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Hoping That Tomorrow Is, Was, and Will Ever Be	By : roguebitch Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female > Ichigo/Rukia Views: 8964 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no money from the posting of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Hoping That Tomorrow Is, Was, and Will Ever Be
- 1
Written for the deviantArt IchiRuki: Children Challenge
***

Toshiro Hitsugaya, Captain of 10th Company, looked up from his paperwork as a bellow cut through the otherwise peaceful summer day in the Seireitei. He frowned. “What is that unholy racket?” he asked his Vice-Captain.

Rangiku raised herself up on her elbows from the sofa, where she had been drowsing in the heat. “Fukutaichou Kuchiki has gone into labor, Captain.”

“Hm,” Hitsugaya grunted. That was one event he definitely didn’t want to get anywhere near, if the noise level was any indication.

**

Renji ran out of the infirmary, chased by a variety of thrown medical implements. His eyes were wide and terrified.

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?” came Rukia’s voice. A low murmuring followed, presumably Captain Unohana, trying to calm Rukia down.

The husband in question skidded around the corner of the infirmary at a dead run, then stopped outside the doors, hands braced on his knees, panting. He was clearly too flustered to remember shunpo to get there more quickly and less winded.

“You didn’t have to send a whole freakin’ flock of Hell Butterflies to attack me,” Ichigo accused Renji. “I was in the middle of teaching a class.”

“Oh yes, yes I did.” Renji replied, leaning against a pillar, arms folded. “I had to carry Rukia to the infirmary. I haven’t heard her swear like that since we were kids. And then she pelted me with bedpans because I wasn’t you. You can know my pain.”

“Where’s Byakuya? I thought he would at least be here,” Ichigo asked, looking around.

“He tried to insist that Rukia come back to the Kuchiki compound, for the sake of propriety, and she threatened to gut him with his own zanpakuto.”

“So he gracefully withdrew,” came Unohana’s peaceful tone from behind Ichigo, and he whirled to face her.

“Imagine, the great Captain Kuchiki driven to surrender by a tiny pregnant woman,” Renji snarked. Ichigo threw him an annoyed look.

“Captain Unohana! Is Rukia all right?” Ichigo asked, trying to undamage his calm.

“Everything is progressing normally and naturally,” she assured Ichigo. “But she has been asking for you.”

“That’s one way to put it,” muttered Renji. Ichigo glared at him. Then he put on his game face and followed Unohana into the infirmary.

Rukia was in a private room, sitting on a padded mat with her back against the wall and knees up. She was dressed in a loose shift nearly transparent with sweat, the fabric straining over her enormous belly. She was directing a death glare at Hanataro, who was timidly trying to get her to breathe.

“I KNOW how to BREATHE, Hanataro,” she said. He quailed at her ferocity. “What I WANT is Ichigo.”

“Isn’t that how you got that way in the first place?” Ichigo asked. Rukia’s head snapped around and Ichigo flinched at the rage she directed at him.

“Get over here,” she commanded, then grimaced in pain.

Ichigo took off his waraji and tabi, and then his kosode, so he was only in his hakama and a sleeveless juban. He walked onto the mat and knelt in front of Rukia. He took her hands and she squeezed them hard.

“What do you want me to do?” Ichigo’s voice was low and gentle. After three years of marriage, and many years of friendship before that, he knew enough about Rukia to ask instead of barging in and doing what he thought was the right thing. He also knew she would be too proud to show weakness or need in front of anyone but him, and that she would let him gently bully her into being honest about it.

“Hold me up,” Rukia replied. Ichigo slid behind Rukia so his back was against the wall and Rukia was between his knees. She rested against his chest, breathing heavily. Ichigo placed his hands on her belly, feeling it ripple as she had another contraction.

Rukia clamped her teeth together and groaned, pushing back against Ichigo, gripping his knees.

“Rukia, you’ll feel better if you yell,” Ichigo said.

