Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hell of a view, ain’t it?”

Ichigo snaps out of his daze, abruptly remembering where he is.

He’d sat himself atop the roof of the dinky old shack which serves as the entrance to Shiba Kukaku’s underground labyrinthine mansion. Before he knew it, he’d spent hours glaring at the impenetrable walls of the Seireitei looming ominously on the horizon, standing out as a dim greenish-grace across the backdrop of twilight orange.

Damn good thing Urahara isn’t here. Ichigo thinks, particularly relieved by that fact. 

If he’d dropped his guard so completely under old hat’n’clogs’ care, Urahara would have a field day handing Ichigo’s ass to him on a silver platter. And Ichigo’s dead certain he’d wake up sore sometime next month.

Shiba Kukaku looks up at him expectantly, restrained amusement in her eyes, along with something else Ichigo can’t quite identify. 

“You remind me of my brother a little. You know that, brat?”

Ichigo blinks. Well, that was out of left field. 

He might’ve chafed at the nickname, but considering how badly Kukaku chewed him out a couple hours earlier for his latest spat with Ganju - and how she’s terrifying by default - he opts not to comment and takes it on the chin. 

He’s more curious by the weird look in her eyes. A mix of quiet scrutiny, plaintive contemplation and, strangely, the slightest touch of nostalgia.

Reminding himself where he is, once again , Ichigo snaps to his feet. “Sorry. I’ll get down if you-”

“Sit your ass down.” Kukaku cuts him off, dismissively waving her hand, which Ichigo sees is holding a corked tokkuri. 

Hesitantly, Ichigo complies and resumes his spot. 

Kukaku joins him by leaping up with a single practiced bound and plopping down beside him, legs crossed. She pops the cork and takes a long swig. 

“Didn’t answer my question.” She reminds him.

“Oh. Uh, it's…” Ichigo trails off, feeling like he’s walking on eggshells. “Yeah. I think it's… It's kind of nice.” 

Kukaku emits a rather unladylike snot. Her tone is dangerously caustic, as though Ichigo had insulted her personally. Immediately, Ichigo realises the question was a trap.

“‘Kind of nice’? Not breath-taking. Not beautiful, not mind-staggeringly gorgeous. Not any other descriptor in the entire spoken language - just a plain old, boring ‘ kind of nice ’.” 

Ordinarily Ichigo would clap back at the mockery with biting remarks of his own. But ordinarily, Ichigo isn’t scared shitless by the person speaking to him. He stutters, painfully aware of Kukaku’s temper and any misstep in his awkward attempts of navigating his way out of this conversational minefield would likely end with a severe case of fist-in-face. 

To her credit, Kukaku doesn’t let him squirm too long. Maybe half a minute passes before she bursts with a good-natured laugh, clapping his back so hard she almost flung Ichigo off the roof. 

“You’re such an easy mark, kid. So high strung. My brother would’ve had a field day teasing the crap outta you.” Kukaku takes another swig of her sake. “Ain’t kids your age supposed to be all about having fun, enjoying life and makin’ decisions you might or might not regret in a century or two?”

Ichigo shrugs. He doesn’t bother pointing out that humans typically don’t live that long. Soul Society dwellers have a funky sense of time anyhow.

However, his mood abruptly shifts into more morose territory. Thoughts of Rukia’s impending execution barging their way to the forefront of his brain. With that, the memory of slowly bleeding  out and painful reminder of the consequences if they failed.

“Supposed to be, I guess. Instead I’m here-” He cuts himself off, rolling his wrist to indicate the whole situation.

“-dealing with these self-absorbed, self-righteous morons and their high bound stupidity, ey?” Kukaku finishes for him, an unmistakable bitterness laden in her tone. 

Ichigo can guess why. 

The state of Rukongai when they arrived was evidence enough that Shinigami weren’t exactly well-liked in the outskirts of their fine city, nor did they seem particularly conscientious towards the souls that dwelt beyond their walls. 

Chad told him what Shitaba and his adopted brother had experienced, that those who arrive in Soul Society are indiscriminately sorted into different districts with precisely zero regard for family or blood ties. Eventually strangers within those districts give up hope of ever finding their kin and form their own pseudo-family units with complete strangers to survive.

