
They know. Katen Kyokotsu’s voice was subdued, this time. Kyouraku knew that the “they” she was referring to were Ukitake’s zanpakutou spirits - that this was as hard for Katen Kyokotsu as it was for him - and he nodded silently, without looking up.
He could feel Unohana’s reiatsu seeping into the room, mingling with the scent of tea and the perfume of roses from the smouldering oil heater. Normally, he would have regarded it as an intrusion into his personal domain, but he recognised it for what it was - a silent attempt at comfort and sympathy from someone who had known Ukitake as long as he had himself. Someone who knew that words were useless - that there would never be enough in the world or depth enough to them to express what the loss of Ukitake Jyuushiro would mean, either to him personally or to the Gotei 13.
It was difficult to recall anything of his past - the part that mattered to him - without also remembering Ukitake’s. On the face of it, they were polar opposites, and yet their lives had become entwined so closely that each existed almost as an extension of the other. Even imagining his life without Ukitake as a part of it - without the awareness of his reiatsu settling into place to balance Kyouraku’s own; without the knowledge that Sougyou no Kotowari would be there to watch his back in a fight; without the one person in Seireitei who had seen him at his absolute worst, more than once, and never judged him for it... It was as impossible as imagining life without breathing.
“Yama-jii will have to be told ...and his family, And Kuchiki.”
Ukitake had told him once, centuries ago, that he was going to die. But somehow, Kyouraku had never believed it - never really accepted it, or tried to. He had fought against his friend’s illness even when Ukitake was too weak to do it himself; had cursed and raged and drunk himself into a blind stupor at the injustice of it - at his own inability to make things right, or to take Ukitake’s place. And even now there was a part of him that rejected it, even despite the reality of the past three months, Even after watching his friend’s health deteriorate relentlessly until he was barely conscious under the weight of the kidou and of the drugs that held back the pain and damped down the fever.
He had spent longer and longer at Fourth, reluctant to be absent when Ukitake had rare moments of wakefulness, even if when he did, there was often no recognition in his eyes. There was simply nothing else he could do, even if he wanted to.
“Ise-fukutaichou can manage things here.”
--
Retsu nodded in agreement. “I can tell Yamamoto-sensei or Kuchiki-fukutaichou, if you wish.” There were quite a few things that would have to be done--both professionally and personally. Ukitake was not only one of the oldest captains, but also one of the most beloved--the adoptive uncle of half of Seireitei.
“I can give him...perhaps a day of lucidity, so he can make arrangements.” It wouldn’t be easy on him, and it’d likely shorten his life a bit--but at this point, not enough to make much of a difference. She’d ask him if she could, but Retsu was already sure that Ukitake would rather say good-bye.
--
"No".
It was harsher than he intended and he finally lifted his head, meeting Unohana's eyes briefly before looking away, his voice softer this time.
"No. He will expect to hear it from me".
It was a lie, and Kyouraku knew it. Yamamoto knew his weaknesses as well as he knew them himself - probably better, even. But it was not something he cared to explain to Unohana - that he still wasn't sure what, exactly, had sparked Yamamoto's interest in a sick kid and a spoiled brat, all those centuries ago - though Kyouraku was almost certain it was entirely down to the Old Man that he had found himself sharing a room with Ukitake Jyuushiro in the first place. But they had and he did, and now Ukitake would tell him this was his duty - tell him with that look of doubtful surprise on his face which always greeted such questions from Kyouraku - as if he hoped it was a joke, and that Kyouraku knew the answer already... which he always did, even if he avoided it.
Jyuushiro had always stood firm, even in the face of the worst news - even after Shiba Kaien and despite what had been said in the privacy of his quarters and in the depths of sickness and despair, he had insisted on staying with his Division at the risk of his own health. Running away, on the other hand - that was what Kyouraku did best. He had done it when the sentence on Lisa and Hirako and the other captains had been handed down, a hundred years ago. Before that and since, when he'd lost members of his Division, comrades, friends - good men and women - to hollow attacks. It had always been Ukitake who had brought him back, sobered him up and made him face his duty as a shinigami and later as a Captain, even if it took a fight or some unpleasant home truths to do it.