“How would you know?” she snapped. “Have you ever given birth?”

“Well...no, but I helped my father in his clinic sometimes.”

“I don’t think that entitles you to an expert opinion,” Rukia panted. She bit back a whimper as she had another contraction.

“Do you guys need to be here right now?” Ichigo looked at Unohana and Hanataro.

“We can tend to our other patients until her contractions are closer together.” Unohana replied. “But you must call me when they are less than two minutes apart.”

“I will,” Ichigo promised. “Thanks, Captain Unohana, Hanataro.”

Hanataro gave Ichigo a relieved smile as they left. Then it was just Rukia and Ichigo and their impending new arrival.

“I am never letting you touch me again,” muttered Rukia.

“You’d miss me,” countered Ichigo, stroking Rukia’s sweaty hair off her forehead.

“Next time you carry the baby and have the labor,” Rukia said.

“According to you, there won’t be a next time. I mean, if I’m never touching you again,” Ichigo teased. “Or -- hey! -- are you cheating on me? It’s Kenpachi, right? You can’t resist the eyepatch.”

Rukia laughed breathlessly in spite of herself. “Baka,” she said fondly, punching one of his knees lightly.

“Made you laugh,” he replied in quiet triumph.

**

Rukia hadn’t enjoyed being pregnant very much. Her balance was thrown off by her increasing girth and eventually she couldn’t spar anymore. She was incrementally unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in at night. This came along with clumsiness and occasional forgetfulness. She couldn’t sit close enough to her desk to do her administrative paperwork. There was also the fact that she was heavily pregnant in the hottest part of the summer.

Further, she would get occasional attacks of intense embarrassment at the flagrant evidence of the physical side of her marriage to Ichigo.

“Now everyone will know that we’ve been having sex!” she hissed at Ichigo one night. Which was ironic, since it was she that had backed him up to the sofa, shredded off his clothes, and had her way with him not minutes before.

Ichigo didn’t bother to mention that, after 3 years of marriage, and the fairly raucous courtship that preceded it, their having sex was probably a foregone conclusion. Further, in a compound where at least 40% of the walls were made of wood and rice paper, their epic disagreements and equally epic bouts of make-up sex weren’t exactly secret.

If she let herself realize that, Ichigo knew, she’d really never let him touch her again.

Despite her annoyance at being compromised as a warrior and her modesty suffering, Rukia had a physically easy pregnancy. The morning sickness passed quickly. Ichigo had particularly enjoyed how lusty Rukia had become during the second trimester.

He was surprised at how happy he was at the prospect of becoming a father, and thought Rukia was more beautiful and incredible than ever as the little life grew inside her. When they slept, he would cradle Rukia’s body against his, supporting her belly with his hands. He was not very good with subtlety, but he learned to give Rukia help without being smothering. He was on board for the cravings, foot rubs, back rubs, and Rukia’s occasional moments of panic as she realized the enormity of what was happening to her -- to them.

In his memory he held images of his father and his tender treatment of Ichigo’s mother when she had been pregnant with Yuzu and Karin. His strength hadn’t been diminished at all by his affection for his wife. Although he wasn’t much of a role model in some respects, Ichigo took his father’s lessons and integrated them into his treatment of Rukia during this time.

***

Rukia bit back another grunt of pain, crumpling up the fabric of Ichigo’s hakama in her fists.

“Did you really threaten to disembowel Byakuya with his own zanpakuto?”

“Who told you that?”

“Renji.”

“I would never say something like that. I merely told him that if he didn’t leave me in peace where I was most comfortable, I would remove his manhood with his hair ornaments.”

Ichigo digested this in a stunned, admiring silence.

“I would never,” Rukia started panting again, “use someone else’s zanpakuto.”

“Ah, I see the distinction now.” Ichigo smiled.

Rukia planted her feet and pushed against Ichigo like she was trying to put him slowly through the wall.

“Ow, Rukia, you’re crushing my ribs.”

