Plotbunny with a wedding dress, part 2

Continuing from piece 1. There was supposed to be a comedy scene tagged on at the beginning and end of this, but it was long enough I decided to post just the sap...

Orihime's eyes followed Ichigo as he left the ice cream shop, of course. Her eyes always followed Ichigo, even now, with a certain aching wistfulness that Ishida recognized from his own mirror far too easily. He'd spent so long watching Orihime the way that Orihime watched Ichigo -- he never would stop watching her that way, really; and so he understood, intellectually, why he could never ask her to stop watching Ichigo. Because it just didn't work that way. Your heart wouldn't just redirect itself on command. But intellectual understanding did less than it should have to deal with heartache.

By the time Chizuru had stopped force-feeding Orihime papers covered with scribbles and swatches of fabric and things to be signed and colors to be chosen and decisions to be made on whether eggshell or winter white was a better selection for the ribbons to be used to tie the little bundles of lace around the bubble-blowing wedding reception favors since rice and birdseed were no longer politically acceptable and of course the ribbons simply had to match the lace on the reception favors or else the entire day would be a flaming disaster and it would be all Chizuru's fault for failing to adequately anticipate her Hime-sama's every need and receive proper approval from her mistress -- by that time, Orihime wasn’t the only one who was tired. The ice cream shop was closing -- Chizuru in a paperwork whirlwind took time to deal with -- and Rukia finally resorted to reapplying the leash and muzzle and handing her over to Tatsuki, while Rukia herself picked up the drowsing Yuzu to carry back home, a sleepy-eyed Karin trotting behind her.

"If you see Ichigo, tell him he forgot his pager," Rukia told Ishida, who nodded. Orihime was yawning too; he considered for a moment, then decided the shop was close enough to empty that he didn't mind the potential embarrassment, and knelt to lift Orihime into his arms.

She made a little startled squeak, and then a giggle. "Put me down, silly! I'm sure I weigh more than you do right now. I can walk."

"I know you can," Ishida replied, still cradling her in his arms. It took more effort than he'd expected to stand, he was more tired than he'd realized as well; but he wasn't about to surrender, because it was a matter of pride. --Of pride and insecurity, actually, but a Quincy never acknowledged insecurity, so it was all going to be labeled pride.

"I mean it," Orihime said. "Put me down, you silly darling. You're just as tired as I am."

"I'll put you down," Ishida agreed mildly, nudging the door open with his hip and taking the steps from the shop front down to the sidewalk with far more care than usual. "When we get home."

"Ishida-kun!"

The trouble with having both arms full of pregnant wife-to-be was that he couldn't adjust his glasses or tie even when he really, really needed some non-verbal expressions as an alternative to conversation. He made a sound he hoped was noncommital enough, and kept walking.

"Ishida Uryuu, put me down this minute." It sounded like Orihime was getting an early start on practicing her mother-voice.

To be fair, he did pause for a moment. "I'm strong enough to carry you," he said, trying not to sound insulted.

"I know you are," Orihime said with a small sigh. "I'm strong enough to carry myself too."

"I know," he agreed, and started walking again. "It's nice that we agree on these things."

Orihime bopped him on the head soundly. "You -- you -- you--!"

He stopped again, much more quickly, because he heard the unshed tears in her voice this time.

"Hime?" he murmured, and set her down carefully, one arm lingering around her enlarging waistline to steady her. "Hime, I'm sorry if I've upset you -- I just... wanted to..."

"You just wanted to be Ichigo," she said, sniffling.

The impact of it, hearing it that bluntly, hurt more than he'd expected; he was still gasping for breath when she continued.

"You just wanted to plant your heels in and be the big strong man, the one who doesn't need to listen to the girl because she needs to be rescued whether she admits it or not, because being rescued is what girls are good for..." Orihime streaked a hand across her cheek, and managed a tearful half-giggle. "I don't want you to be Kurosaki-kun, silly. I want you to be you instead. Strong enough to protect someone who needs it, and smart enough to listen to someone who doesn't. ...There's a reason I'm not marrying him, you know."

Ishida opened his mouth, and tried to find the words, but nothing was coming out, so he closed his mouth again. Then he tried again. The third time, he finally managed a small, rather pathetic-sounding "Oh."

Orihime took his hand, and led him over to the bus stop bench, and tugged until he sat beside her; then she took both of his hands, and asked, "Why do you keep trying to either be Kurosaki-kun or beat him? What's wrong with being you instead?"

It sounded even stupider when he said it aloud. "...Because your eyes watch him," he murmured.

"What...?"