Somehow, whatever it was Yamamoto had seen that Kyouraku had not, he had been right on one count - there were things that Kyouraku Shunsui had learned from Ukitake Jyuushiro - things that he would never have learned alone, or from anyone else. And even if he had not, Kyouraku knew that for the friendship alone, he owed Yamamoto a debt that went far beyond that of a student to his sensei.
"Kuchiki-fukutaichou...." Kyouraku remembered seeing her amid the chaos that had seized Thirteenth, the day after Shiba Kaien died. She had returned to her division still covered in his blood, her face an emotionless mask. To Kyouraku, it seemed as though something had died inside of her - as though a light had gone out that could never be replaced. It had only been a glimpse - less than a moment - before she was gone, swept away by a grim-faced Kuchiki Byakuya, whose anger and contempt for the entire division were no less tangible for the utter stillness of his features. But even so, Kyouraku remembered it, and the thought of seeing that look on her face again, or of being the cause of it, even as a duty to Ukitake... he shook his head, avoiding Unohana's gaze.
"I think it would be better if she heard it from you. I'll go to Uguendo - his brother will need time to gather the family - if such a feat is even possible".
There was a ghost of attempted humour there, though it didn't show on his face. He knew that Ukitake's family - as far-flung and numerous as it was - would bear the news better than many - that arrangements had been put in place years ago, at Ukitake's insistence and despite Kyouraku's avoidance of the subject and blank refusal to participate in any discussions of estates and wills with his friend. But it still did not make the prospect of being the harbinger of it - to people who had welcomed him into their home as if he were their own relation, or that he had watched grow from children into adults - any easier to contemplate. And as to the rest...
"Only a day, Retsu?"
--
“I don’t think it’s possible or safe to do much more, Kyouraku-san; as it is, it will be necessary to use some quite dangerous steroids and stimulants, as well as bolstering his reiatsu continuously and heavily with one or both of our own.” Normally, she would be the one to do it, but as close as they were, she suspected Kyouraku might prefer to do the service--especially because it would allow them more privacy, and because it would allow him to do something for Ukitake.
“I will pay Kuchiki-fukutaichou a visit as soon as possible then,” she agreed. She worried about Rukia; the young woman had grown into herself a great deal in the years since the ryoka invasion, but she was still a bit too apt to keep everything to herself. However, she at least had several close friends Retsu believed would help her through her grief. She was much more worried about Kyouraku. He was close to Ukitake in ways that neither she nor anyone else would ever be able to understand; there were few others to whom he showed his true self. Without Ukitake...she worried what would happen to him.
--
"I see."
His hand returned to the rapidly cooling cup of tea, fingers turning it restlessly as he thought that over.
One day. It seemed like no time at all, after almost two thousand years. Not enough time for Kyouraku to say all the things he had never said in two thousand years of friendship, but had always meant to. Not enough for either of them to do the things they had always talked of but never done. Barely enough even, for Ukitake to see everyone that Kyouraku knew he would want to see, while he was still able to recognise them. And Kyouraku knew what Unohana was not saying - that if doing more for Ukitake was dangerous, then even giving him a day would likely shorten what was left of his life.
It was a painful choice, and the selfish part of Kyouraku - the part that he had never been proud of - wanted to say no. Wanted to keep Ukitake alive and with him for as long as he possibly could. And that same part flared with a jealousy that Kyouraku had never felt before - an irrational anger at the idea of giving up any part of the time he had left with his friend to others - of cutting his time short so that people who had never and would never know Ukitake as well as he had could say goodbye.
And Gods that word terrified him, almost as much as the thought of waking up and knowing that Ukitake was gone; of not feeling his reiatsu, faint but present, for the first time in as long as he wanted to remember; of never again being able to share a joke over a bowl of sake or a spar on a sunny day; of forgetting how he smelled or what it felt like to run his fingers though his hair as he slept.
But Ukitake had never been content with merely existing, and in his heart of hearts, Kyouraku knew what choice his friend would make - he was too proud and cared too much to want to slip away without a word, even if it cost him days, or even weeks of his life. And if Jyuushiro could not speak for himself, then he would trust Kyouraku to do it for him, just as he always had.
For a long moment he was silent, then he pushed himself to his feet, meeting Unohana's eyes with a resolve he did not feel.