“Exactly what your offspring has been doing to me over the past few months.”

Ichigo grimaced. He could see Rukia’s face turn red from the strain and she still clamped her teeth down on a howl. He became alarmed at how the tendons in her neck stood out.

Then the moment passed and she collapsed limply against Ichigo.

“Maybe,” she said in a defeated voice, “maybe you could ask Captain Unohana to come in?”

“Do you want me to stay, too?”

“Don’t you even think of leaving.” Rukia tipped her head back to glare at him.

“Captain Unohana! Could you come in here, please?” Ichigo called out.

The door slid back and 4th Squad’s captain came in with a tray. Ichigo could only see a pile of cloths and a basin that steamed slightly on it.

Ichigo caught Rukia under her arms as she yelled and strained, nearly falling over.

“Wasn’t expecting that one...” she gasped.

Unohana quickly put the tray down and knelt next to Rukia on the mat. She rolled up the sleeves of her haori and put her hands on Rukia’s stomach.

“I think you’re very close now,” Unohana said. She looked at Ichigo. “You are going to have to help her, she needs to squat.”

“So undignified,” Rukia muttered.

“Oh, Rukia, there is no dignity in parenting. It’s best if you get used to it right now,” Unohana smiled gently.

Rukia swung her head around and skewered Ichigo with a look. “Never. Again.” Ichigo just got up on his knees, put his arms under her armpits, and let her hang off them. Rukia braced her feet on the floor, legs wide apart, and pressed herself against Ichigo, hollering at another contraction.

Unohana pushed Rukia’s shift up so she could see what she was doing. Ichigo loved his wife and everything about her, but he was in no way interested in being where Unohana was right now.

Rukia gripped Ichigo’s forearms so hard that he was losing feeling in both hands.

There were no breaks for Rukia now, she breathed in short little pants that verged on a whine, face scarlet. She didn’t seem worried about dignity anymore, groaning out loud for every contraction, which lasted longer and longer.

“Oh, I hate you, Ichigo Kurosaki,” she grumbled when she was able to say anything. He kissed the top of her head.

“Can you push very hard on your next contraction? I think the baby’s crowning.” Unohana said.

Rukia made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “But I’m so tired,” she said.

“Not much longer, and then we’ll have a whole new level of tired to experience,” Ichigo said.

Even Unohana gave Ichigo an outraged look.

“Is that your idea of encouragement?” Rukia gasped out.

Ichigo smiled. He knew Rukia very well by now.

Then she braced herself and let out a rolling kiai and pushed.

**

Outside, on the porch, Renji stared up at the moon, waiting. He heard Rukia yell, and then a thin mewling cry shortly afterwards. He closed his eyes and smiled. “Good job, Rukia,” he said proudly.

**

“What do you mean I’m not done?” Rukia shouted, then caught her breath.

Unohana calmly lay one crying swaddled bundle on the mat, and looked up at Rukia.

“I know you are fatigued, but you have to give me another push just like that last one.” she said. Rukia shook her head, then took a deep, shaky breath and did as she was told. She was only able to utter an exhausted whimper instead of anything louder.

“Very good!” Unohana busied herself with scissors and a soft cloth. Soon they heard a robust, angry squalling.

“There aren’t any more, are there?” Rukia asked.

“No, only the two.” Unohana handed one bundle to Rukia and the other to a completely flabbergasted Ichigo. His arms curved automatically to take it, memory providing instruction from when his sisters had been born. “You have a perfect daughter and a perfect son. Congratulations!”

Rukia gave Ichigo a look that would’ve been more of a glare if she hadn’t been so worn out. “Twins.” she said flatly. She made some more sounds of discomfort as Unohana cleaned her up, removing the afterbirth and umbilica.

“They run in the family?” Ichigo defended himself. He looked down at the red-faced creature in his arms. “Which one did I get, here?” he unwrapped the swaddling and was immediately hit in the face with a stream of pee. He jerked his head back and Rukia laughed weakly.