"Because you're always watching him when he does things," Ishida said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his temples briefly, shining the lenses on the hem of his shirt for something to look at besides the incomprehension on her face. "I mean... there's something about him, something larger than life. He hides it well, but when he needs it, it's there -- bright and fierce, hot enough to burn. It takes a strength I can't comprehend to be able to go and change the world when he wants to... and I don't have that. I can't be that; I can't equal him. I've tried. And I couldn't blame you for that fascination with his power; I couldn't blame you for admiring him, for... loving him... if I were you--"

Orihime put her fingertips to his lips. "Don't," she said wistfully. "You know I get tangled up about who ends up as who when somebody says 'if I were you.' And it doesn't work the way you think."

He smiled a little, rueful, and kissed her fingertips before he took her hand away. "Why doesn't it?"

"Because you're not a girl, silly."

"He's not unattractive," Ishida murmured, glowering at the street sign. "I know that much about objective aesthetics..."

"You're not listening to what I'm saying, sweetling," Orihime said. "You're not a girl."

She sighed, and stood, and stretched both hands over her head to arch her back and ease the constant strain there; leaning against the lamppost with her hands propped in the hollow of her back, the light fell straight down upon her, and cast the shape of her body into sharp relief.

It made his breath catch short in his throat. Her pregnancy was unmistakable, undeniable, her breasts grown soft and heavy with milk, her belly round and snug, distended with the pressure of her enlarging womb, unmistakably child-swollen rather than merely overweight. She looked down at the sharp shadows limning the shape of her pregnancy, and touched light fingertips to the curve between light and darkness, rubbing a small tender pattern.

"I understand why, now," she said. "I understand more than I used to, now that I have someone who's so completely dependent upon my strength. But, more than I used to, I also understand that I have strength. I have to. I'm strong enough to carry our baby, to shelter this little life within my own. And I understand what it's like to feel so responsible, so protective. So determined to shelter this sweet helpless child from anything that might hurt it. But there's a difference, and it's one that Kurosaki-kun's never noticed."

Her smile was far too wistful when she looked up at him. "You're not a girl," she said again. "You look at Kurosaki-kun and see someone you admire. So do I, of course. But when he looks at you, he sees someone worthy of being a rival, not someone who needs to be protected. He looks at you and allows you to stand on your own feet, to accept control of your own life. When he looks at me, or at Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan, or even Kuchiki-chan -- and Kuchiki-chan is the most competent lady I know... when he looks at any of us, he sees people he's responsible for protecting, because we're girls and he's not. And if it came to his life depending on accepting being defended by a girl, I think he would rather die. And he'd think he was right to do it, wouldn't he."

Ishida was still working on the "being smart enough to listen to someone who doesn't need protection" part of the conversation. But he was more than smart enough to know that it was not a good idea to choose this particular moment to point out that he wasn't sure Ichigo was wrong in that scenario.

So instead, since his hands were free, he adjusted his tie, grateful that it freed him from the need to open his mouth and insert one or both feet.

"Kurosaki-kun thinks he's everyone's prince to the rescue," Orihime said with a sigh. "Most of the time, he's actually right, of course. But I'm not really a princess. And I don't think I'd want to be. I'm much happier being an archer's wife. Wives are useful. Wives can do things. Wives get to use things like cleavers and frying pans, which I'm sure are quite handy when it comes to big bad wolves and such! Princesses can't; they don't get frying pans, only embroidery needles. --Not that there's anything wrong with embroidery! You do beautiful embroidery, that's not what I mean -- I just mean that in terms of facing off a big bad wolf I'd much rather have a frying pan than a needle, because princesses are really only there to get rescued. That's how it works in the stories, anyway, and I figure they probably got written down for a reason, right?"

She was looking at him closely; Ishida quickly made sure that his jaw wasn't hanging open. It wasn't, which was a relief, but something about his expression must have been more amusing than he'd intended it to be. Orihime giggled again, and came and settled herself into his lap, and stroked his hair back from his eyes with a gentle hand.

"Kurosaki-kun is a legend, of course," she said. "Strong enough to shake the pillars of Heaven, literally -- we were there watching him do it, even. And amazingly humble about it, like he doesn't even realize that he's doing things that shouldn't be possible because they just need doing. And technically I'm not even sure if he's mortal anymore, really. He's like Kuchiki-chan now. And he's a perfect legend in the making; of course I can't help watching him. Nobody could. But he's someone whose story is there to be watched, not to be lived in. He doesn't have a place in his life for me, because Kuchiki-chan is the princess he's sworn his life to protect. --And she yells so much louder than I can that if Kuchiki-chan hasn't managed to get him to shut up and listen when she tells him to stop doing those insane things, people with normal lungs like us would never have a chance! Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Um," Ishida managed, because he couldn't evade this one with a collar adjustment or cuff-buttoning. "A frying pan is a good thing for the Christmas list?" he guessed, very cautiously, and prepared to duck in case he was wrong.