"We both know what he'd choose, Retsu."
His captain's haori hung neatly on a hook by the door, and he put it on without another word. Next to it was the pink kimono that Ukitake had bought him - the latest in a long line that had originally begun as a joke but had become as much a part of him as Jyuushiro himself. Today, though he ran his fingers over the silk, he did not take it down, and nor did he pick up the hat that leaned against the wall next to Katen Kyokotsu.
--
She nodded. “Yes...I believe we do.” It was almost painful to watch Kyouraku donning his captain’s haori, and then pausing at, but not putting on his pink kimono--knowing its history and what it represented to him. She stood as well, understanding that despite her worries, Kyouraku was a very private person, and he would need to come to terms with the painful news in his own way.
“I will be taking my leave then,” she said. “I am sorry the news couldn’t be any better.” She bowed, slipped on her shoes, and departed into the windy winter day.
Because today, she had to tell Kyouraku Shunsui that his best friend was dying, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
She caught herself slowing down and shook her head at herself. Delaying would not do anyone any good, and she had a great deal she had to attend to. She jumped carefully up onto a rooftop and slid smoothly into flash-step, ice-cold wind whipping against her tidy braid as she headed for Eighth Division. She had told Kyouraku that she needed him out of the way so she could work on Ukitake without outside reiatsu interfering. That was true to some extent; Kyouraku’s reiatsu tended to be rather pervasive, and it twined easily with Ukitake’s, making healing a bit more difficult. In truth, however, she was worried at how much time Kyouraku had been spending in Fourth Division. She understood why he did it, but it wasn’t really healthy for him.
As she took a right turn, she leapt down lightly as she found herself at Eighth Division. She could sense Nanao in the headquarters, and Kyouraku not far away in his own quarters--not surprising, since he’d mentioned he would be using the time to get cleaned up. Retsu considered for a moment, then stopped by the headquarters first. Nanao looked up from her stack of paperwork and frowned to see the healer captain--a visit from Retsu could not be good under the circumstances. Aloud, she said, “Unohana-taichou, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Forgive the intrusion, but I would like to speak to you alone for a moment, Ise-fukutaichou,” Retsu said politely.
Nanao nodded and asked the others in the office if they would excuse her for a moment, and then walked out onto the terrance with Retsu. When they were out of earshot, she asked, “Ukitake-taichou...it’s bad, then?”
Retsu said, “It would be best if you didn’t plan to have Kyouraku-san around too much for the next few weeks, at least..”
Nanao nodded sadly, but squared her shoulders with determination. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you,” Retsu said, as they both looked towards Kyoraku’s quarters. “I’d best go and speak to him now.”
---
Kyouraku felt Unohana's reiatsu long before the single, quiet knock at the door to his quarters alerted him formally to her presence.
He had sensed it the moment that she took her first step into Eighth - a quiet undercurrent of power that he had been aware of for most of his life - that he knew almost as well as he knew Ukitake's. Wherever Unohana Retsu went, she brought with her the warmth of deep, sea-green waters and the soft, soothing touch of Minazuki. It had long ago settled into his awareness alongside the contrasting coolness of Ukitake's own oceans and the subdued inferno that was Yama-jii's resting state.
Unohana was not, he knew, in the habit of making purely social calls - her position as the Captain of the medical division rarely allowing her the time. And that knowledge had been enough to wake him from the exhausted half-doze which had overcome him the moment he had slipped into the tub and felt the first wave of warm steam wash over his face.
He didn't hurry to dress - courtesy demanded that a Captain take their time when making non-urgent, unannounced calls to other divisions - time for the Taichou and Fukutaichou to receive them in the proper manner. And Unohana, of all the Captains, had impeccable manners.
As preoccupied as he was, it had not escaped his attention that his quarters were tidier than he remembered leaving them; that the clothes he had tossed unceremoniously on the floor less than half an hour ago were no longer there and that instead a stack of fresh ones had been placed neatly by the door of his sleeping quarters. That in his absence, the small oil heater in the centre of the living area had been replenished with fuel and that a still-hot pot of black tea and two steamed sake buns rested on a covered tray on the low table awaiting his attention.