Plus that fox-faced prick’s assault on Jidanbou and Ichigo’s own experience with those bastards, Byakuya Kuchiki and Renji Abarai?

Well. 

In Ichigo’s humble opinion, Rukia’s shaping up to be one of the only decently mannered shinigami on their pay role. And the only one in the few he's encounter that actually cares to do her job of protecting innocent souls, no matter the personal cost, and not strike down folks who were only trying to help. Probably why the universe really has it out for her right now, if Ichigo’s any judge. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, as the saying goes.

“Yeah. That.” Ichigo concedes eventually. 

His fingers curl into tight, frustrated fists. He feels like he should be doing more right now but he knows he’s far too tired to get any effective training done. At the same time, he’s far too wired to sleep. It's a vicious cycle of wanting to close his eyes for a rest, but that niggling anxiety in the back of his mind demands he get off his lazy rump and get back to training. 

Kukaku’s observing him from the corner of her eye and her lip turns up in a smirk. “My brother was like that too.”

Ichigo glances at her for an explanation.

“He hated sitting still. Always had to be on the move, whether it was training or travelling or roping me into plotting his next impish little scheme against the grown-ups.” Kukaku sniggers, grinning to herself. “Not that he had to try particularly hard to convince me. Any excuse to test my latest inventions.” 

A nostalgic smile pulls at Kukaku’s lips while she stares at the setting sun, diving deep into an old comforting memory. 

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Total hellraisers. The pair of us.” Kukaku declares, as proud and unrepentant as you like. 

Her eyes glazed over, lost in fond childhood memories. “What else could we be? A couple bored kids too smart for our own good, with too much time on our hands and not enough to keep us occupied. That delightful combination taught us how to become incredibly adept at making our boredom someone else’s problem. I’m sure you can imagine we managed to get ourselves into a fair bit of mischief in our younger days.” She stabs her thumb towards the Kakaku Taiho, grinning broadly. "And behold the primary instrument of our mayhem." 

“My god. I can imagine.” Ichigo says, shaking his head. “And then you grew up.”

“And then we grew up. Mostly .” Kukaku agrees, an odd twinkle shining in her eyes. She winks conspiratorially at him. “Growing up is unavoidable I’m afraid, but maturing is optional. If you ask me, being an adult is incredibly overrated sometimes.” 

Despite himself, Ichigo laughs lightly and smiles. 

Fondly, Ichigo thinks that sounds like something his father would say. “Of course.”

If his brief stay is any indication, Ichigo can only imagine the tomfoolery that the house’s elders must’ve endured when Kukaku was growing up. “What happened to him? Your brother? If it's not too much to ask, I mean.”

“Oh.” Kukaku takes a notably longer pull from her tokkuri. Her mood noticeably sours but she answers all the same. Her tone is practically longing. “When Kaien reached the age of maturity, he decided to travel. Nothing unusual as far as we Shibas were concerned. Spent a good fifty or so years wandering throughout Rukongai. I went with him, of course. He was my big brother and best friend, you see. We were so close in age, we may as well have been twins ourselves. I wasn’t about to let his dumb ass go off by himself and wind up in a ditch, mugged and beaten. And Ganju? He demanded to come along, flailing those stubby hands about in the most impressive tantrum I'd ever seen. The clan elders insisted he was too young, but Kaien and I took him anyway. Practically raised the kid on the road.”

Kukaku leans back, staring at the violet sky and the first glimmers of white starlight. Ichigo continues to watch her in silence.

“Then one day Kaien decided to come back home. Got it into his head that he wanted to become a shinigami. He enrolled in the academy, graduated the top of his class in record time, earning himself a ranked position right out the gate. Within five years he was a Lieutenant of the 13th. Somewhere along the line he managed to score himself a beautiful wife with the patience of a saint," Kukaku pauses to snigger, "And a mean right hook. He found himself a mousy little protégé. And then, well… ” 

Kukaku trails off, gently swirling the tokkuri.

It doesn't take a genius to guess what happened there. Ichigo exhales a heavy breath. That’s probably why the Shibas have such an aversion to the shinigami, and why Ganju picked a fight with Ichigo from almost the minute he laid eyes on him. Lingering resentment from a lifestyle, from a culture, that led his elder brother to his death.

