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Byakuya hadn’t intended to eavesdrop.
In all honestly, as they were so rarely occupied these days, he’d failed to remember that the VIP guest suites were one storey directly below his study. When he slid the shoji screen doors open to the fresh air, Byakuya expected the sounds of the rocky waterfall of the courtyard’s water garden. Instead, he was greeted by a shrill announcement from the candidate’s mother that while he might be the Kuchiki clan head, he was clearly unsuitable for her daughter having been previously married to an Inuzuri bitch and a whore.
Having endured such insults a thousand times before, Byakuya hardly needed to hear them again. He considered simply shutting the door and making a tactical withdrawal to the Division for the day. But, his hand paused mid-slide, when, directly below him, Aunt Masama snapped back, “Lady Hisana might be dead, but that doesn’t give you the right to slander a Kuchiki.”
What was this? Lady Hisana? Had Aunt Masama really just called Hisana not only a lady, but a Kuchiki?
Was she defending Hisana’s honor?
Byakuya could hardly believe it. In fact, he nearly risked exposing himself by stepping out onto the porch and craning over the balcony to make absolutely certain that it had been Aunt Masama who’d spoken those words.
But, a moment later, she made her identity crystal clear. A loud dramatic sigh was followed by, “But, you see! This is why the contract is so important for you to keep! Your daughter could remind dear Byakuya of the love of a true lady!”
Byakuya listened at the door awhile longer, but things quickly turned to a more mundane debate about whether or not Masama had properly informed the candidate’s family about Byakuya’s wife’s low birth and whether or not his loose and wanton association with thespians would be good for the young lady in question.
When it became clear that the debate would continue for some time, he rang Aio and asked her to fetch tea and several older personnel reports from the Division. Once the files arrived, Byakuya settled in to listen with half an ear to the argument downstairs, as he pursued the jacket of one Miisho Ōta, Third Seat, for clues about the man’s temperament.
What he discovered instead was the profound difference between his two lieutenants. Byakuya had forgotten the rather florid style in which Ginjirō Shirogane used to write his reports and that he often embellished them with cartoon drawings or random illustrations. It was a deep relief to finally read Renji’s straight-forward, sparse remarks. Unfortunately, Renji had far less to say about Miisho, as they overlapped so slightly, and Renji appeared to find him competent and trustworthy. The only time Renji waxed at all eloquent was after a practice bout with Hōmushi, Miisho’s zanpakutō. Byakuya was reading that description for the second time when there was a slight knock on the door.
Thinking it was the servant returning with tea, Byakuya didn’t even look up from the document as he said, “Enter.”
A long moment of silence stretched and no tea appeared at his elbow. The latter in particular caused Byakuya look up—straight into the eyes of a young maiden.
She was, without question, beautiful. Slight and slim, she wore a burnished gold kimono with many layers ranging from orange to red that hid much of her body, but not so completely that Byakuya couldn’t detect feminine curves. Her hair was the color of ripe persimmons and tied in an elaborate style with pins and jewels of deep amber. Even though the effect was captivating, like the girl’s hair were a glittering fire, there was something… unnatural about it, as though it didn’t quite match her skin tone or deep, black eyebrows and large dark eyes.
“She’s made you dye your hair,” Byakuya said, realizing. “Please tell me you’re not tattooed, dear lady.”
“But I am, my lord, and all for your pleasure,” she said with a sort of wryness Byakuya wouldn’t have expected given Aunt Masama’s preferences. Letting herself in, she knelt in front of his desk. She touched her hair lightly. Her fingers sprung back quickly from it as though it were a foreign thing. “Is because of your wife, the one you lost so tragically? Am I made to look like her?”
He hardly needed reminding of Hisana with Rukia around. “No, the one you’re meant to resemble is a lover—one still living, one still dear to me, and one I’d hoped to direct my aunt toward in a roundabout way.”
“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “The secret lover everyone is up in arms about. You should have just named her. Your cowardice has caused a lot of grief.”