Even without the faint traces of spirit power or the fading scent of violets that lingered in the room, Kyouraku would have recognised the handiwork of his Vice Captain in the pencil sharp folds of the shihakusho and the way that the tea pot handle was aligned precisely along the centre of the lid. Even the heater had been carefully placed so that its warmth, when lit, would be directed in the most beneficial way. And there was a pang of guilt that he had left her with even more work than usual in his absence over the past few weeks, both from his own Division and from Thirteenth. No matter that he knew she would neither complain nor begrudge him the time spent at Ukitake's bedside; no matter that he never - whatever anyone else might say or think - took Ise Nanao's talents and loyalty for granted, the guilt was still there.
It only took him a moment after Unohana's knock to light the heater's wick, the first sparking of the oil bringing the warm scent of flowers into the room to mask the harsher smell of the burning fuel. Another pang that Nanao had even remembered that, and then he stepped over to the door, ankle bracelet jangling softly in the absolute quiet that had settled over Seireitei with the early blanket of snow.
For Unohana to come here... he knew - as he had when he first felt the undercurrent of cool sadness cutting through the tropical waters of her spiritual pressure - that it did not bode well. And there was a long moment of hesitation before he slid the door open - a wish that he could be far away, to not hear whatever it was she had come to tell him. It was a wish that was only reinforced by the chill blast of air blowing a few stray flakes around and over her, settling on the coal black of her hair and on her winter coat when he looked down and met her eyes, his own half-lidded to match the lazy smile that curved his lips.
"Missing me already, moonflower? There'll be a scandal."
--
“Kyouraku-san,” she said mildly. She knew perfectly well that he made jokes to cover his true feelings; he had been teasing her ever since they met nearly two thousand years ago. The truth, however--that he was worried sick about Ukitake, and hadn’t been taking care of himself at all--was easy to read from the dark circles under his eyes and the way he’d lost a bit of weight. His reiatsu was pulled tightly around him, and even if it wasn’t Retsu was inclined to give him his privacy at a time such as this.
As he allowed her inside, she slipped off her shoes in the entryway, glancing around the room--unfazed by the erotic picture hanging on the wall. His quarters were far tidier than usual, which was clearly Nanao’s doing, and she could smell tea in the air. As painful as the situation was and would be, there were social formalities to be observed--and in her experience, ritual could even be a kind of refuge when receiving painful news.
--
Kyouraku barely had the time to close the door and relieve Unohana of her coat before he felt another reiatsu signature approaching, though this one was as different to Retsu's as night from day. He was accustomed to feeling the presence of everyone in his Division whenever he was present - to be able to sort through the mass of difference and pick out particular shinigami by their spiritual pressure alone. But this one he could not quite place, its nature far from Captain level and barely controlled ; its owner clearly lost in a swirl of nerves and conflicting emotions.
He didn't bother to wait for the knock, the tight knot of worry that had been gathering in his chest for weeks momentarily overcoming common sense - with Retsu here, it was hardly likely to be urgent news from Fourth, and even if it were, he knew that Nanao would allow no-one else to deliver it.
"T-taichou!"
She was young - very young - her hair pulled up into a braid that curled neatly on top of her head and green eyes wide with a surprise that bordered on fear as she took a sudden step back. Her left hand was still raised as if to knock and in her right another of the covered trays wobbled, the muffled sound of rattling china forestalling his question.
Belatedly, he damped down the slight flare of reiatsu that the abrupt and irrational surge of fear had triggered, cursing silently at his own carelessness. Leaning an arm against the doorway above his head he looked down at her with an apologetic smile.
"Yare yare, two beautiful ladies at once - it's too much excitement for a man to bear."
It took him a moment to recall the girl's name. She had only joined the Division in the autumn, he knew - one of the most recent group of academy graduates. Normally, Kyouraku made a point of learning their names within a matter of days, either in the canteen or on the training field and particularly if they were pretty or female. The fact that he had to fish around in his memory for it was a forcible reminder of how much time he had spent in Fourth the past two months, his weekly zanjutsu lessons having been passed to Tatsufusa in his absence.
Yoneda Natsuko. Katen Kyokotsu's voice cut in helpfully, though with the distinct sense that she had better things to do with her time. Acknowledging her assistance silently, he tilted his head with another smile, this one somewhat more teasing.