“He was… the smartest person I ever knew, and the biggest idiot who ever lived.” Kukaku laments quietly, then manages a bittersweet smile. “It’s an honest shame you’ll never meet him.” 

“Sounds like it.” 

Kukaku sighs, a touch wistful again as she returns to the stars, made more prominent and numerous on the velvet purple now as the sun shrinks behind the walls of the Seireitei, weaving into her tale. “Oh, how Kaien would’ve spoiled you rotten. From the minute you could walk, he would’ve taught you shunpo and kido so you two could play tag. He would’ve returned to the family hold every other night with a new book to help you learn how to read and write. Taken you on camping trips, taught you to live off the land like we all did as youngsters. The day you so much as hinted interest in becoming a shinigami, he'd have presented you with your first bokken that afternoon and helped you drill your rudimentary forms. And if you were in any kind of trouble, he’d gladly dance through the deepest layers of hell with that insufferable, unwavering grin on his face if it kept you safe."

Ichigo listens silently. 

His own experience isn’t exactly the same, of course, but Ichigo concedes Kukaku’s assessment is more or less on the mark. 

After all, Ichigo’s done the same for his own sisters. 

He’s helped Karin sign up for the latest soccer competitions and walked her to evening games; he’s helped Yuzu with the household cooking and bought her cookbooks and helped with shopping; took both out to the shops or to friends’ houses, assisting with homework when they were stuck on particularly stubborn problems, or being an ear for them to vent their issues. Or to protect them when someone was bullying them, or when Hollows abound. 

Heck, their safety was the primary reason he agreed to become a shinigami in the first place. 

“Sounds like we really would’ve gotten along.” Ichigo eventually agrees. 

“You would’ve.” Kukaku says, then flashes a wicked grin. “Or you would’ve been clawing each other’s eyes out every chance you got. There'd be no in-between.”

Ichigo barks out a laugh but they quickly descent into quiet again. The night song takes over, critters, nocturnal animals and the gentle sound of running water fills the space. Ichigo rests his arms loosely over his knees, brows knitted together in contemplation as a stray thought occurs to him.

“Do you think I might be a Shiba?” Ichigo mutters, barely audible above the wind. 

Kukaku studies him intently, her expression inscrutable. Ichigo's done it now. The impulse to apologise for the faus pax rears its ugly head. Instead, for some mind-bogglingly reason, part of him feels compelled to double-down on said faus pax, crazy as it sounds. Though not quite so eloquently he thinks he can escape the inevitable slap upside the head.

Ichigo pitifully stammers through his own conjecture. “Uh, what I mean is - the way you’ve been talking to me. I-I mean, I figure it’d be super illegal having relations with humans like that. You guys - those guys probably aren’t supposed to even let humans know they exist at all. But maybe an ancestor or something…”

Ichigo’s words trail off and die. That frustrating expression remains. He expects to be shut down entirely, for Kukaku to kick his ass off the roof and scold him, demanding he never make such insane insinuations again. 

Though after a moment, he thinks he detects a touch of what might be pity. Figuring he might as well commit, and that Kukaku isn’t immediately about to kick his ass seven ways to Sunday, Ichigo finishes his thought.

“The way you were describing your brother right then, made it seem like you’d be expecting to raise me here if I was born in this world. To be raised in this house, with you guys. Like I’m a relative of yours.” 

“Aren’t you?”

Ichigo blinks, finding himself lost for words. He doesn’t know how to answer that question. It struck him how little he actually knows about his family, beyond his parents and his sisters. He’s human. Born and raised. 

Ichigo should deny the question but thinking about it honestly for a minute, what the hell does he know? His dad’s a worthless idiot when it comes to this stuff, but his sisters? They know. Or rather, each have various degrees of awareness. Karin’s not as strong as his but Ichigo knows she has an ability to empathise with ghosts and feel their pain as her own. Yuzu can see spirits as smudges and sense them as smudge, so it might be an inherited power… right? Maybe Ichigo got the lion's share and it split unevenly between the twins when they were born? If so, where the hell did it come from? From dad, or...?

Oh god. Ichigo does not have the time to deal with that existential crisis right now.

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Kukaku admits at long last, nibbling absently on the tip of the repaired kiseru that she pulled from a pouch on her belt sash. With a spark of kido, the pipe ignites and she gently puffs away, exhaling a tiny puff of blue-grey smoke in a steady stream. 

