AN: Hmmm... the origin of this drabble is a lovely story. there i was, trying to figure out what fic i should work on, when cricketchick1990 ims me! so she tells me she just wrote a drabble... and i said, hey! why don't you prompt me for a drabble? so she did. so thank cricketchick for this one. (grins). the prompt is 'Bottle' and pairing is nemu/ukitake. enjoy! oh, and reviews always make me super happy. (insert puppy dog eyes).

Nemu looked at the bottle held loosely in Ukitake-Taichou's grip with not a small amount of confusion.

"Ukitake-Taichou? Why are you drinking?"

His eyes were bloodshot, hair tangled as he slumped partially forward. He was staring at the ground in consternation, as if it would suddenly leap to obey his thoughts. He looked up at her.

"Nemu-fukutaichou." He tried to smile, but only managed something akin to a grimace. "Nemu-chan. Sit down, have a drink. Commiserate with me."

Nemu furrowed her brow in further misunderstanding. What was there to commiserate about? "Ukitake-Taichou, I do not believe this is healthy. If you continue drinking, it will only endanger your health."

Now he really did smile, face twisting into a bitter effigy of what a happy expression should look like. "Well, I wouldn't want to get myself killed, now would I?" He brought the rim of the bottle to his lips and tossed his head back, taking a large swallow of the sake inside it.

Nemu frowned. "Was that sarcasm, Taichou?" She had extensive experience with that particular verbal skill in communicating with her own captain. She expected it from her father—from others it surprised her. Especially Ukitake-Taichou, who was always perfectly cordial to everyone. Using that interpretation for the white-haired captain's query, she had to conclude that what he was really saying was that he did want to get himself killed.

"No," he finally whispered back. "I suppose I wouldn't want to get myself killed after all. Wouldn't have the guts. But sometimes…" He paused, sliding further down the wall she had discovered him leaning against. She knelt closer to hear his words. "I just wish I didn't have to wake up every day and watch another friend, thousands of years younger than me, die." He looked up, staring into her eyes, locked onto them with such a vulnerable expression… As if the whole world was resting on his shoulders and he needed to know he hadn't failed it.

"Konpaku die," she answered. "It is neither fair nor right, it is simply inevitable. You have lived longer that almost any other. It makes you different. I will live longer than I might ever wish also. This too is inevitable. Sake does not change that." Her voice was soft, always gentle and carrying that perfect respect that characterized the twelfth division vice-captain.

And then, with compelling and sudden force, his lips were on hers, desperately pushing at her warm lips, searching for life. The two were the same and that discovery had bonded him to her, tying her into his outlet of grief. He was seeking comfort, she realized. She could not understand his loss, but she could understand his emptiness. She might not be able to fill it, but maybe he could give her something more than a created purpose.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she could give him something better than a bottle to drown his sorrows in.

She kissed him back.