"No, silly," she said, and kissed his cheek, so perhaps it wasn't that bad a guess after all, but he still felt he needed to clarify the point for safety's sake.

"A frying pan isn't a good thing for the Christmas list, then?"

"I mean about Kurosaki-kun, and you and me."

...She had to go and ask the hard questions, didn't she.

"He's a hero that you admire greatly," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And you don't think that you deserve him, though I would disagree and respectfully suggest that he's the one who doesn't deserve you-- not that I do either, but at least I recognize--"

"You're not listening again," she scolded. "I wouldn't want to deserve a legendary hero prince person, because then I wouldn't be able to design mecha or learn judo from Tatsuki-chan become a great worldwide inventive chef or anything aside from sitting around princess-ly waiting for him to rescue me. He has the kind of life that changes the world around him. He's a hero; they do that. But when you get too close to that, all you can do is stand and be swept away. ...I'm swept away enough by when you smile at me," she added, shyly. "I don't need to be any ditzier than I already am! Or else I really would be tripping over my feet and you'd have to carry me everywhere because it would be bad for the baby if I fell and we don't want that at all so--"

Ishida decided it was a good time to kiss her. She seemed to agree.

Sooner or later they had to come up for air, though; Ishida busied himself with smoothing the long honey-silk of her hair, to have a chance to avoid her eyes. "You deserve a prince," he murmured. "I'm sorry that I--"

Orihime covered his mouth with the flat of her palm, glaring as fiercely as a miniature lioness. "How can someone so smart be so silly?" she demanded. "You're much too much like a prince as it is! It scares me sometimes!"

Ishida freed himself gently, with a wry smile, thinking that hearing her accuse anyone of being too smart for their own silliness was certainly a case of the pot and the kettle. "Hime..."

"I mean it," she said, stormy-eyed. "You're practically a legend too, and I don't want you to have to get any closer! You keep doing things that humans shouldn't be able to do, even Quincys -- you've spent too much time around him; you don't know when to walk away anymore -- you're this tall, dark, beautiful, brilliant young man from a lost bloodline with powers that even most of the Quincys haven't been able to master, you keep getting yourself hurt defending me, defending anyone who's innocent, fighting the Hollows -- and you keep breaking your own limits just to try to catch up with Kurosaki-kun, and -- and -- I don't want you to become a hero, because heroes get hurt! That's the problem with being a hero -- the heroes all die, and I know I'm being selfish but I don't want you to be a hero, because I want you to stay with me!"

"Hime--"

"I should have known," she said, sniffling. "Because you like embroidery so much, I should have known you were going to turn out to be a prince, I should have expected it--"

"--what?"

"Princes are almost like princesses, except boys, aren't they?" Hime asked, wobbling on the verge of tears. "And princesses do embroidery, and you do embroidery, and I should have known--!"

"Oh, Hime." He drew her closer, cradling her trembling shoulders and smoothing her hair, and he fought with all the strength he possessed to keep himself from laughing.

"Promise me," she said, sniffling at the tears. "I mean... you can't help it that you were born to be a prince, I know that, I've known it from the first moment I saw you. But maybe you can not be the kind of prince Kurosaki-kun is. Because it's not like you. I mean... Kurosaki-kun never saw me, because his eyes were always watching Kuchiki-chan. Because she gave him strength, and... he never looked back to see anyone else. But you... you saw me. You looked at me and you saw me. And it wasn't looking back, because I was beside you. You fought for me sometimes, and you also fought along with me. And when I got hurt you bandaged my arm and everything, I think you should be a doctor, you were very good at it, but that's kind of not the point is it? The point is I don't want you to go change the world, because I like the world the way it is, because when I look at you, you look at me too."

She had his face between her hands, gazing into his eyes, and he would have liked to say something sensible and reassuring, except that he couldn't think around the wonder of her eyes, looking at him the way she looked at Ichigo -- except for the first time he realized that the tinge of sadness in her eyes had as much to do with concern as with longing.

"I'm too close to not deserving you as it is," Orihime said in a small voice, "and if you become a legend then I wouldn't have a place in your story, just watching it -- and more than anything I want to be in your story. I want to be standing beside you, not the princess off in the tower whom you have to go rescue." Her voice shook a little. "Because the princess that needs rescuing isn't with her prince, and so that's why I don't want to be a princess most of all-- and I want to be someone you can rely on, I want to be someone the baby can rely on; I want to be strong enough to belong at your side, and if you leave me behind too--!"