Kukaku's words mercifully tear Ichigo out of his thoughts before he started tail spinning too badly. 

“Many Shiba went to ground in the human world following our disgrace. It wouldn't shock me to discover you’re a cousin three or four times removed. But I don’t believe in coincidences, and I’ll tell you one thing; you look too much like Kaien to not have some Shiba blood in there somewhere.”

Kaien? Wait a minute. 

Ichigo latches onto the name, grateful for the distraction.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s certain he’s heard Rukia say the name in passing before. And again when that Byakuya jerk mentioned Ichigo resembling a certain someone close to Rukia before they hauled her away.

“He was… Rukia’s mentor, wasn’t he?” It's largely a guess on his part, but the way Kukaku’s lip curls into a humourless smile tells him he hit the mark.

“If he wasn’t talking about his Captain or complaining about some riff-raff tossing a pile of paperwork on his desk, he’d boast about the little Kuchiki princess. Wouldn’t shut up about how proud she made him whenever she mastered some new skill or technique.”

Ichigo hums. He wondered if Rukia knew that.

“What would he do, if he was still around - in my position?” Ichigo asks.

Kukaku laughs again and its the lightest she's sounded since this entire conversation started. “You wouldn't have a chance to be in your position, Ichigo. He would've gone on a rampage and broken little Kuchiki out days ago. All by himself if he had to.” Kukaku smirks. “Probably howling and cussing everyone out until their ears bled while he was at it.”

Ichigo smiles despite himself, enjoying the mental image.

Having decided she's finished talking. Kukaku abruptly raises to her feet and steps off the roof, landing on the ground with the casual grace and gentleness of long practice. She drops the empty tokkuri by the door and addresses Ichigo.

“Join me.” Kukaku orders more than requests, already taking confident strides away. “If you're not gonna sleep, you may as well walk with me. And if you're gonna be here a few days training, you should take in the sights.”

Ichigo decides its in his best judgement not to protest and leaps off the roof. He lands in a slight crouch and jogs to catch up. He spots a glint of mischief in Kukaku's eye and squawks in protest when she scruffs a hand through his hair, snickering at his comical indignation when he tries to back away.

Chapter Text

Ichigo wakes with a start and a gasp, bolting half-way upright before his healing middle loudly protests at the sudden action. His eyes screw closed and he flops back with a groan, grimacing. Nursing his gut with his hand, Ichigo can feel the bandages under the layer of robes.

Breathing deeply through the pain, he mentally takes stock of what he can sense.

There’s a pillow under his head and a sunbeam washing over his face. That’s a promising sign. And sheets pooled around his waist. Another good sign. The room is warm and smells clean. Clearly, he’s hauled up in a bed somewhere. Ichigo knows his sensing talents generally suck but even he can tell there’s no one else in the room with him.

Other good signs include no pillories around his wrists, no manacles around his ankles, or any other visible indications he’s been restrained.

In other words, he’s not imprisoned nor does he seem to be in immediate danger.

Yet . 

Peeling his eyes open, Ichigo blinks away the bleariness from the sunlight and, carefully this time, pushes himself up. A steady sweep of the room confirms his initial assessment, he’s alone and unguarded. 

To his left is a wide open window showing a perfectly blue sky beyond. He can hear birdsong and feel a refreshing cool breeze sweep through the room and ruffle the pristine white curtains. Peering out the window, if Ichigo’s one to judge he would say it’s about mid-morning. It's a weirdly peaceful contrast to the absolute anarchy Ichigo and his friends (then later that smug prick Aizen and his asshole cronies) unleashed days earlier. 

But it also means that the shinigami are none-to-concerned about keeping watch on him. Another point in the ‘we’re not currently enemies’ category.

Immediately to his right Ichigo sees the only other unoccupied bed in the room with a nightstand dividing the space between them. There’s a neatly folded pile of black robes that takes Ichigo a few seconds to recognise as his own shihakushou. 

What he doesn’t see is the first sign that not everything is fine and dandy. 

Zangetsu is missing. 

Confiscated, most likely. Which leads Ichigo to conclude he and his friends probably aren't in the clear yet.

