A/N: Written for 5 Prompts on LJ.

Table: 25

Prompt: #5 - A spilled bottle of wine (picture prompt)

Sentiments

As the sun settled behind mountains in the west, Ikkaku let out a tired sigh, feeling a small burden being lifted off his shoulders. It had been quite a hectic day with the captain having to attend a meeting, and when he returned, Ikkaku had had the misfortune to be his sparring partner. It wasn't like he hadn't any fondness for his captain, but when the large man was in a sour mood, like he had been ever since returning from the meeting, anyone who dared step in his way would suffer, at the very least, a few broken bones.

But that little ounce of burden was nothing compared to what he was currently feeling for the young woman beside him.

Ikkaku leaned against the tree trunk and tipped his head back, downing half the bottle of sake. Out of the corner of his eye he fixated his gaze on her as she stared at the bottle in her hands.

About a quarter of an hour ago, Nemu had arrived at the Eleventh Division barracks with Yachiru after having finished their Shinigami Women's Association meeting. The child had insisted upon her accompaniment back to the barracks, but Ikkaku couldn't help but feel like Yachiru was trying to match-make him with the girl.

But, no matter what the brat's motive was, Ikkaku couldn't care less. He had went out of his way and, despite it being a tad too rough, greeted Nemu. Yachiru, from there, had sat her down with him and scampered into the office, promising to "be right back", but Ikkaku, from the very start, didn't believe her. Sure enough, she never came back, and he was sure that she was spilling her nonsensical chattering on Kenpachi while observing the two of them from the window, hoping for some action.

Ikkaku was certain that she hadn't picked up that so-called "match-making" instinct from Kenpachi, but rather from Yumichika who had been going on and on about him being a lost cause; a man without a woman to turn to.

But, to be honest with himself, Ikkaku didn't really mind their unwanted attentions to his personal life, for he had been wanting to talk to Nemu for quite some time now. It didn't concern anything sentimental – Ikkaku wasn't one for that sort of thing – but rather, he was curious as to how she could stand the maniac that she was unfortunate enough to have as a captain.

Ikkaku gestured at Nemu with his bottle, causing her to look up at him with eyes that contained no expressions whatsoever. He always found those dark orbs to be unsettling, and he instantly switched his gaze elsewhere.

"So...how's that lunatic treatin' ye?"

If Nemu had been insulted by the word Ikkaku used to refer to her "father", she didn't show it.

"Mayuri-sama is treating me very well," she replied simply. "Very well" was a ridiculous phrase to use to describe the way Mayuri tortured her, and it made Ikkaku burst out with a cynical laugh.

"Sure he is. That lunatic treats ev'ryone well." He scoffed, finished his bottle of sake, and reached for another. During the evenings, he was fond of having a light talk with Yumichika, and while the man chattered on about how obnoxious the recruits were and the pranks they pulled on his hair, Ikkaku would sit back and laugh, nursing bottles of sake.

But now, it was Nemu who sat beside him, and she was denying the fact that Mayuri couldn't care less about her even if he tried. Tired of the way she was still staring at him, Ikkaku gave a grunt and gestured at the bottle in her hands.

"Drink it, it'll make ye feel better."

Nemu looked down at it, then put the rim to her lips and took a sip. Being the "artificial" shinigami that she was, Ikkaku wouldn't have thought that she would feel anything towards the taste of sake, and he was right. Nothing fleeted across her face; there was no cringe, no frown, not even the slight twitch of an eyebrow.

Seeing that their little drinking session was lacking a bit of ceremony, Ikkaku reached over and clanked his bottle to hers. The sharp sound that echoed across the empty training grounds was reminiscent of the drinking parties the Eleventh indulged in along with the Eighth, and it made Nemu blink in slight puzzlement.

"That's what ye do when ye got booze." With a grin, Ikkaku repeated the action, said, "Cheers!" and tipped his head back to down half of the bottle in one go.

Despite his laidback appearance, Ikkaku was still wondering how the young woman, who was, admittedly, much prettier than most shinigami or civilians of the Rukon, could stand living behind the imprisoning walls of the Twelfth with a lunatic for a captain and not lose her mind.

Must have spirits o' steel o' somethin'...

That must be it.

Ikkaku was still feeling uneasy over Nemu's expressionless eyes, the way her limbs moved with a slight mechanical sense to them, but he was relieved at how she obeyed him and drank the sake. He wasn't sure whether she was just putting up a facade to hide her emotions...or just didn't have any.

Slightly disturbed at the notion of how a person couldn't have any feelings, Ikkaku let his eyelids drift to a close and allowed himself to be swept away by the warmth of alcohol flooding his being, oblivious to his companion's gaze upon him.

Nemu watched as he drank himself to oblivion, turning away every now and again to sip her own sake whenever he looked her way to make sure that she was all right.

And, as the sun finally settled behind mountains in the west, as the orange horizon faded to black, Ikkaku slumped onto his side, letting the empty bottle slip from his hand.

Without a word, Nemu gathered the bottles and arranged them in rows beside Ikkaku. She then propped the man upright against the tree trunk and stood up to go, her own sake only half-finished.

But, before she turned her back on him, she let her eyes, warm with gratitude, focus on the unconscious man as she allowed a single phrase whisper past her lips:

"Thank you."