"And what brings you to my door on such a cold day, Natsuko-chan?"
"Ise-fukutaichou said that Unohana-taichou.... I mean... that is... I..." She flushed a bright red to the roots of her hair in a way that on any other day Kyouraku would have found both attractive and amusing. "I... have tea, sir."
The words out, she bobbed her head nervously, looking past him and slightly wide-eyed at Unohana. The tray wobbled precariously again and Kyouraku reached out to take it from her, lest its contents end up on the veranda rather than on his table.
"Thank you, Natsuko-chan. And you can thank Ise-san for sending the prettiest girl to sweeten the taste."
The wink that accompanied his words made her blush deepen, and the only acknowledgement she made was a squeak as she backed away for the requisite few steps before turning to scuttle back in the direction of the kitchens. Kyouraku watched her go, reminded of his own and Ukitake's first few weeks in First, where his own lazy swagger and his friend's over-zealous manners had barely covered their wide-eyed fear at suddenly being a real part of the Gotei. It was a memory that was bittersweet, given the present circumstances, and he sighed quietly, breath misting in the frigid air as he slid the door shut and returned his attention to his guest.
"Nanao-chan has a talent for anticipating my needs."
He carried the tray over to the table, depositing it beside the one that already rested there. Gesturing to Unohana to sit, he followed suit, settling into a seiza perfect enough that it would have raised eyebrows among those who did not know him well.
--
“She does indeed,” Unohana agreed calmly as Kyouraku poured her some tea and handed it to her, followed by pouring some black tea for himself.. “Thank you for the tea, Kyouraku-san.” She sipped it in silence for a moment, gathering her words together.
“I’m afraid you know why I’m here, Kyouraku-san. I wish I could bring better news...” she trailed off for a moment, swirling the tea in her cup. She had tried everything she knew of--and searched endlessly through every healing text in the library--for any possible way to help Ukitake, but nothing was helping. She hated to see a good captain, and one of her oldest and dearest friends, reduced to this. He’d been bedridden for weeks, and even when he was conscious, he was barely lucid most of the time. Retsu set her cup down, and gave Kyouraku a sad, compassionate glance. “Ukitake-san...is not getting better. I have tried everything I know of to help him, but...he is dying. I do not think he has more than a matter of weeks left--perhaps a bit more than a month at the most.”
--
The aroma of green tea brought with it a mixture of memories - of happier times with Ukitake, who had always had a fondness for the stuff as far back as he could recall. No amount of complaining and wrinkling his nose at both the flavour and the smell had shifted Jyuushiro's stubborn insistence that it was both healthful and tasty.
And after so many centuries, Kyouraku might have conceded the point, having learned to at least tolerate the beverage through constant exposure to it, and having observed that in Ukitake's case at least, it certainly seemed to be no less beneficial (and in some cases better) than some of the more esoteric cures that a variety of healers had tried on his friend. He might, that is, had it not also become associated in his mind with long nights spent at Ukitake's bedside in Fourth, where sake was banned and green tea was served in preference to its black-leafed cousin. Now, the taste of it recalled sleepless hours of worry and of watching Ukitake locked in the stubborn fight for breath and for life that his friend had been engaged in for as long as Kyouraku had known him.
Recently, such nights had increased in frequency - the previous two winters had hit Ukitake particularly hard, despite being relatively mild in temperature. He'd spent most of the weeks around his last birthday in and out of Fourth, Kyouraku dreading every cough with an intensity that he had not felt since those first days at the Academy when the specifics of Ukitake's illness were as new to him as the concept of friendship. But Ukitake had survived, just as he had back then and ever since - survived and celebrated the start of another year in the company of friends.
The 13th Division's winter birthday parties were famous throughout Seireitei - a tradition that had never wavered, even after Shiba Kaien's death. And after the celebrations died down and the last partygoer had been waved off with a smile there was another, more private tradition to be observed. That of two friends wrapped in blankets on the rooftops of Thirteenth, sharing a flask of sake and reminiscing about the past. And underneath it all, an unspoken acknowledgment of another year in which death had not come early.
Kyouraku held his own tea close to his face, masking the scent of Unohana's with the smoky aroma of the lapsang souchong which Nanao regularly acquired for him from her favourite supplier in Rukongai. He acknowledged his fellow captain’s thanks with the barest of nods, the silence settling around them as he waited for her to speak her mind.