Ichigo chews his lip. Damn it.  

“Good morning, Mister Kurosaki.” 

The serene, pleasant voice startles Ichigo out of his thoughts and almost literally out of bed. 

A kindly woman stands in the doorway, appraising him with a small hint of admonishment and the slightest touch of amusement in those eyes. Her black hair is braided down her front and the ubiquitous white haori marks her as a captain. She has her hands clasped in front of her in a rather matronly manner, adding to her air of refined dignity.

For a split second, Ichigo's mental assessment revises from ‘tentatively safe’ to a slightly panicked ‘Oh God, I’m dead. Please make it quick.’. Then logic reasserted itself to remind him that the shinigami wouldn’t have gone through the bother of healing his wounds if they planned to kill him as soon as he woke up. Still a possibility to be sure, yeah, but one he tries not to entertain too much.

“Um, hello?” He tries tentatively.  

“I do hope you don’t always fright so easily. Though perhaps I should have made my presence known. Are you well?”

“Uh. Y-yeah, I guess. Sorry, I’m still a bit, eh… edgy.” 

It's reasonable enough. This kindly woman seems to agree and inclines her head in understanding. “Of course. Then allow me to illuminate you. I am Unohana Retsu, Captain of the Fourth company. You have been in our care since that unfortunate business atop Sokyoku hill two days ago.”

Two days ago? Wait.

“Are my friends okay?” Ichigo’s thoughts instantly leap to the others, “What about Renji and Rukia? Everyone else?” 

Unohana takes his unfettered gabbling in stride, and answers patiently. “Those who came with you are safe and have been well tended to. As has Lieutenant Abarai and Kuchiki Rukia. Our Captains are healed or on the mend. Though Captain Kuchiki has been confined to bedrest, you may visit him if you wish on the fifth floor of this barracks.” 

Visiting Byakuya after thoroughly trouncing him, and getting hacked to pieces in turn, wasn’t the first item on Ichigo’s list of priorities. Plus there’s that… ugliness he’s not particularly keen to revisit. But he’s relieved to hear that his friends and everyone else managed to make it through this whole fiasco alive. Not unscathed but alive.

But there’s a more pressing question. Ichigo hesitates to ask, given the whole ‘trying to kill each other two days ago’ business but he needs to know. 

“And what about my Zanpakutou?”

Unohana’s subtle amusement shines through by the slightest curl of her lips. “Miss Kuchiki Rukia has taken possession of it. I believe she has stored your zanpakutou in the 13th Division armoury for the time being. She seemed to be under the rather alarming impression you would take it up and flee the moment you woke.”

Ichigo attempts to muster a defence, but considering he did exactly that numerous times over the course of his adventure here, he’s not exactly in a position to refute the assertion. His shoulders slump in defeat, “She’s not wrong.” 

“Then we should thank her for taking such a wise precaution. It would have been a shame for you to overtax yourself so soon after waking.” Unohana smiles politely, though Ichigo wisely chooses not to press his luck further. “I would advise against strenuous activities for the next few days. There is a shower in the adjoining room should you wish to refresh yourself. When you’ve changed, you may find me at the relief station down the hall to the left, I will guide you to the exit.” 

With that, Unohana bows her head once more and departs, leaving Ichigo to his thoughts. 

So. Not dying today, it seems. He thinks to himself in relief. A hot shower sounds fan-bloody-tastic right now, so Ichigo leaps on that. 

Twenty minutes and one relaxing shower later, Ichigo’s back in his uniform. He cleaned down the room as best he could, folded the sheets neatly on the bed for the custodians to replace (Those afternoons playing nurse at his dad’s clinic taught him some cleaning habits, thank you very much.) then made his way towards the relief checkpoint. 

He gets barely two steps out of his doorway before bumping into a familiar face.

“Ichigo! You’re awake.” Rukia greets brightly, surprised but happy to see him up and about.

Evidently, she was on her way to pay him a visit. Ichigo smothers the urge to smile, sincerely touched by her concern. Already Rukia’s looking better. She’s in much higher spirits, relaxed and unburdened. The pallidness she’d acquired over her confinement has faded and, hey, she’s back in a shihakushou!

Guess that means she’s not in trouble anymore.