"I won't," he murmured, holding her close. "I'll never, ever leave you behind."

"You promise...?"

"I swear it," he replied, "on my life. I will never leave you behind. I will never look for anyone else, and I will never let anyone steal my princess away from me. I'd die first."

"That's no good either," Orihime said, unhappily. "Because then you'd be leaving me behind anyway."

"Well, then, just send Kurosaki-kun to Soul Society to fetch me," Ishida replied. "I'm sure he'd go on his own, come to think of it, just to beat me to a pulp for making you cry."

"...He would, wouldn't he." Orihime laughed a little, and scrubbed at her cheeks, and then sighed. "But... I don't want to be a princess, and if you're a prince then I have to be..."

"You can't help it," Ishida said gently, "any more than Kurosaki can help being a hero."

"I can too!" Orihime flared. "I can do a lot more than sewing and sitting around to be rescued and--"

Ishida set a fingertip to her lips. "It's not all that traditional for princes to sew, is it?" he asked. "But if I can be your prince who embroiders, 'just like a princess except a boy' -- then that makes you my fearsome, frying-pan-wielding, mecha-designing princess who's just like a prince, except a girl, doesn't it?"

Orihime thought about it, and then brightened. "Because we're a modern prince and princess?"

"Yes," he agreed, smiling. "We're quite modern, aren't we?"

"We are! --I saw a movie like that once!" Orihime said, excited. "There was this girl with pink hair, and a lot of flower petals. And she was drawing a picture of her best friend for art class, only without any clothes on. And then she turned into a car. It had something to do with the flying car wash that fell out of the upside-down castle, I'm not sure exactly what..."

Ishida adjusted his glasses a little, and said, "Would you mind not turning into a car, if I asked politely?"

"Of course I won't, silly," Orihime said, all smiles again. "There'd be nowhere to park me!"

...That was my attempt at a joke. I knew that I was attempting a joke, but I'm not sure if she did... oh well.

Orihime yawned widely, stretching both arms up toward the street lamp, and then said, "I suppose we should move, shouldn't we."

"We should," Ishida agreed, and shifted his arm behind her knees to lift her again; but she bopped him over the head.

"Don't make me get out the frying pan when we get home," she said. "I can walk perfectly well. One of these days I'll carry you, just to see how you like it! You don't weigh very much, and after I've been carrying a little kid around for a year or two, with all that baby carrier stuff to boot, I'm sure I'll be strong enough."

"I'm sure you will too," he replied, carefully straight-faced.

"And if I can't, I'll definitely get my mecha to!"

"Yes, I'm sure you will."

"Well, good, then." She sighed a little. "So, about that having to move thing. Gonna do it. Really. Watch me. ...Moving now. For real this time. One... two... two and a half..."

A shadow loomed over them from behind; Ishida had his bow drawn before he was even aware of it, and then released the charge quickly, because it was only Sado-kun...

...Sado-kun, who had just torn the bus bench out of the ground by the armrests and had picked it up with the two of them still in it, as carefully as though he were cradling a farm-basket full of eggs.

And he was walking away with them, as though this were somehow normal enough not to need comment.

Orihime was staring up at him with her mouth hanging open. Ishida would have done the same, if it weren't for the Quincy pride rule, and so he hastily scrambled for something to do with his mouth now that it was hanging open.

"Sado-kun? The bus company... their bench... ah..."

"I'll put it back later."

"Ah... that's good, then," Ishida managed, proud of the fact that his voice only squeaked a little higher than usual. "I... eh... don't suppose... don't suppose I might ask, er, why...?"

Sado kept walking.

"Not that I want to offend you or anything," Ishida said, laughing nervously. "I certainly don't want to offend you so if there was anything improper about my asking I'm terribly sorry and can only beg that you pardon my ignorance and we'll just pretend I never mentioned it if you wouldn't mind--"

"Done talking?"

Ishida hastily clamped both hands over his mouth and nodded.

"Before that," Sado said. "You were done talking then too, weren't you?"

Cautiously, Ishida nodded again. "I... um... hadn't realized that you were listening..."

"Not listening, just waiting," Sado said.

"Ah," Ishida managed. "Waiting. Um. ...why...?"

Sado heaved a huge sigh, and was clearly spending a while thinking of the smallest words he could use to explain to two of the brightest people he knew.

"You're tired. She's tired. You're both tired. You want to carry her. She wants to not burden you. If you carry her, she's unhappy. If she's worn out, you're unhappy. So, I carry you both, so it doesn't matter anymore. Everyone can be happy. Okay?"

"Oh," Ishida managed, feeling twice as stupid. "Ah. Yes. --Thank you."

Sado shrugged a little, and said, "No problem."