Cowardice? This one was certainly bold! Still, he had to admire her spunk, and, truthfully, her argument was valid up to a point. “Even if I had suggested Renji overtly, it would have made no difference to my aunt. She would simply have told me that I should marry you and keep my lowborn lover.”
“And why is this not an acceptable arrangement for you, my lord?”
Byakuya set the papers down on his desk. He’d been asked this very question countless times, fifty years ago, when he refused his betrothed in favor of Hisana. His answer frustrated everyone, but it was still the same. “I prefer to marry for love.”
“That’s silly,” she said plainly. “Are you a child as well as a coward?”
Sitting back, Byakuya looked at the young lady for a long moment before saying, “I can see why my aunt approves of you.”
She nodded her head, as though she took it as a compliment. “I need out of my parent’s house. You need a wife and an heir to satisfy your clan. This is a simple arrangement. Love doesn’t need to factor into this at all, Lord Kuchiki.”
“Indeed,” Byakuya said dryly, “And, I suppose we’ll make an heir by wishing for one?”
She snorted a surprisingly hearty laugh for such a delicate-looking lady, “Perhaps. But, if you need your lover so desperately to perform in the bedroom, my lord, we shall simply have to find a way to include her.”
“Would you feel the same if our third party were a man?” He asked, hoping to shock her.
“Certainly,” she said without hesitation.
Aio chose that moment to knock and announce that tea had arrived. Byakuya beckoned her in, his attention still on the candidate. She was a bit of a surprise, though he’d seen her attitudes toward the marriage bed reflected by many other nobles. Byakuya knew he was the odd one, wishing for love.
“Shall I bring a second bowl, my lord?” Aio asked, shyly glancing at the lady.
“That’s not necessary,” he told her. “The candidate will be leaving shortly.”
The young lady looked a bit taken aback at his rudeness. She fluttered a little for the first time. “I thought perhaps you and I were coming to an understanding, Lord Kuchiki.”
“You thought wrong,” he said coolly.
A few months ago, Byakuya would probably have accepted an arrangement like this. It was, after all, a perfect answer to the problem, but the solution, once again, presupposed only fucking. If Renji were nothing more than a lover, making room for him in a marriage might satisfy all parties. But, Renji was more than that now—much, much more. Only a fool couldn’t see how a wedding would hurt him, how shut out he’d feel, how replaced.
Byakuya returned to his papers. “The door is there, lady. Find your way out.”
The candidate didn’t move. Instead, her lips drew together in a thin line. She seemed to wait a moment, as though wishing to make certain Aio was long gone. “Is there something else I might offer to make you change your mind, my lord?”
It was a simple enough question, Byakuya supposed, but something about her manner made Byakuya suddenly wonder why a woman of her stature and nobility would agree to dye her hair and, even more curious, be marked forever by a tattoo. “You’re awfully keen to marry. Why have you come before me without a chaperone, my lady?”
A blush colored her cheeks that clashed with her dyed hair. “I… also have a lover I wish to keep.”
“So keep him or her, but find yourself a husband elsewhere,” Byakuya said. Checking on the tea, it appeared to be ready. He poured himself a cup. “Surely one as accommodating as you can easily find another suitor.”
“My time is… limited.”
Byakuya looked up at that, “Oh? In what way?”
“I’ll… uh, that is--if we marry immediately, I can guarantee an heir…” her voice dropped to a whisper, “… in seven months.”
Byakuya stared at her a long time. He set down his tea bowl. She was already pregnant? He supposed he should be sympathetic to her plight, but, instead, her admission gave him the resolve to stand up and say, “You can guarantee nothing of the sort. An heir? Hardly, my lady. You’re nothing more than a cowbird, attempting to lay her egg in another’s nest. No, you’re worse than that, you’re a thief, contriving to steal the Kuchiki name, our fortune, and seize our noble bloodline for another man’s bastard. Get out.”
She stayed on her knees, her forehead pressing to the floor in supplication, “But, my lord, please! No one will take me in another month; I’ll show too much! If I have no husband, my family will disown me. My baby will be born penniless and on the streets!”
