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Their bedroom was meant to be a haven from the rest of the world, a sanctuary of soft fabrics and comfortable cushions hidden behind heavy, carved wooden doors. In the more than twenty years since they’d moved into their home, the spacious hideaway had seen many things: countless nights spent in breathless passion and chaotic mornings frantically pulling on uniforms; two pregnancies; and dozens of soothed nighttime fears and dried tears from children’s bad dreams.
Despite the dangerous lives they led, this was only the second time their bedroom was serving as a sickroom, the first being Rukia’s pregnancy and recovery after Masaaki’s birth.
And now it was his turn.
Ichigo gritted his teeth as he tried to sit up properly in bed, pain shooting through every muscle in his body and up his spine. Isane had released him from the relief station knowing he’d be more comfortable at home, but he was only half-healed, and she’d put him on two weeks of mandatory leave.
By the time he got himself into a seated position, with a couple of pillows behind his back to cushion him against the wooden headboard, Ichigo was sweating and his whole body was shaking from the effort. He was so fucking weak. He hadn’t been this injured in decades; hell, the only time he’d felt worse was when Ulquiorra—
Ichigo pushed that memory away with a slow breath. That was more than half his lifetime ago now, and he’d lived through it, thanks to Zangetsu.
“Ichigo?” Rukia stepped out of their bathing room, hair freshly washed and dried and her shitagi hanging loose around her slender form. Her reiatsu curled around him as she drew closer and Ichigo breathed more easily, soothed by the cool wisps of power. “You should have waited until I got out of the bath, I’d have helped you sit up.”
“I should be able to do it myself,” he grumbled, but relaxed into the touch of her hand against his too-warm cheek. She had on underwear, but there was still plenty of skin on display. He would have taken advantage of that – and made her late for work – but Isane had threatened to keep him in the relief station if he strained himself. So instead, he lifted his hand to hers, pressing it firmly against his skin.
He wished Urahara had rebuilt that healing hot spring, but the Quincies had destroyed the hidden cavern when they invaded the Seireitei all those years ago, and the royal realm was closed off. Kido and time it was, then.
Rukia pressed her lips to his forehead, light and cool against his skin. “Idiot. We agreed it was my turn to take care of you,” she reminded him firmly.
But he was supposed to be the protector, he was supposed to take care of her. He scowled against her neck.
She kissed his forehead again, and then his lips, just as gently. “You are the worst patient,” Rukia sighed. “Sode no Shirayuki says Zangetsu’s been sulking, too.”
Ichigo huffed softly. His first few days back in his own bed had been the worst, sleeping beside Rukia but unable to bear more than the slightest touch. Marriage had spoiled him: he was accustomed to sleeping with her curled up against him, used to wrapping himself around her in sleep and holding her tight. He couldn’t even do that right now. He was so ridiculously, pathetically weak. “Yeah,” he agreed lowly.
Zangetsu was sulking. Sulking at being unable to protect everyone – at being unable to protect the King. There was pardonable pride that Rukia and Shirayuki had left only a million shards of ice in their wake – but. But we should have been there for them, Zangetsu grumbled weakly, and though there was no rain the clouds hung heavy. What if they’d gotten hurt?
“She misses him,” Rukia added, and Zangetsu’s guilt mirrored his. Twenty years and more of marriage and who knew how many lifetimes before this one had joined their souls, and Shirayuki and Zangetsu could travel between them as easily as breathing. That Zangetsu had been hiding from his partner only worsened his guilt.
“He feels guilty,” Ichigo admitted. He drew her closer and Rukia, who always knew what he needed, sat down at the very edge of the bed, hip against his and hands traveling gently over his shoulders, over the bandages still covering much of his body. Her hands began to glow with healing kido, and Ichigo breathed out a sigh as her power flowed over him. Even Zangetsu perked up, and against the wall, where their blades rested on a stand together, their zanpakutō hummed faintly and began to resonate with one another.
The pale blue magic lit the bandages wrapped around his torso, highlighting the sharp linen edges. She’d changed them for him before her bath, because he couldn’t do that by himself either, and had used healing kido then as well – but this was for pain relief, easing the deep, sharp ache of wounds half-healed and organs damaged by a blow that had left his spine damaged and body close to bleeding out.
Rukia kissed him again, soft, so soft, and he’d have given anything to be able to hold her the way he wanted to, but he could only keep his fingers tangled in her hair. “Let us take care of you this time,” she told him, dark eyes meeting his, and there was a thread of Shirayuki’s voice in hers. “You are our protector and always will be, but just for a little while, let us take care of you.”
“Okay,” he whispered against her lips, and lowered his head to her shoulder.
And so he would.