When the words came, he barely even needed to hear them; knew already what they would be. Had known, since the moment he had looked into Unohana's face as she stood there among the swirling petals of snow; blue eyes regarding him with a quiet sympathy that he had seen far too many times over far too many comrades lost to hollows and to sickness for him not to understand.
This time, he didn't look at her at all, only at the cup that she had set down carefully on the table. His fingers tightened around the one in his own hand as he fought back the urge to throw it across the room in a release of the frustration, guilt and anger that welled up inside him in response to her words. Everything in him instinctively rebelled against them, even though he knew, without a doubt, that they were true. He had never seen Ukitake this sick for this long - even after Kaien. Had never known him need so much medication simply to stay alive - so much that half the time, Kyouraku was unsure if he even knew that he was.
If only he had insisted that Ukitake be examined when the coughing had started back in the height of summer. If only he had not listened to Jyuushiro's insistence that it wasn’t serious - just a minor infection due to pollen or to the heat. If only he had done anything, something... instead of nothing.
Slowly, deliberately, he put the cup down, ignoring the way that his hand shook as he took it away; the way that his vision blurred when his gaze snapped up to meet Unohana’s, such that her face was little more than a smudge of white in the encroaching gloom of evening.
"According to the healers, he should have been dead centuries ago. No one has ever been able to help him, and I doubt he expected any better of you."
A deep breath in and he closed his eyes for a few moments, pulling both his anger and his reiatsu back under tight control.
"...I'm sorry, Retsu-san.”
When he opened them again, he avoided her gaze entirely, dipping his head so that his loose and still-wet hair half-concealed his face.
"Does he know?"
--
She had known that Kyouraku would find the news--difficult. When she first knew him, Kyouraku Shunsui was frankly a selfish, self-centered brat (albeit a very talented one) determined to cause as much trouble as possible in the Academy he’d been forced to attend; moreover, he had a ruthless, even cruel, streak in him, behind his lazy exterior. Privately, she’d wondered why Yamamoto-sensei would have him room with Ukitake, who was stubbornly devoted to his studies, but suffered from bouts of illness. It seemed like a match that could lead to nothing but trouble.
Nonetheless, Ukitake’s friendship (combined with a tragic incident involving a hollow attack) had changed Kyouraku over the years. He had found a purpose, and largely hid or suppressed his darker side most of the time--saving it for enemies on the battlefield.
So when his reiatsu slipped slightly from his tight control, Retsu almost winced as it shifted to a deep, bottomless black, boiling and turned inwards, and almost shrieking silently with pain and anger. She raised her own slightly to meet it--countering the black void with a sorrowful but deep and tranquil ocean around herself and taking a deep breath.
She simply inclined her head slightly at Kyouraku’s harsh words. They stung--Ukitake’s illness had always been a source of medical frustration for her, and she too wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. But it was normal for those who had been told their friends and family were dying to be angry. It was even a healthy reaction, in a way.
Locking down your emotions, that was not so healthy--but she knew very well that Kyouraku would not welcome her prying. So she pretended she didn’t notice the way his hands were shaking or the slight scent of dirt and rotting things still hovering around him. “I tried to tell him,” she said. “I believe he understood, but he fell asleep again shortly afterwards, so it’s difficult to be sure.”
--
They know. Katen Kyokotsu’s voice was subdued, this time. Kyouraku knew that the “they” she was referring to were Ukitake’s zanpakutou spirits - that this was as hard for Katen Kyokotsu as it was for him - and he nodded silently, without looking up.
He could feel Unohana’s reiatsu seeping into the room, mingling with the scent of tea and the perfume of roses from the smouldering oil heater. Normally, he would have regarded it as an intrusion into his personal domain, but he recognised it for what it was - a silent attempt at comfort and sympathy from someone who had known Ukitake as long as he had himself. Someone who knew that words were useless - that there would never be enough in the world or depth enough to them to express what the loss of Ukitake Jyuushiro would mean, either to him personally or to the Gotei 13.
