Chapter 14: Silver, Steel, Surrender Arc: Reach Up to the Sun

Summary:

What's worse than getting caught in a thunderstorm, your brother crying all over your borrowed shihakushou, and the guy responsible for giving you orders drinking his life away? How about the latter holding a sword to your throat to prevent the middle option occurring at your funeral? The former? Oh, that was just bad weather.

Notes:

Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMii9q4qz0E ("Finest Hour" by Extreme Music)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The breath I'd been taking in froze in my lungs. Connected? Me? To the Quincies? Sure, I didn't outright hate them like Torisei seemed to, but I also didn't know any so it was kinda a moot point. One I couldn't prove, either. The accusation was so bizarre it probably had equally bizarre justification. All I could do was present my side of the story. But what if Torisei pulled a Central 46 vs. Urahara and made me a scapegoat?

Well, it couldn't be helped. The law was the law and I was at its enforcers' mercy.

I took a deep breath. "S-sir, I-" I stopped, swallowed, began again. It wouldn't do to sound like a terrified little girl. Even if I was. "I don't know what to tell you. I didn't kill Ishiura-senpai. And, um, I'm really bad at Kidou. It's probably on my transcript, if you have it." I nodded at the stacks of paper on his desk. "I don't think I could've sabotaged the security system if I wanted to."

Torisei plucked at the air. For an instant, dozens of ribbons whispered in the sunlight, a forest of red and white. In the mix, Torisei's almost looked pink. I swallowed back jokes as the mesmerizing display ended and left only one red ribbon in Torisei's grasp. Stone, cold and cracked, resonated in my chest, the faintest whine of paranoia behind it. I glanced down and found that the ribbon's end was buried there.

"Sir?" I said, carefully going still. It felt like when my hair snagged on a branch. A situation for caution, but not painful unless I resisted, in which case—what could he do, exactly? Kill me? Depower me? There weren't too many options with the ribbon representing my soul.

His blue, blue eyes reflected the red of the ribbon strangely. They stayed trained on it for a moment, then a moment more, and more. Finally he released it and produced a smoky glass flask from beneath his desk. He put it to his lips, tossed his head back. I didn't see the contents, only the bobbing of his Adam's apple. It moved jerkily, gingerly, as though his throat was sore. His reiatsu shifted weirdly as the liquid flowed, like a cat- no, a tiger with its pelt rubbed the wrong way, prickling with tempered discomfort.

All this I watched, motionless. It was strange to be there for something that felt like a ritual, like when I'd first caught Shinji shaving. He was in his own world.

Torisei's head came back down, flask vanishing beneath his desk as he released the sigh of someone who'd just quenched a deep thirst. The scent I caught on the air was bitter, unlike my father's sake.

Focus, Nariko. The tone was Arashi's, but the voice was mine. If she couldn't or wouldn't help me, I'd admonish myself. Your life is on the line.

The warning helped me jerk slightly less as he swiped at the air and caught the end of my spiritual ribbon. For an instant both our ribbons lingered in the air, identically crimson. Then his vanished and only mine remained.

"You aren't so strong that you can't be replaced," he rasped, laserlike eyes a touch less piercing. "You can be gotten rid of at any time. And all they- all we have to do is give the order. In the ranks of the Shinigami, traitors will be rooted out and eliminated. So don't think that your power entitles you to special treatment. In your little group, you're firmly mediocre." He tugged on the ribbon and something in me responded, a slight shift in my power in the direction he'd pulled.

"I can't tell you about something I didn't do," I said. No matter how hard I tried to keep them there, my eyes wouldn't stay on his face. Recognizing the intimidation tactic didn't make it harmless. "Meaning no disrespect, sir, but it's true. I didn't do it."

He glared at me, reddened sclerae making for an eerie sight. When had that happened? "You understand German and lie to your superior officer's face. In the view of an commander not inclined towards mercy, that would be treason." His reiatsu, gone slack, rubbed against mine. It was strong, but not all the way through. A bundle of contradictions, like Torisei—strange yet familiar, powerful but hollow, solid yet flexible. Maybe it was because I was so used to defined characters like Shinji and Aizen that an ordinary one was my new weird.

"I don't speak German," I protested, ignoring the uncomfortable twist of a not-quite lie. "And I don't lie."