“Three of the greatest people I have ever known came to this world with less,” Byakuya said quietly, but sincerely. “Perhaps your child will be better for it.”
“But… but… I can’t live like that!” she sobbed.
Byakuya turned his back to the young lady. “That’s hardly my concern. Break the contract and leave now and I won’t expose your attempted fraud to my lady aunt or the rest of the noble houses. Perhaps, if you act quickly, you can steal another clan’s heritage.”
He waited, his back turned, until the sobbing subsided and he heard the sound of her footsteps scurrying off.
#
After that unpleasant business, Byakuya decided to return the files to the Division himself. Besides, it was getting late. He should check in before the entire day slipped away from him.
Byakuya barely made it downstairs before Aunt Massey came rushing up. He considered ducking into an alcove to hide from her, but she’d spotted him. Byakuya paused at the bottom of the stairs and steeled himself. Perhaps it was just as well he’d run into her; he’d had some thoughts about the young lady’s predicament.
“What did you say to that poor girl? She’s in tears!”
Masama wore a deep forest green kimono with a subtle pattern of bamboo shoots in silver throughout. She wore only five layers, all of green or silver. The colors set off her snow white hair, which she’d left loose and flowing, reminding Byakuya, somewhat uncomfortably, of Ukitake’s. Fiery Auntie Massey shouldn’t look quite so much like someone with a polar opposite temperament.
“Your matchmaking skills failed,” Byakuya said simply, intending to keep his promise to the girl. “Our personalities clashed.”
“You should be pleased with yourself. Despite all my hard work, the contract is broken.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Byakuya remarked. “I do hope she didn’t agree to a permanent tattoo.”
“Of course not! It’s henna! How would she ever find another husband with a tattoo like some lowlife trash?” Masama snarled. She scowled up at him, her gray eyes a storm. “And to think all this time I was dressing her up to look like that… beast.”
Ah, it had finally occurred to her which tattooed redhead he’d been referring to with his promise.
“Indeed,” he inclined his head in acknowledgement and offered her his arm. Maybe it was the hair, so much like kind and gentle Ukitake, but, whatever the reason, Byakuya found himself able to brush aside her spit and fire easily. “Would you consider accompanying me to the Division? I have some papers in need of returning and I have several things I would discuss with you, if you would allow. One, in fact, that might solve your immediate problem of the candidate.”
She slipped her arm under his cautiously. “Oh?”
Byakuya led them out the door. The sun was beginning to set as they strolled along the garden path in the direction of the Division’s back gate. Large spikes of blue bellflowers bobbed in the breeze. “Our young prospect seemed awfully accommodating and in great need of a husband. I have an old friend from the country, perhaps you remember him? Isoroku? His family is minor but well-connected. Perhaps he would make a suitable match.”
Auntie Massey’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What’s wrong with him?”
How to tell her? Isoroku was the ex Byakuya had considered for the threesome with Renji. Isoroku was a confirmed ukemi. Byakuya cleared his throat, “I would say that Isoroku’s very narrowly focused interests have kept him from pursuing women.”
In truth, Isoroku had zero interest in women at all--even if he could find one to top him, Isoroku wouldn’t go for it. But, like Byakuya, he had a duty to his family to produce an heir at some point. Perhaps Isoroku’s problem and the young lady’s could be solved together.
“Narrow pursuits?” Aunt Masama puzzled, “Are you saying he’s some kind of monkish scholar?”
“He’s a playwright. That’s how we met,” Byakuya said as though that explained anything.
“Oh! That horrible theatre obsession of yours! You’re not serious about endowing one, are you, darling boy?”
They passed a garden of white boneset and yellow valerian, planted in large swaths to evoke a wild mountain meadow. “I continue to consider it, but I’ve been out of the scene for over fifty years now. I would have to do much more research before committing to anything.”
“Thank fate,” she muttered. She glanced up at Byakuya again, thoughtfully, “So… you truly think that the young lady would be a good match for your friend?”