It was difficult to recall anything of his past - the part that mattered to him - without also remembering Ukitake’s. On the face of it, they were polar opposites, and yet their lives had become entwined so closely that each existed almost as an extension of the other. Even imagining his life without Ukitake as a part of it - without the awareness of his reiatsu settling into place to balance Kyouraku’s own; without the knowledge that Sougyou no Kotowari would be there to watch his back in a fight; without the one person in Seireitei who had seen him at his absolute worst, more than once, and never judged him for it... It was as impossible as imagining life without breathing.
“Yama-jii will have to be told ...and his family, And Kuchiki.”
Ukitake had told him once, centuries ago, that he was going to die. But somehow, Kyouraku had never believed it - never really accepted it, or tried to. He had fought against his friend’s illness even when Ukitake was too weak to do it himself; had cursed and raged and drunk himself into a blind stupor at the injustice of it - at his own inability to make things right, or to take Ukitake’s place. And even now there was a part of him that rejected it, even despite the reality of the past three months, Even after watching his friend’s health deteriorate relentlessly until he was barely conscious under the weight of the kidou and of the drugs that held back the pain and damped down the fever.
He had spent longer and longer at Fourth, reluctant to be absent when Ukitake had rare moments of wakefulness, even if when he did, there was often no recognition in his eyes. There was simply nothing else he could do, even if he wanted to.
“Ise-fukutaichou can manage things here.”
--
Retsu nodded in agreement. “I can tell Yamamoto-sensei or Kuchiki-fukutaichou, if you wish.” There were quite a few things that would have to be done--both professionally and personally. Ukitake was not only one of the oldest captains, but also one of the most beloved--the adoptive uncle of half of Seireitei.
“I can give him...perhaps a day of lucidity, so he can make arrangements.” It wouldn’t be easy on him, and it’d likely shorten his life a bit--but at this point, not enough to make much of a difference. She’d ask him if she could, but Retsu was already sure that Ukitake would rather say good-bye.
--
"No".
It was harsher than he intended and he finally lifted his head, meeting Unohana's eyes briefly before looking away, his voice softer this time.
"No. He will expect to hear it from me".
It was a lie, and Kyouraku knew it. Yamamoto knew his weaknesses as well as he knew them himself - probably better, even. But it was not something he cared to explain to Unohana - that he still wasn't sure what, exactly, had sparked Yamamoto's interest in a sick kid and a spoiled brat, all those centuries ago - though Kyouraku was almost certain it was entirely down to the Old Man that he had found himself sharing a room with Ukitake Jyuushiro in the first place. But they had and he did, and now Ukitake would tell him this was his duty - tell him with that look of doubtful surprise on his face which always greeted such questions from Kyouraku - as if he hoped it was a joke, and that Kyouraku knew the answer already... which he always did, even if he avoided it.
Jyuushiro had always stood firm, even in the face of the worst news - even after Shiba Kaien and despite what had been said in the privacy of his quarters and in the depths of sickness and despair, he had insisted on staying with his Division at the risk of his own health. Running away, on the other hand - that was what Kyouraku did best. He had done it when the sentence on Lisa and Hirako and the other captains had been handed down, a hundred years ago. Before that and since, when he'd lost members of his Division, comrades, friends - good men and women - to hollow attacks. It had always been Ukitake who had brought him back, sobered him up and made him face his duty as a shinigami and later as a Captain, even if it took a fight or some unpleasant home truths to do it.
Somehow, whatever it was Yamamoto had seen that Kyouraku had not, he had been right on one count - there were things that Kyouraku Shunsui had learned from Ukitake Jyuushiro - things that he would never have learned alone, or from anyone else. And even if he had not, Kyouraku knew that for the friendship alone, he owed Yamamoto a debt that went far beyond that of a student to his sensei.
"Kuchiki-fukutaichou...." Kyouraku remembered seeing her amid the chaos that had seized Thirteenth, the day after Shiba Kaien died. She had returned to her division still covered in his blood, her face an emotionless mask. To Kyouraku, it seemed as though something had died inside of her - as though a light had gone out that could never be replaced. It had only been a glimpse - less than a moment - before she was gone, swept away by a grim-faced Kuchiki Byakuya, whose anger and contempt for the entire division were no less tangible for the utter stillness of his features. But even so, Kyouraku remembered it, and the thought of seeing that look on her face again, or of being the cause of it, even as a duty to Ukitake... he shook his head, avoiding Unohana's gaze.