Ichigo returns a grin of his own. “Hey. Yeah. I woke up about an hour ago. Unohana’s letting me go… I think and-or hope. Said to meet me at the relief station somewhere around here. I’m guessing there’s discharge paperwork or something you guys do, right? Need me to sign my life away on whatever passes for insurance forms on this side?”

Rukia shakes her head, tutting like she’s addressing a child. “This isn’t your family clinic. There’s no paperwork. If Captain Unohana says you’re free to go, then you’re free to go.”

Ichigo thinks she’s emphasized the rank as a pointed reminder to be respectful of people’s status here. 

Yeah, fat chance in hell Ichigo’s going to actually address people like Renji and Byakuya by their ranks. Not after how they met and the bullshit they allowed to happen when, frankly speaking, they should’ve been the first ones to step up and protest it. (Ichigo might still be a bit testy about that.)

“So what are you doing here? Besides visiting me, I mean.” Ichigo asks, recalling Unohana mentioned Byakuya is resting a few floors up. Then a fresh knot of worry twists in his guts, “Are you okay? Did whatever that… thing Aizen did hurt you?”

Rukia huffs, folding her arms over her chest bossily, “Don’t you get started with me, you worry wort. I’m fine. Captain Unohana examined me personally, and there’s no lingering damage from that. I escorted my Captain for his own health check-up. While Lieutenant Isane was tending to him, he granted me leave to visit you. Because unlike you, you reckless maniac, my captain takes care not to overexert himself every chance he gets.” 

Ichigo snorts. Oh, so that’s how she wants to play this game. Fine then, Ichigo can dish it out, too. “Hey, I might’ve pushed myself too far but you’re alive and out of a jail cell, aren’t you? I don’t see you complaining. Show a little gratitude here, why don’t you.” 

Rukia turns her nose up at him, “As if, you fool. I already told you I wouldn’t say thank you for saving me. Don’t expect me to change my mind now.” 

Ichigo scowls at her. Rukia scowls at him. The impromptu staring contest lasts for maybe 30 seconds before they break it off, chuckling over their mutual stubborn streaks. They were as bad as each other.

“Right.” Ichigo relents. “You said that before, didn’t you?”

"He listens at last. Good job, you're learning." Rukia rolls her eyes good-naturedly, then motions Ichigo to follow her. “We’d best not keep Captain Unohana waiting. I think Captain Ukitake might be finished as well. I’ll introduce you to him.”

Ichigo follows, when they turn the corner, they find Captain Unohana chatting amiably with a white-haired Captain. Ichigo recognises him from the bridge to that repentance cell during his first half-assed attempt to retrieve Rukia from her imprisonment. (A stupendously bad idea in hindsight, considering he had a very, very precariously closed wound in his stomach, with nothing but flimsy bandages to hold his viscera where it is.)

But when the Captains pause their conversation to acknowledge their approach and-

There . 

There’s that weird look again. 

A split second this time, but Ichigo swears this white-haired captain (Ukitake?) had that exact same expression on the bridge the other day while he was talking to Byakuya. Shocked? Confounded? No. More like a haunted recognition. But it comes and goes so quickly that Ichigo wonders if he imagined it. 

“Ah, Rukia. And you would be… Kurosaki Ichigo, is that correct?” Whatever that expression was, it was gone, replaced with a jovial smile and a wave.

Ichigo bows his head, then attempts to break the ice with a rather dry joke. “That’d be me. I, uh… I guess I don’t have to waste time introducing myself.”

“I dare say nearly everyone in the Seireitei knows who you are at this point. And the friends you’ve brought with you. Though I feel I should warn you, you’ve earned a fair share of admirers and detractors in equal measure.” 

Ichigo winces. Detractors, he can understand. The whole invasion, breaking their execution relic, beating the crap out of half their captains. Hell, he’s absolutely certain Byakuya’s personally inscribed his name at the top of that list - but admirers ? That doesn’t sound good.

“Um, thank you. I… wasn’t trying to, you know, collect fans or anything like that. I just wanted to save my friend.” Ichigo scratches his head awkwardly, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. I’ll apologise if I’m wrong but you would be Ukitake?” 

“Ichigo, have some manners, won’t you?” Rukia chastises quickly before clearing her throat and puffs out her chest with no small amount of pride, Ichigo notes. “This is Captain Ukitake Jushiro. My Captain and commanding officer of the 13th Division.”

