I.
Rukia likes to take Byakuya his tea herself. It's a small ritual; and it is, like so many other things in this household, unspoken.
Byakuya had looked startled the first time she had appeared at his elbow with the tea tray. His eyes went very wide for a moment, and then he sent her away with so cold a dismissal that her heart smarted within her. Afterwards, she learned from one of the servants that the lady Hisana had used to perform this task, when she was alive. Rukia's eyes had stung with her own foolishness; so soon to make such a misstep, to show up her unfitness.
He spoke not one word to her that evening; but the next day she heard it said among the servants that when one of them had taken him his tea that afternoon, the lord Byakuya had inquired, mildly, why Rukia had not brought it this time.
So, every day, if she is able to spare a moment from her duties, she takes him his tea.
II.
Byakuya prefers to keep a regular schedule; she usually knows where to find him at any given time of the day. But today he is not in his study when she looks in, so she wanders through the vast, stark halls, looking for him. She will just check a few of the rooms, she thinks, before turning back.
At the end of the hall is a room she hasn't seen before. There isn't a door, only a curtain of thin, gauzy fabric. "Nii-sama?" she calls. There's no response, so she lifts the curtain and looks inside.
The room is wide open and empty. The only thing in it is a cupboard or closet of some sort, against the far wall. She notices the door is slightly ajar, so she goes to close it.
A floorboard creaks underfoot as she approaches, and the door swings open wider, as if to greet her--
III.
--at first Rukia thinks she is standing in front of a mirror. There, on the wall, is her own image staring at her. But where she knows her own face is wide-eyed and white, the face on the wall smiles serenely, undisturbed by her intrusion. She is unable to tear her eyes away. This is--
"Rukia."
His voice behind her sends her heart leaping up into her throat. She whips around, the tea tray slipping from her fingers. The sound it makes as it crashes to the floor is as distant to her ears as the waves beating against the shore.
Tea travels in lazy currents along the floorboards. They stand frozen, two figures staring at each other across the gulf.
IV.
Her sleeve brushes against his as she flees the room through the narrow doorway. He makes no move to stop her; he doesn't even acknowledge her passing. She runs down the empty hallways until her heart is beating louder than the sound of her footsteps.
The tea set lying in pieces on the floor is irreplaceable, a family heirloom passed down through countless generations. But Rukia knows that is not the worst thing she's done today.
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