"I think it would be better if she heard it from you. I'll go to Uguendo - his brother will need time to gather the family - if such a feat is even possible".
There was a ghost of attempted humour there, though it didn't show on his face. He knew that Ukitake's family - as far-flung and numerous as it was - would bear the news better than many - that arrangements had been put in place years ago, at Ukitake's insistence and despite Kyouraku's avoidance of the subject and blank refusal to participate in any discussions of estates and wills with his friend. But it still did not make the prospect of being the harbinger of it - to people who had welcomed him into their home as if he were their own relation, or that he had watched grow from children into adults - any easier to contemplate. And as to the rest...
"Only a day, Retsu?"
--
“I don’t think it’s possible or safe to do much more, Kyouraku-san; as it is, it will be necessary to use some quite dangerous steroids and stimulants, as well as bolstering his reiatsu continuously and heavily with one or both of our own.” Normally, she would be the one to do it, but as close as they were, she suspected Kyouraku might prefer to do the service--especially because it would allow them more privacy, and because it would allow him to do something for Ukitake.
“I will pay Kuchiki-fukutaichou a visit as soon as possible then,” she agreed. She worried about Rukia; the young woman had grown into herself a great deal in the years since the ryoka invasion, but she was still a bit too apt to keep everything to herself. However, she at least had several close friends Retsu believed would help her through her grief. She was much more worried about Kyouraku. He was close to Ukitake in ways that neither she nor anyone else would ever be able to understand; there were few others to whom he showed his true self. Without Ukitake...she worried what would happen to him.
--
"I see."
His hand returned to the rapidly cooling cup of tea, fingers turning it restlessly as he thought that over.
One day. It seemed like no time at all, after almost two thousand years. Not enough time for Kyouraku to say all the things he had never said in two thousand years of friendship, but had always meant to. Not enough for either of them to do the things they had always talked of but never done. Barely enough even, for Ukitake to see everyone that Kyouraku knew he would want to see, while he was still able to recognise them. And Kyouraku knew what Unohana was not saying - that if doing more for Ukitake was dangerous, then even giving him a day would likely shorten what was left of his life.
It was a painful choice, and the selfish part of Kyouraku - the part that he had never been proud of - wanted to say no. Wanted to keep Ukitake alive and with him for as long as he possibly could. And that same part flared with a jealousy that Kyouraku had never felt before - an irrational anger at the idea of giving up any part of the time he had left with his friend to others - of cutting his time short so that people who had never and would never know Ukitake as well as he had could say goodbye.
And Gods that word terrified him, almost as much as the thought of waking up and knowing that Ukitake was gone; of not feeling his reiatsu, faint but present, for the first time in as long as he wanted to remember; of never again being able to share a joke over a bowl of sake or a spar on a sunny day; of forgetting how he smelled or what it felt like to run his fingers though his hair as he slept.
But Ukitake had never been content with merely existing, and in his heart of hearts, Kyouraku knew what choice his friend would make - he was too proud and cared too much to want to slip away without a word, even if it cost him days, or even weeks of his life. And if Jyuushiro could not speak for himself, then he would trust Kyouraku to do it for him, just as he always had.
For a long moment he was silent, then he pushed himself to his feet, meeting Unohana's eyes with a resolve he did not feel.
"We both know what he'd choose, Retsu."
His captain's haori hung neatly on a hook by the door, and he put it on without another word. Next to it was the pink kimono that Ukitake had bought him - the latest in a long line that had originally begun as a joke but had become as much a part of him as Jyuushiro himself. Today, though he ran his fingers over the silk, he did not take it down, and nor did he pick up the hat that leaned against the wall next to Katen Kyokotsu.
--
She nodded. “Yes...I believe we do.” It was almost painful to watch Kyouraku donning his captain’s haori, and then pausing at, but not putting on his pink kimono--knowing its history and what it represented to him. She stood as well, understanding that despite her worries, Kyouraku was a very private person, and he would need to come to terms with the painful news in his own way.
“I will be taking my leave then,” she said. “I am sorry the news couldn’t be any better.” She bowed, slipped on her shoes, and departed into the windy winter day.