“Absolutely,” Byakuya said. “I’ve been meaning to write to him of another matter, and it would be no trouble to add a letter of introduction for her.”
“You would do that?”
Byakuya could tell Aunt Masama was deeply suspicious of his offer from all angles. “Yes, I would. As it happens, I was quite charmed by her when we spoke privately. While I believe I’d make an unsuitable husband, Isoroku no doubt would find her brisk and frank manner refreshing. He’s similarly eccentric, honestly.”
More importantly, Isoroku would adore having a child he didn’t have to sire. Though the lady might still get away with a kind of theft, Isoroku’s holdings weren’t so vast that it would be as big a crime in Byakuya’s mind.
Aunt Masama frowned. “I daresay it was those rougher qualities that made me think you might agree to her. You seem to prefer… nontraditional partners.”
“I do. However, I’m not in the market for a wife, as I’ve told you a thousand times.”
“But, an heir, Byakuya! Surely, you understand the need the clan has for an heir!”
“Indeed, which brings us to my next proposal….”
#
Talking and walking slowly as they were, it took nearly twenty minutes to reach the edge of the estate and the Division’s back gate. It had grown dark by the time they were approaching the guard, but Aunt Masama seemed convinced of Byakuya’s plan.
“You would entertain my candidates for heir seriously?” she asked again.
“You know how much I dislike repeating myself,” he said, but he smiled at her, probably for the first time in decades with genuine affection. “But, yes. Yes, my intentions to find a suitable cousin to elevate to the status of heir apparent are very, very sincere.”
Masama watched him as they waited a moment for the guard to release the kidō lock on the back gate. Finally, they swung the doors wide for them. When they stepped through, she said, “You’ve changed, Byakuya.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “You’re still inflexible and difficult in many regards, but you seem more… open to compromise. It’s unsettling, honestly. But, perhaps it’s a sign of maturation.”
Byakuya gave her a little grimace. “Indeed. I shall have to hope that someday I’ll have aged enough in your estimation to no longer have to suffer childish nicknames.”
She looked as though she was considering pinching his cheeks. “Ah, you’ll always be my Bya-chan!”
Of course, that was the very moment the Fourth Seat approached. She quickly suppressed a smile. Tall and thin, she had a skin tone much like Yoruichi’s. Two long braids fell on either side of a heart-shaped face. Byakuya was surprised to note that in sealed form her zanpakutō, was a wakizashi. He failed to remember her name, but instantly recalled she was the one with the crush on Renji.
“I’m sorry to disturb, sir,” she said with a slight bow. “But, I thought you should know. We’ve received a report that the Gentei Kaijo has been activated. The limiters have been lifted.”
Byakuya’s heart jumped. Renji! Rukia! “Already? Are there preliminary reports?”
“Nothing much so far, Taicho. The Twelfth is monitoring, but our forces have only just begun to engage the enemy.”
“See that my lady aunt is escorted back to the estate,” he told the Fourth Seat, all but pressing the personnel folders into her hands. “I will be at the Twelfth until further notice.”
#
Byakuya didn’t expect to be standing outside the gates of the Twelfth Division in the middle of the night with an equally anxious Kenpachi Zaraki.
Zaraki jammed his huge, meaty finger into the call button again. He put his face up to the speaker/video phone and shouted, “Oi, I thought someone was coming! Get out here!” To Byakuya, Zaraki grumbled, “Why don’t they have guards like normal people?”
Byakuya shook his head in baffled agreement, though perhaps the answer was obvious: guards would’ve been bullied and pushed through a long time ago given the state of both of them. “They did say they were on their way. I suspect we’re fortunate Kurotsuchi has decided to let us in at all. Give them a moment. Who knows what depths they must crawl out of in order to reach the door?”
“Fuck the creepy fuckers, they can flashstep, can’t they?” Zaraki snarled. He raised his fists and pounded on the door. “You hear me?! Open up or I’ll break the door down!”
