I admit it. I love crack pairings. No matter how bizarre. It was the middle of the night when I thought that these two might be compatible, no matter how anti-canon, and so I wrote a nice little one-shot. Yeah, I know, this is very odd. It also probably has discrepancy errors and stuff like that, which, unless they're really huge, I don't need you to point out. This was just fun. And I wrote it at night, hence the weirdness.
Come on. They're a great pairing and you know it.
Nope. Sorry to disappoint you, but Tarame doesn't own Bleach. Except some figures.
Also, sorry for OoCness. Never written these two.
The night was deceptive; on the surface, its dark cloak was warm and welcoming, the moon a milky saucer glowing with conviviality, but in reality, its starry veil was laced with chills and gloomy shadows that tug at the corner of the mind.
The pond was unfathomable in the moonlight, a shimmering pool of blackness, the surface of which was occasionally disturbed by nocturnal fish that daring enough to arc their smooth backs to the surface. Lily pads floated lazily on the water, bobbing with every faint swell. The sounds in the air were comforting—rhythmic crickets, squat frogs, weak splashing sounds, bamboo rustling in the smallest breeze. But Soi Fong was not comforted.
Over and over again, her mind replayed itself as if on a loop. A pleasant, balmy morning on Earth, the sun releasing a flurry of sultry rays to brighten every surface. She was in, by her standards, a good mood, making her way invisibly along the sidewalk. There she was—that dusty, forgotten shop that didn't exist to human beings. Two children were out front, reluctantly sweeping the dust around. They glanced up at her—she, second squad captain, who was, despite her small stature, imposing, dark eyes narrowed, white robe glaring in the sunlight. Yoruichi-san, they said, was out back, and she nodded and walked stiffly, not noticing the boy's smirk, or his quiet comment, "with Manager."
Thanks to shunpo, she was there suddenly—too suddenly. Yoruichi-sama—her eternal master, her eternal goddess—was on the hillside, just as she had expected, but that was all she had expected. How could she know that her dark-skinned deity would be pinned to the flowers by him, with his face buried in her neck and his hands in her rich violet hair? How could she have predicted the sight of her body arching with pleasure and yearning? No, it was far too abrupt. She froze, for one horrible moment, and then, before they had even registered her presence, utilized shunpo once more to escape.
She stared blankly at the profoundly black pond, which shimmered oddly in the frosty moonlight. The silhouettes of frogs were partially hidden by the reeds, a warm blanket to protect them from the night, and suddenly she wished she were anywhere but there—some corner of Seireitei in the middle of the night, staring at an unsympathetic, apathetic pond through the murky darkness. She should be in her bed asleep—those crisp, thin blankets were also a façade, but she would be able to handle their false hope through sleep, rather than sit in cool mud while the bitter knife of the night sliced at her skin and heart.
An image sprang unbidden in her mind—it was nighttime, and there was no telling what Yoruichi-sama was doing. Soi Fong could easily imagine her naked body pressed against the whiteness of the man until they were intertwined, the purple of her hair fusing with the pale gold of his, their bodies tangling and mingling until they were one being—one, horrible being sprung from lust. Yes, that was it, she was sure of it. It was lust that had snatched her master away, and while she was disappointed, she was angry. Bony fists curled tightly around the mud.
Ever since she was a child, she was devoted in service to Yoruichi, who was the central figure in her life, some sort of enormous god, the only thing there was and the only thing she needed. And now, she was coming to realize, there was nothing for her to depend on. Because of Yoruichi's huge role in her life, she had expected some kind of similar recompense, but now, in the harsh night, she was coming to realize how wrong she was. Yoruichi was everything. Yoruichi could not be relied on. Therefore, nothing could be relied on.
A thought struck her very core. She did not matter to Yoruichi, whom she had pledged herself too. That meant…that meant she mattered to no one. Did she have worth at all? Or was she just a hateful, thorny girl completely alone in Soul Society? The anger slowly dissolved to be replaced by fear. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Yoruichi was just a lie that would be perfectly content without her. Once more she was abandoned by the one she loved most of all. Once more she was alone.
"What are you doing out in the middle of the night? Wouldn't you be more comfortable in your bed?"
"Same question," she sneered at the approaching figure, as raw and angry as she had felt one hundred years previous, when she had been abandoned for the first time.
"Fair enough," the voice said, soft and almost tender. A ghostly figure appeared, seating himself on the ground beside her. She was incredulous in spite of herself. "Ukitake…?" she whispered, forgetting to add an honorific to his name. "Why are you…?"
He smiled wryly, staring out at the bottomless pond that had captured her attention for so long. "This disease is full of whims," he said quietly, and she felt as if he was confiding in her. "It keeps me so tired during the day, yet refuses to let me sleep at night." His smile was thin, yet genuine, and Soi Fong found herself watching his face with quiet interest. He didn't add that he was drawn out in the first place by her quivering, precarious reiatsu. "But what about you?"
She stared at the rustling reeds. "I was just…thinking."
She couldn't help but notice how attentive he seemed. His warm brown eyes seemed to see through her face and into her heart, where she began to feel, for some reason, ashamed. He nodded, yet she was sure he knew there was more to it than that.
"And you're not cold?"
She flinched. "It doesn't matter." Her voice had a faint, steely edge to it; her bitterness was arising without her consent, all because of his fatherly presence. This unnerved her any more. Why did he seem to care so much? It couldn't be true, that anyone really cared. Her hands clenched.
Suddenly, his white haori was over her shoulders, warm and smelling faintly of vanilla.
"You are cold."
She scowled at the water. "Don't be—" here she cut herself off, "You need it more than I do."
He laughed lightly, and it was so appealing to her, such honesty, that she shuddered involuntarily. His smile evaporated into concern.
"You should go back to your barracks. It's not healthy to stay out too long."
"Like you should talk."
But his hand was on her shoulder, and she looked up without meaning to—and there it was in his eyes, such genuine caring that she almost recoiled from it. Everything in his face showed nothing but concern—so ironic, she thought, that he's sick but he worries about me. She stared back.
"Are you okay?"
Suddenly, her head was on his shoulder, and her body was shuddering as all her pent-up sorrow released itself—but she knew it was okay.
She knew he wouldn't reject her.
It was that night that Soi Fong learned that some people cannot be depended upon.
But others can.
Ohmigosh, the cheesiness! -dies- Well, that was pretty strange. I think I made Soi Fong emo. Uh-ooooh. Well, yeah. Review, please. If you hated it, tell me why specifically. Well, buh bye!