“Well, he is definitely your son, with your attitude to authority,” she said. Ichigo wiped his face off with a corner of the baby blanket and took a closer look at the boy. Ten fingers and toes, good, all accounted for, and a thatch of hair so dark it already had purple tones. “Hey, stop that,” Ichigo said to the crying baby, rewrapping him and rocking him slightly in his arms. “You don’t have anything to cry about, we’re all here and all fine.You’re fine.”

To his surprise, the baby boy stopped squalling and opened his eyes at the sound of his father’s voice, staring up at Ichigo gravely. His eyes were a silvery grey color.

“The eye color should resolve itself after a few days,” Unohana said.

“I hope they look like Rukia’s,” he said.

“Why? I think you have beautiful eyes,” Rukia said, absorbed in looking down at the baby girl. Ichigo and Unohana traded surprised glances. Rukia was never that openly affectionate with Ichigo when other people were around.

Plus, she had never said that to him in all their time together.

“Ichigo, I want to change the mat, could you pick Rukia up for me?” Unohana asked. Ichigo looked up from his son. “He should be all right for a moment if you put him on the floor.” She said.

“I’ll hold him,” Rukia said hastily. Ichigo handed the baby to Rukia, who looked dwarfed by the two bundles she clutched. He then slid his arms under Rukia’s knees and back and lifted his entire family off the mat. Rukia was petite enough that Ichigo could carry her easily, even when she had been heavily pregnant. Unohana bundled away the soiled mat and replaced it with a new one with skill and speed. Ichigo put Rukia back down and took the baby boy back.

“Oh, and Captain Kuchiki delivered these for you, Rukia. He hoped you would consent to wear them,” Unohana shook out a fresh shift and a beautiful kimono of white silk shot with a pattern of pink cherry blossoms. “He offers his congratulations to you both.”

“That was thoughtful. Tell him I said thank you,” Rukia said. “Ichigo...help me change?”

Ichigo looked over at Unohana, slightly panicked. “I can hold the babies for you for a minute,” she said, a quiet smile on her face.

“Thanks,” Ichigo said gratefully, and let Unohana take his son. Rukia reluctantly gave up the little girl, and changed quickly out of her ruined shift and into the cleaner clothes.

“Figures he’d just have to send a cherry blossom pattern,” muttered Ichigo, carefully taking the little boy back from Unohana. “Bet there are exactly a thousand of them on it, too.” Rukia elbowed him in the ribs, but he saw that Unohana had a slight, amused smile.

Unohana put the other baby back in Rukia’s arms. She was still blatting, and Rukia looked helpless.

“She might be hungry,” Unohana suggested. Rukia turned scarlet. “Do you need me to show you what to do?”

“Shouldn’t I just know?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t think you have had anyone to model this aspect of parenting for you.”

Unohana showed Rukia how to position her arms, opening the front of the kimono and pulling the top of her shift down to bare one of her breasts, which Ichigo appreciated, even though he knew Rukia would hate being exposed like that. Rukia let her hands be guided by the healer’s, positioning the baby girl and showing Rukia how to get her mouth to the nipple, where the baby latched on deftly. Rukia looked down at herself, shocked.

“I am going to give you both a chance to get to know your children,” Unohana said, standing with the tray. “And tell everyone the good news.”

She left the room, and Ichigo and Rukia sat together, leaning up against the wall and each other, silently staring down at their babies.

“Well, he has your hair. What about her?” Ichigo finally said. Rukia pulled the blanket down a little.

“It’s hard to tell, but it might be orange. She’s a little too red right now for me to discern it, and there isn’t very much of it.”

“So, what should we call them? Since ‘hey you, stop hitting your brother’ is kind of long for a little kid,” Ichigo said.

“Apt though it may be,” Rukia smiled up at him.