Torisei tsked. "And yet I've just caught you in another falsehood. Such a blatant one. You just asked me whether I spoke German in the same language. Can you provide definitive proof that your parents are of the Hirako? German is a Quincy language." He spat the word like a curse.

It was easier to meet his eyes if I made mine as sharp as my brother's, as my father's. "But you understood me," I said flatly.

Torisei stared at me for a minute, then turned away to hack. Muggy, smoky air swallowed the sound.

"I've served longer than you've been able to hold a blade," he ground out at last, turning back to me, though his . The dark, prominent veins in his neck throbbed irregularly. "Do you dare to presume to know which foes I've fought, which enemies of Soul Society I've had to understand to protect its ever-challenged peace? How much I've bled to ensure your precious noble estate lies unmolested by brigands? The duty shouldered by your superiors that we may hold together a world on the precipice of digging its own grave?"

I swallowed hard, eyes dropping to my lap. A stubborn lump remained in my throat, neither defense nor explanation. Hot waves of guilt swamped me. I knew the price nobles paid for their lives. Even if I didn't get access to the information flowing through my house, a little lingering outside of rooms and careful listening at feasts was enough to have a sense of the bloodshed on both sides. Hell, Uncle Isamu had died carrying information amidst the Zanpakutou Riots when I was eight.

What could someone say to that without spitting on their relatives' graves?

"I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled to an ash-stained floor. "I-I'm sorry."

He sniffed. "As well you should be. If you wish to serve properly, Hirako, you must learn that on the battlefield there is no time for questions. You must know and do exactly what your peers will, or throw it all into chaos. Conformity will be your friend."

"Yessir," the mouth of my dull, defeated mask said around twisting bitterness. Embarrassment, anger, and guilt warred in a mind that couldn't put its sentiments to words but damn well wanted to.

Torisei's neck veins jumped ominously again. "I suspect Kurotsuchi's influence," he said abruptly. "From the beginning, the man has unnerved his fellow Shinigami, if one may disgrace the title so. Unsavory rumors always did follow our year in the Academy. The authorities never found the source, but cleansing myself of the stench of Quincy was never possible with that man around." His jaw clenched. "When he was assigned here, I'd thought he might have overcome his juvenile obsession with them, but it seems one is never safe from Kurotsuchi Mayuri."

My spirit ribbon slipped from Torisei's hand at last. I caught myself just as my shoulders began to slump. Emotion was no excuse to slip. Even if it felt like stepping out of old clothes to have his fingers off my soul. Had he done that to everyone? Thinking of Shinji's pure gold power, I hoped not.

"It's common knowledge that the truth your clan deals is always buried under countless lies, if present at all. Hirako Kenji's paternity is impossible to prove, though your abysmal marks in Kidou aren't. You aren't sophisticated enough to conceal deception in your reiatsu, or at least can delude yourself into believing so," Torisei rasped, glare fixed somewhere above my head. "Your answers are unbelievable, but can't be proved true or false. To this end..." He trailed off, bloodshot eyes finally settling on me.

I gulped, now unable to remove my eyes from his. In that moment, I could empathize with the deer who stood, paralyzed, in glaring headlights. For the third time that day, I stood on a precipice.

Torisei's smile was only slightly too dignified to be a smirk. "You are no longer Kurotsuchi's apprentice, Hirako. Instead, you are mine. Your assignment is to go about with Kurotsuchi as though nothing had changed and to file reports on his behavior. If I learn that you have neglected a single detail or breathed a word to your coterie, even your precious father will never learn where your body lies. Do you understand?"

If you learn, hissed a voice in the back of my head. I muffled it. Staring into those mad, sane eyes, I half-believed he could hear it. "Yes, Torisei-sama. Of course."

He nodded, rising. I clambered to my feet, following his gaze to the sliver of sky visible through a not-quite-closed exterior screen. Sour grey clouds were encroaching on the morning's beautiful blue. A storm was coming.

"If you can be of no further use, Hirako, leave. Your duties may yet allow for some time for other pursuits," Torisei ordered. I followed him to the threshold, where a navy raincloak and damaged deerskin glove hung. At least, I could only assume it was damaged; the little finger had been torn off. He swept both from their stand.

I made my exit as he donned the cloak, purely to avoid saying goodbye. I doubted a drunkard would notice anyway.