Ichigo scowls good-naturedly at her. “You know you could’ve led with that and spared yourself the bother of getting angry. And spared my ears ringing.”

“I didn’t get the chance to! You launched into conversation before I had the opportunity!” Rukia snipes back testily.

“And somehow that’s my fault?” Ichigo snorts.

Ukitake’s steady chortling cuts any further bickering short. 

“Please, Rukia, there’s no need to stand on ceremony here.” Ukitake says cheerfully, his eyes shine with amusement and there’s a teasing lint in his tone. Rukia’s cheeks flush an rosy pink but it fades quickly enough.

“Of course, Captain.” 

“Then I shall leave them in your care, Captain Ukitake. I have other patients I must attend to. Have a pleasant day.” Unohana interjects serenely addressing her fellow officer. She turns to Ichigo and Rukia, clasps her hands in front of her and bows politely. “And please remember not to strain yourself too severely while recovering, Mr Kurosaki. Ms Kuchiki. I will take my leave now.” 

Captain Ukitake gestures smoothly to the hallway behind him, “Mr Kurosaki, I had intended to find a quiet restaurant to enjoy an early lunch and speak with Rukia. It’s been some time since we spoke and she's been over eager to share tall tales of her time in the human world. Would you care to join us? Perhaps you could also share some of your own experiences?”  

Ichigo raises a hand hesitantly. “Uh, just Ichigo’s fine. I’m not big on formalities, but are you sure that’d be okay? I mean, yeah, I could eat, but–”

“Join us.” Rukia insists brightly, “I can give you a tour of the Seireitei afterwards. A proper tour, no mad dashes away from guards or security forces required.”

Ichigo huffs at the joke, a smile comes and goes in an instant. “So we’re free to roam?”

“Yes.” Ukitake states simply, then starts walking. Rukia follows dutifully and Ichigo trails a bit behind her.

This place is a labyrinth - Ichigo is discovering the hard way that Soul Society's residents do so love their labyrinths. Maybe it's all one big elaborate joke to stave off the inevitable boredom Ichigo figures long lives as souls would bring, or maybe the architects really hated anything resembling logic in these hallway designs.

“In the wake of Aizen’s exodus, and your efforts in forestalling his schemes, it is only right we assist you as repayment for your help.”

“It was hardly that.” Ichigo defers, a hand unconsciously moving to rub his stomach. The sensation of being cut in half by that mad man isn’t one he cares to re-experience. Not like he contributed much to stopping the son of a bitch.

“Perhaps.” Ukitake concedes. “In all likelihood, your arrival was merely the distraction Aizen needed to initiate his schemes. Equally your presence here was the reason why he didn’t cause greater calamity in the Seireitei during his escape into Hueco Mundo. And why the life of one of my cherished subordinates was spared. You have incurred a greater debt than you know.” 

The heaping of praise makes Ichigo feel even more uncomfortable. It's not like he was trying to do anyone any favours - outside Rukia, of course. Though the Captain’s sincerity, and the grateful smile he casts Ichigo’s way has him smothering an embarrassed ( flattered ) blush. 

So Ichigo does what he always does in these awkward situations, and forces it away with a healthy dose of belligerence. He shrugs dismissively, “Yeah, well. I’m not looking to cash in on favours any time soon. To be completely honest, I expected to wake up in a prison cell or something. So if you’re letting me and my friend walk free after we spent a couple weeks trashing the place, I’m pretty sure that'd cancel out any debts you think you owe me.”

There’s that weird look again. This time, mixed with a wistful kind of nostalgia and Ukitake is momentarily silent.

If anything, it reminds Ichigo of those distant longing expressions Kukaku had when she spoke about —

– oh. Right. Ichigo mentally joins the dots and it abruptly becomes crystal clear why.

“On the contrary, we owe you a great deal in recompense.” The Captain’s mood takes a sudden sombre turn. Ichigo shares a look with Rukia, who is equally baffled by the shift in his tone. “This entire unfortunate situation occurred as a result of our carelessness, and a blind, stubborn adherence to our traditions and rules. And you - both of you - bore the brunt of our mistakes. For that, the Gotei 13 can only offer its apologies. It is only right we offer you and your friends sanctuary until you’re recovered enough to make the journey home.”