They had discussed names, of course, on and off during the pregnancy, but there weren’t any either of them felt fully comfortable with. Not Masaki or Hisana or Kaien or anyone they’d lost. There was too much emotional freight with those names, an unfair burden for a new life. Other names got tossed around: Akira, Tohru, Senna, Kyo, Haruhi, Kaoru. Still, nothing quite worked, and they finally decided to wait until they met the new little person and saw what they were like before they truly settled on a name.

The baby girl had fallen asleep on Rukia’s breast, mouth slack off the nipple. The baby boy seemed to know she was done, and started to cry again.

“Trade you,” Ichigo said. Rukia handed their daughter over, hiked up one side of her outfit and pulled down the other for the boy. He latched on with such vigor that Rukia winced.

“He is also like you in his appreciation of my physical attributes,” Rukia said. Ichigo grinned at his wife.

“There’s a joke in there about good taste or tasting good, but I don’t want you to hit me again,” he replied. Rukia made a face at him, and looked down again.

“This one,” she touched the tip of the nursing boy’s nose, “is Usagi.”

“Really? Usagi? Why don’t you just call him Chappy?”

Rukia hit Ichigo with her elbow again. “Ow! Jeez!” Ichigo complained. He honestly thought she would punch him less when she had her hands occupied, but she had incredibly sharp elbows.

“Usagi.” Rukia repeated firmly. She reached over and lightly tapped the forehead of the girl. “Tomoe.”

“That’s a big one to live up to,” Ichigo observed.

“And yet I feel she will be more than equal to the challenge,” Rukia said, serene.

“Well, yeah,” snorted Ichigo. “Look at who her mother is.” Rukia looked at him as if she couldn’t decide if she was being insulted or not.

Ichigo observed his little girl in sleep, cataloging her features, trying to see Rukia or himself in them. It was hard to tell, given the compression her trip through the birth canal had caused.

The hair, though, that was definitely going to be orange, if her eyebrows were any indication.

“I’m sorry about that, honey,” he murmured, remembering his own trials, and she briefly opened her eyes at his words.

“Rukia, I think Usagi is going to end up with your eye color,” Ichigo said. “Tomoe’s are already brown.”

“Let me see,” Rukia peered over at their daughter. “Good. I was right.”

“There’s nothing special about brown eyes,” Ichigo said, tracing a finger lightly over Tomoe’s eyebrow. She went crosseyed and he chuckled.

“She doesn’t have brown eyes. She has your eyes,” Rukia said in an argument-ending tone. Ichigo was still too astonished at this unforeseen compliment to counter it, so he just left it. Inside he exulted at the gift of her observation.

Tomoe’s nose was too mashed to allow for comparison, but that stubborn chin, oh, that was all Rukia. He unwrapped Tomoe’s swaddling so he could get a better look at her and she scowled.

“Oh, now she looks exactly like you,” Rukia’s voice was full of mirth. Ichigo felt his face start to mirror his daughter’s and he fought to keep it neutral and mature. Tomoe looked as if she might start to cry again, so he rewrapped her hastily. He picked up her hand and the fingers wrapped around his pinky with surprising strength. Although tiny, he could already see the elegant tapering of her wrists and fingers that were Rukia’s legacy.

He imagined Tomoe older, holding a rattan practice sword, in those hands. His world tilted briefly on its axis and he felt dizzy for a moment.

He had never fallen in love with Rukia for her beauty. At first she was just this bossy small person that hit him a lot and told him how foolish he was, and changed his world by stopping the incessant rain in his heart. And he had been young, and stupid, and unobservant.

He had first admired her strength. Her strength of spirit, her strength of conviction, and her obvious physical strength. He had been in awe of all that she was capable of.

He grew older, and more observant, and learned the ways of her personality. How she covered up weakness with anger, affection with deflection. She seemed unaware of her beauty, rarely wearing anything fancier than her shihakusho. She was a warrior first, then a woman.

Ichigo slowly found his way through the layers of Rukia’s persona, piecing together who she really was.