I found Shinji standing in one of the tiny training grounds. He and Shinju were ostensibly drilling Zanjutsu in the shadow of the willow trees. In practice, both had their blades lowered and Shinju, even veiled by her rain-grey hair, was clearly saying something. Shinji didn't look to be listening. In fact, he didn't particularly look Shinji. Even asleep, my brother wore a vaguely smug face.

Now, as I approached, I saw nothing. It looked as though someone else was wearing Shinji's face.

"Afternoon," I said, giving them a half-assed wave. "You're done with your partners' reports?"

Shinju glanced over at me, expression as smooth as her perfect purple nails. "I'm done. I suppose you want to talk to him?"

I blinked. "I'd like to talk to my little brother, yes. Unless you're busy."

She pursed her lips, eyes flicking up to the darkening sky. "No, it's fine. You've obviously got important things to do." She sheathed her sword forcefully. "Please don't take too long. There's paperwork."

I watched her go, gravel crunching under elegantly swaying steps. For an instant, I wished that delicate beauty had settled in my bones too. People raised subtle as the shadows of twining wisteria were bound to be different from those who hadn't bothered to change their name when they'd reworked the lands of their birth.

But no, I was here for Shinji. Blunt, frank, immature Shinji. Who hadn't turned to me, eyes trained on the empty air Shinju had occupied.

I waved my hand in front of his face. "Hey, Shin. You wanna talk?"

He jerked, eyes snapping back into focus. "Talk?" A bark tore out of his throat, nowhere near his ringing laugh. "I don't need t'talk. 'm fine."

I kept his blade in my peripherals. Accidents happened with live blades. I of all people didn't need to be told that. "Well, even if you're fine, we should talk. It's good for you."

Sakanade-to-be jumped. "I said I'm fine! Why d'ya have ta be more of a mom than the one we've got?"

"I'm your big sister," I hissed, shoulders hunching to match his. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "It's my job to look after you."

That same ugly not-laugh, complete with a toss of his golden head. "And you're doin' a bang-up job of that! Murderin' a guy, workin' with the guy Torisei figures for the one who let the Quincy in. Heck, he was askin' me if I knew whether you'd gone an' let the bastard in."

I stumbled back, sucking in a breath. "Sh-Shinji!" Defenses and protests jammed in a pain-tight throat. "Show some respect for once!" squeaked its way out, almost drowned out by the sighing willows.

Empty, aching silence, punctuated by thunder like war drums and a gust rich in the scent of growing things. His reiatsu hummed with words held in. Mine quivered, mirroring the water not brave enough yet to become rain.

"That's so like you, Nariko," Shinji growled at last. "Pick an' choose what's worthy of yer attention. I thought you'd at least try ta deny it."

Rain flickered into sparks. "What am I supposed to say to that? When you- you accuse me of not trying to keep you safe! Of conspiring to let a Quincy murder a man! When did you decide you weren't going with the party line? You wanna lose your big sister? Want me to lie down and die next time a monster tries to eat me?" My fists clenched so tightly they hurt.

"Maybe!" he burst out. A nimbus of palest gold crackled around him. "Ya turn up at the center of every conflict, Nariko! Ain't that fucked up ta you?"

My hand went to Arashi. "That isn't my fault," I grated, voice dropping as my will to not cry, to not scream bore down on it. "You can't always avoid fights. Didn't Dad teach us that?"

"Dad taught me Shin'ou was a testing ground, not a battlefield," Shinji said, low and steely. "He said we were supposed to be warriors, not- not-"

The golden light died. Shinji's mouth gaped and shut before wrenching into the locked jaw of someone about to cry. Stepping forward before he could resist, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. They shook once, twice, fragile in a way I'd never noticed, before he broke down.

"He died," Shinji gasped. Wetness spread across my shoulder. "I stepped away and he died. An'- an'- why can't anythin' you're involved in ever be normal? Why do I have ta get grilled about my sister bein' a traitor? Hiruko's birth, I came back an' saw Ishiura-han skewered like roast meat! And Torisei's got someone ta finger for it so fast an' it's yer mentor again because of course it is! Nariko, I'll believe ya whatever ya say, but just tell me the truth. Did ya let the Quincy in?"

