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The hollow unleashed a last banshee-like wail, its body already disintegrating, as Ichigo wiped its blood off on his hakama. Sheathing his ridiculously large Zanpaktou, he allowed himself a small, victorious smirk. Fourteen seconds. He really was getting good at this hollow slaying business. He was not the gloating type normally, but with an annoying instructor like Rukia with her loud, endless rants about his horrible battle strategies, or his horrible battle posture, or his horrible battle swordplay or some such nonsense, he deserved to celebrate a little.
It had been only over a month since he had agreed to be a substitute for her, but it felt like years. Rukia was a slave driver; it was like all she ever thought about were hollows. And when she wasn't screeching away incessantly about techniques or strategy, she was busy pretending to be the overly perfect schoolgirl. Or worse-
"What's that?"
-asking him that annoying question. He was sick and tired of answering her questions about the simplest things. Did these Shinigami live in boxes? Did they ever do anything but hollow slaying? Or was she the only insane one? Suppressing a sigh, he turned to look where she was pointing. They were in some damp alleyway in the worst part of town, and all there was around was a ton of graffiti on the dank walls and heaps of garbage everywhere. He saw nothing particularly interesting, and was about to voice that thought when she darted forward, and grabbed a small object on top of a heap of trash. "Stop touching all that" he grumbled, walking up to her to examine what she had unearthed more carefully.
It was a kitten.
More precisely it was a dying kitten. Ichigo winced audibly as he took in the horrible sight. Barely a few weeks old, there was drying blood all over it; so much he couldn't even guess what colour it was. Dull, greenish eyes peeked out from the soggy fur, and it was mewling slowly, pathetically. Ichigo felt his heart lurch. "It is so badly injured…" Rukia said quietly, placing a hand over the mangled fur. They had to act fast. "No time for that now," he said, getting into his body at record speed and grabbing her hand. "You can't heal that fast or that well now that you've lost your powers, can you? We need to find a vet." She hesitated for a second, and then nodded. "Let's go."
---
They ran all the way to the main street, stopped half a dozen people on the way for directions and twenty-five minutes later; panted to a stop near a small clinic. By that time the little kitten was already ominously still. His heart thumping, Ichigo grabbed the tiny form out of her arms and barged in. Ignoring the exclamations of the people around, he pushed his way into the office without apology. "It's injured, badly injured. Do something." he said, placing the kitten on the astonished vet's desk. "Please." added a small voice, and he glanced briefly at the girl next to him, her eyes steady, apparently unmindful of the blood mixed with garbage on her dress.
After a brief pause at their sudden entrance, the old man motioned them away with alacrity "Yes, yes, but please wait outside. I'll do my best." He loudly called for a nurse who pushed them outside with a blank "Wait outside, please."
Ichigo was used to death, he had seen so many accidents and illnesses in his fifteen years. He was normally detached in emergencies that did not involve his family and friends, but somehow he couldn't stop fretting. Just a little. And through it all he gazed at Rukia's expressionless face, and secretly marvelled at her coolness. Nothing fazed her. It was downright disturbing.
It was a long wait.
---
"Please come inside now" the equally expressionless nurse motioned and he all but ran into the office. "I'm sorry," the old man said, gesturing to the little figure they had brought. It was wrapped up in a small blue blanket. Ichigo's heart sank. "We tried everything, but she was already near-death when you brought her here. Any sooner and maybe…" he trailed off, and Ichigo walked unseeingly towards the bundle. "Was she in a fight? What happened to her?" the vet asked. "We don't know…" he whispered, "We just found her on the street."
"Ahhh… well then…" the man stammered, "she was obviously a stray. Must have been attacked by an adult cat. These things happen often you know, it's a tough world out there for these little fellows… She was just unlucky," the vet continued "poor little thing." Ichigo didn't answer. The man gave him a sympathetic smile "Don't feel so bad. Both of you did your best; most people wouldn't have even cared. But there was nothing anyone could do."
---
They buried the kitten in a corner of the park, along with the blanket. Or rather, he buried it. Rukia just stood a little away from him, not moving a muscle and watching him silently. And for once, he did not feel like complaining. By the time he was done smoothing the ground and marking the grave with a stone, the sun was setting. Disregarding the 'DO NOT PICK' sign, he stole a few flowers and knelt to lay them carefully on the small mound. After a minute, he straightened up slowly and turned around to give a few flowers to Rukia. There was an odd expression on her face when she took them; it was almost too stoic, too wooden. Mechanically, she closed her fist over the flowers and knelt by the grave, but did not lay them.
He watched the light summer breeze play with the ends of her hair as she twisted the flowers around absently. The late evening's light made her pale cheeks glow, and threw her blue eyes into shadow. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. Several minutes later, she dropped the crushed flowers on the ground, and breathed quietly "Just unlucky" He gave a little start at the quiver in her voice. It was the first time she had sounded so low.
Why though? She was a Shinigami, and must have seen so much tragedy. Why did this death touch her so deeply?
"Yes" he answered, trying to get a fuller look of her face without moving from the spot. She lowered her head further, and her black hair fell over her eyes. Her little shoulders shook. "A stray… right?" she whispered, and he saw the tears roll down the curve of her cheek and drop quietly on the crushed flowers.
He had never thought that she could cry.
There was nothing to be done. He was tired, his hands were muddy, and his shirt had bloodstains on it. "Let's go home, Rukia" he said, and led her away, his eyes on the summer sunset. He did not- no, he could not meet her eyes. She followed without protest.
But he would remember that day. The day she had ceased to be a mindless machine in his eyes. The day he discovered that in that artificial body of hers, there beat a human heart, with all its countless layers and emotions. The memory of those fragile shoulders shuddering to release her unspoken sorrow had lingered in his mind. Much later, that memory was another reason he needed to save her. He had never asked her for whom she had cried for, along with the kitten, on that beautiful summer evening, but he wanted to know someday. But for that, she needed to live.