One day, Rukia snapped into focus, and Ichigo discovered he was deeply and irrevocably in love, and had been for a long time.

This time it took seconds.

It hit him like a hammer and he gasped, steadying himself inside the realization that there was no power in that dimension or any other that he would allow to hurt Tomoe or Usagi. Tomoe could grow up as beautiful, capable, and lethal as her mother and he would still want to protect her from the world at the same time as he was giving it to her.

And Usagi, what could he ever teach him about how to be a man? He barely knew himself, doing the best he could every day for his moral compass and his commitments to the people he loved and cared for. He didn’t have any idea how to be a father, no good role model, unless it was to parent in opposition to what he knew. Could he offer this little boy anything of himself that he would value?

Ichigo took in the long line of the boy’s face against Rukia’s breast, seeing the pointy chin that he saw in the mirror every day, the sharpness of the cheekbone, so familiar. He would rather see Rukia in both children, her quiet, unconsidered beauty both in stillness and in battle, but Usagi, despite having his mother’s dark, thick hair and potentially her eyes, was definitely of Ichigo’s mold. He was longer than his sister, showing lankiness where Tomoe was compact. He could imagine Usagi taking up the majority of the space he shared with Tomoe inside Rukia, curling around his sister protectively. Usagi’s watchful gaze of earlier was much more Rukia’s, however, reminding Ichigo of the way she would stand sentinel over Karakura Town.

Would Usagi even want to be a Soul Reaper? He already had large hands, large feet. Were those slender fingers, so similar to Ichigo’s, destined to hold a sword? Or would he be academic, fingers stained with ink? Or both? His mind’s eye showed him a little boy with big gentian eyes and messy dark hair, not unlike his father’s. He had a smear of paint on one high cheekbone, paintbrushes clutched in one hand, and was showing him an absolutely awful painting of a rabbit. Which Ichigo praised him lavishly and honestly for.

Was part of being a parent giving your children the childhood you wished you’d had?

Ichigo leaned over and addressed his son with great intensity.

“Hey, Usagi, you’re the big brother. You know what that means, right?” Ichigo’s cheek was against Rukia’s skin. He heard her heart beating steadily, strong.

“It means that you protect your sister, no matter what. You got that?”

Usagi flailed a tiny fist, nearly bopping Ichigo on the nose with it.

“I think he understands you perfectly,” Rukia replied, her voice resonating in Ichigo’s ear. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“We have children,” Ichigo said, awestruck. “We have beautiful children. We’re a family. Rukia,” Ichigo’s voice caught, “thank you.”

Rukia looked down at the curve of her husband’s cheekbone, his closed eye, unshed tears sparkling on his lashes. She ran delicate fingertips across his cheek, wiping them away, and raised up his head to kiss him.

**

Unohana looked in on the new family a short while later. They were asleep, Rukia on her left side, curved around Usagi and Tomoe. Ichigo lay on his right side, his taller frame allowing him to close the circle, Rukia’s head resting on his bicep, her knees against his thighs. Each rested a hand lightly on a baby, their fingertips touching each other.

The healer slid the door shut quietly, but as she walked away, she heard a tiny cry start up, and then identical groans.

“Oh, you feed him, Ichigo, I’m too tired,” came Rukia’s voice, thick with sleep.

“How’m I supposed to do that?” Ichigo grumbled, sounding just as sleepy. Then another little voice joined the conversation. “Oh great, now they’re both awake. Here, let me sit up. You feed them and I’ll hold all of you.”

Unohana smiled to herself. The Kurosaki household was known for its energy, loud and happy and affectionate, warm and welcoming to friends and loved ones. Impromptu gatherings were common. She knew that Usagi and Tomoe would be easily interwoven into that colorful dynamic, surrounded by Ichigo and Rukia’s boundless and unconditional love.
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Hoping That Tomorrow Is, Was, and Will Ever Be