I shook my head, ash and gold mixing in my view. "No, I didn't. I swear on my Zanpakutou I didn't." His breathing still whispered far too quickly in my ear, so I added, "Shinji, you can't think Ishiura-senpai was your fault. It's on the guy who killed him, all of it. You couldn't have known he'd need defending anyway. And besides, if the guy who killed him was strong enough to kill an officer, how could a student have stood a chance?"

Shinji's frame quaked. "I ain't just a student, Nariko. Dad thinks I could be a captain. I coulda done better, I know it."

I squeezed him a little more tightly. "Maybe so. But you didn't know better. Nobody could've. Not Torisei-sama, not Dad, not me." Could my spirit sense hear Quincy? I guessed not, but it was something to look into later. "Power doesn't mean anything, Shin. It's a thing you either have or don't, but just because you've got some doesn't mean you have to be superhuman. You're just a guy with power."

He took a shuddering breath. "How'd ya get past it? It's barely been a few hours an' I feel like if i'd just- if I'd just-"

I wiggled out of his embrace, putting a pace's worth of distance between us. "I don't know if it would be the same for you at all, but me? I told Oshiro-sensei that he didn't have power over me anymore. That I refused to feel guilty for defending against an attack he began. Maybe tell the Quincy something like that. That all the guilt lies with the murderer. I mean, it's true."

He swiped at his eyes. "I'll try." That old Shinji grin flickered across his face. "No promises, ya hear? An' don't tell Junko-chan. She tried her best, but" -his body heaved a final time- "the most conflict she's ever dealt with's court intrigues. Worked herself up about it so much-" He shook his head, sheathing Sakanade-to-be. "Nah, not my story ta tell."

I weighed my options. If I tried to get him to stop poking at Aizen now, would he be more receptive than usual, or already pushed to the breaking point? Only one way to find out. "Shinji, can you do me a favor?"

He brushed away a strand of hair captured by tear-stained skin. "Not sure what I could do fer you, but shoot."

"Could you stop teasing Aizen-kun?" I asked, flushing when I realized what I'd called him. "Aizen-san, I mean. It's not my story to tell either, but I think there's more to his reactions than we can see."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Nari-nee, they're just jokes. He needs ta toughen up," he scoffed. "'Sides, the only time he really acts like he feels anything when I'm talkin' ta him is when I tease 'im."

I rubbed Arashi's hilt, half-wishing I knew enough iaido to hit Shinji with the flat of her blade. "Shinji, he's hurting. A lot. You can't tell anyone this, but he's from Kuraizumi. When you tease him, I think it brings him back there." Remember what we heard about the fatalities, I thought at him. Remember the descriptions Cousin Kei nearly made Dad puke up his dinner with. Do you want to awaken a maniac?

Shinji's crying-blotchy complexion went fully white. "Kuraizumi? Holy shit. Ya serious?"

I nodded. "Shinji, you can't tell anyone," I repeated. "He doesn't need to feel more vulnerable. And it's not going to be about you anymore. He won't look at me too kindly either."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Fine. You can be my punchline instead, yeah?"

It was a half-hearted, unfunny joke, and we both knew it. But I smirked anyway. "Sure. I can take it, long as you stop calling me those stupid nicknames."

I stepped in close again to pat his face dry with my sleeve. He batted my hand away. "Knock it off, Mom. Ain't no shame to have someone see I've been cryin'. Let's go in an' make Junko-chan happy with some paperwork."

Thunder crashed overhead. It was the only warning as the heavens opened up above us. We gasped, more of a splutter in the sudden pouring rain. As we sprinted for the office building, I couldn't help laughing.

As long as Shinji kept his word, we'd be fine. This was going to work out.

Notes:

To those wondering about Torisei questioning Nariko's heritage, if one were to look at the Hirako family tree I've drawn up (which is spoilerrific), there are several Hirako who originally bore the family name Matsumura and vice versa. It's not impossible for Nariko to be Shinji's half-sister, though don't take that as a statement that she is. Or isn't.

As for Nariko's comment on the dissimilarity of the Fujikage and Hirako-- go back to when Nariko registers Tennyou no Rai'arashi. You'll find Lisa and Nariko's dialogue enlightening.

As for the kami to whom Shinji refers-- Hiruko, kami of the morning sun and young children. With Shinji's personality and hair, the former makes sense, and it wasn't so long ago in Shinigami terms that Shinji was pretty young. Makes sense that he would invoke Hiruko, who is also sometimes a god of luck.