Byakuya decided he’d be delighted to watch Zaraki try. It would not be as easy as a first impression might lead one to believe. During their short conversation, Byakuya had seen several strange mechanical devices peek out over the wall and observe them only to zip away guiltily the moment he caught them at it. No doubt the unguarded gate was anything but.
Zaraki let out a sigh, and leaned his massive frame against the wall. Crossing his arms in front of his wide chest, he glared at the still closed and locked gate. His face was turned, leaving Byakuya to stare at the eye patch in the strange, flickering electric light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Like Byakuya, Zaraki was dressed in his uniform, but they couldn’t look more dissimilar. Zaraki’s ragged haori was as mud-spattered and bedraggled as ever. He seemed to have several new injuries, their bandages visible through the deeply opened kosode. The naked zanpakutō at his side howled plaintively, nearly blocking out Senbonzakura’s constant song.
Tipping his head back, making the bells jingle, Zaraki leveled his gaze at Byakuya and, in a surprisingly tired and raw voice said, “Ah, shit. This is doing my head in. Two of my strongest guys. What the fuck? It’s their first day on the job. How can they need to lift those limiting things already? What the hell, and you know these guys they’re fighting can’t even be Aizen’s biggest bads. That sneaky fuck is keeping his best cards under the table or up his goddamn sleeve. So, fuck! What the fuck is going on? I wish they’d fucking open this goddamn door so we can find the fuck out.”
For once, Byakuya had to agree.
The door creaked open and the strange green… person—Hiyosu, was it?—stuck out his bulbous head. Were those gills under his chin? Hiyosu gawped at them with lidless eyes and a wide, toad-like mouth.
Zaraki’s fist shot out and grabbed the door’s edge, as though to make certain it couldn’t be closed on them.
“Took your time, you mutant creep,” Zaraki snarled. He yanked the door open wider, ripping it from Hiyosu’s grip, and then stepped through as though invited.
Byakuya followed, and together, side-by-side, they strode purposefully into the main courtyard of the Twelfth. The yard was also illuminated by some sort of electric floodlight, bathing everything in a pale, silvery, flickering glow. It deeply bothered Byakuya how hard packed the ground was beneath his sandals—it had that well-trodden feel of the Eleventh’s training ground—but one rarely imagined this scientist corps practicing their fighting skills. The thought gave Byakuya pause, despite the fact that this lab-coated frog-creature exuded the kind of reiatsu that could make him a formidable kidō practitioner.
Hiyosu scurried up in front of them, “Right this way, gentlemen,” he said. “Sorry for the delay, but we needed to set up a viewing room for you.”
“Hide the bodies more like,” Zaraki muttered. “You telling me they’re still fighting? It isn’t over yet?”
“Oh, it’s over,” Hiyosu explained cheerfully with a gigantic grin filled with far too many teeth to seem quite human. Then, he rubbed his hands together as though delighted, “But, since we heard you were both coming, I made a highlight video for you.”
Zaraki leaned in to Byakuya, “I said we should’ve gone over the wall.” Then, to Hiyosu added, louder, “Your video better fucking highlight my guys winning or I’m going highlight your face.”
Hiyosu seemed unimpressed, and he beckoned them to follow him. “I overlaid some dramatic music and tried to splice in the dialogue where we could catch it, though I had to make some guesses where we couldn’t. I think you’ll enjoy it. There’s comfy seats and popcorn.”
As if Byakuya would ingest anything handed to him in the Twelfth!
“I’m not amused by this,” Byakuya snapped, but followed Hiyosu regardless. It seemed that if they wanted information, they had little choice but to continue this farce. “Are you even a seated officer? Where is your lieutenant, your captain? A simple report would suffice. Are there casualties, yes or no?”
“No spoilers!” Hiyosu turned just enough to wag a finger at Byakuya.
Zaraki grunted. “This is fucked up.”
For the second time, Byakuya found himself in complete agreement with Kenpachi Zaraki.
#
The room had been made to look like a movie theater from the Human World. There were velvet covered seats and a large, flat screen in the wall. The smell of freshly popped popcorn permeated the place and made Byakuya want to throw up. A large contingent of lab coated people of every color and shape and… species filled the seats, while he and Zaraki chose to stand in the back near the door. Zaraki leaned in to Byakuya’s ear when the lights went down and said, “If this is a fucking snuff film I’m going to murder all these people. You with me?”
Byakuya nodded, “I am.”
It was, in point of fact, insanely difficult to watch. Byakuya had to turn away when Rukia was badly injured by that blue-haired partly masked…monster. What was its name? Grimmjow, he would remember that. If Ichigo Kurosaki failed to kill that bastard, Byakuya vowed to do it himself.
Beside him, Zaraki took in a harsh breath that turned into a growl, when the screen went blank and the only sound was Fifth Seat Yumichika Ayasegawa’s call for funeral arrangements to be made for Third Seat Ikkaku Madarame.
Though, after those horrifyingly tense moments, the thing that made Byakuya the angriest was the silly dialogue they pasted in between Renji and his opponent. They made Renji look like a complete buffoon. Byakuya had to actively resist smacking Zaraki when he heard him chuckling along. Seeing Byakuya’s glare, Zaraki shrugged, “Fart jokes always work for me, okay? Besides, c’mon, Renji would totally say something that.”
“He would not,” Byakuya insisted. Anyone could see how hard Renji was laboring during the fight; he didn’t look to be in a joking mood. Byakuya tried to tune out the stupid, imagined banter and concentrate on this glimpse of Renji—so fierce and wild in bankai. The electric lights of the Human World made Renji’s hair a deeper, more intense blood red.
The candidate’s dye job was a pale imitation.
No one could compare. Renji was… peerless.
At last, the whole horrible thing was over, and… credits rolled. The theatre erupted in applause, despite the obvious and crushing sense of defeat, and someone in a lab coat came to the front of the room and began organizing ‘study groups’ of people who would go over the footage in detail for hints of weaknesses the enemy might have. At least in this one way, the Twelfth seemed to be doing its job.
Zaraki was shaking his head as the lights came back up. “I should still kill them all,” he muttered. “Fuck, I need a drink. You coming, Kuchiki?”
“I think not,” Byakuya said. The last thing he needed was for Zaraki to see how badly this whole thing had shaken him.
“Suit yourself,” Zaraki said. He turned away, as though to head out the door, but paused. “Look, uh… I’m sure your sister is going to be okay. She’s tougher than she looks.”
“She is,” Byakuya agreed. Besides, the Twelfth had been kind enough to show footage of Rukia being given healing treatment. She was in good hands. Byakuya gestured that Zaraki should head out, and he would follow. “You were surprised to discover your Third Seat has bankai?”
“Nah,” Zaraki laughed. “He just don’t want anyone else to know, ‘cuz he doesn’t want to have to promote. Heh, I remember the day it happened. Our boy Abarai came back from their usual practice session looking completely squashed…and with the biggest shit-eating grin. He keeps secrets for crap.”
Zaraki smirked evilly at Byakuya then, reminding Byakuya about the other secret Renji had spilled.
“Hey, yeah,” Zaraki said as they headed for the door, “How is that going? Must suck to have to watch lover-boy get pounded, huh?”
“He was not pounded,” Byakuya sniffed. “Renji came out better than many.”
“Only ‘cuz some little girl helped him.”
Byakuya had no intention of getting into a pissing match, but there was something about Zaraki that always provoked him. “At least he entered the fight. What of your Fifth Seat? Ayasegawa seemed content in the role of spectator.”
Zaraki thought about that for a moment. Then an evil smile spread across his face, and he shrugged, “Some people just like to watch, don’t they, Kuchiki?”
What was that supposed to mean? Did Zaraki think he knew something about Byakuya’s preferences? To think he’d been actually warming to Zaraki. Byakuya shook his head and strode forward so as not to have to engage anymore.
When bellowing laughed echoed behind him, Byakuya thought maybe he did need a drink, after all.