“Captain…” Rukia murmurs in protest.

“Rules and customs must be continuously challenged, broken if required. Otherwise they become meaningless. Brittle from misuse, or shackles on the mind so strong they become walls, blocking out what they are meant to protect.”  Ukitake says. “Recent days have rendered both sides of that statement to be true.” 

“It's not like you could’ve guessed that Aizen guy would’ve turned traitor, right?” Ichigo offers rather poorly.

“No one could have.” Rukia insists, then her face falls, becomes ashen “The things he said on Sokyoku Hill, its almost like it was an entirely different person to the Aizen Sousuke the world knew. No one saw his betrayal coming."  

“Some had." Ukitake admits, surprisingly subdued. "Urahara Kisuke, Shihion Yoruich, and… others .”

A profound regret colours the Captain’s expression briefly. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “Sadly, we were deaf and blind to their warnings. Or rejected them outright. Too distracted by other, greater woes to heed them. They would not be pleased with us if they were here now.”

"I imagine a hurricane of 'I told you so's?" Ichigo lets the sarcastic remark slip before he could stop himself. Rukia aims a sharp look but Ichigo is already withering at his own bad timing.

To both their shock and relief, Ukitake actually chuckles and smiles ruefully. "I believe we would not live to hear the end of it."

Ukitake seems to remember himself then offers another, slightly strained smile to the two of them. “I would, of course, appreciate if it neither of you shared that private confession with anyone."

Then brighter, "Forgive me. This conversation took a turn for the morbid. We should be celebrating, Rukia's safe return to us and your release from the Fourth. However, Ichigo, once lunch is concluded there is a matter I would need you to attend to before Rukia gives you her tour." 

Uh oh. Ichigo doesn't like the sound of that.

From that troubled look on her face, neither did Rukia.

"Captain?" She prods.

"A minor matter of protocol, nothing more." Ukitake reassures them. "Lieutenant Sasakibe of the 1st Division would like to ask a few questions and take a statement from Ichigo. About the night you gained your powers and anything you recall from Aizen's confession."

"Wasn't the issue settled? Rukia's not imprisoned anymore and I'm walking free, so I thought everything was fine?" Ichigo questions, frowning.

"In large part, yes. The matter is settled regarding your status, as a shinigami and as a guest in the Seireitei. This will simply be a debriefing, statements have already been given by your companions."

"Its a fairly standard protocol, Ichigo." Rukia assures, understanding what her captain asked. "For example, had I come back at my appointed time, I would've had to report my findings to the lieutenant - or in this case, the third-seaters of the 13th. Its the standard practice after a long-term mission."

Less horrific than Ichigo imagined. Considering the circumstances, it sounds reasonable enough. He scratches the back of his head then shrugs. He's got nothing to hide about either event. "Okay then. Sounds simple enough." 

Ukitake smiles jovially. "Excellent. Now that's settled, Ichigo, do you have a particular food preferences or shall we simply see what's available?"

Chapter Text

Lunch with Captain Ukitake and Rukia was actually pretty fun.

If nothing else, Ukitake showed himself to be an incredibly generous man, insisting that Ichigo could indulge however much or little he wished. After a little back and forth plus goading from Rukia, Ichigo caved and took him up on it. They talked while Ichigo ate his fill, giving him a glimpse of Seireitei politics and Ukitake took every opportunity to invite Ichigo to weigh in on matters. 

Conversely, Ukitake listened to Rukia’s embellished recounting of her time in the human world with a weirdly endearing combination of rapt attention and earnest, almost child-like wonder. Ichigo, of course, sniped down the more exaggerated accounts, but it was a fun time all things considered.

If Ichigo were perfectly honest, it felt like chatting to a favourite teacher. One who was as enthusiastic to learn as they were to share their knowledge. And if that’s a glimpse of what he’s like every day, Ichigo can see why Rukia admires her captain so. (Seriously, if this guy showed up instead of Byakuya or Renji, they probably could've talked the whole misunderstanding out and had time for tea and biscuits before he headed home.)

Unfortunately, that indulgence now sits in his stomach like a leaden weight.

Ichigo does his level best to avoid fidgeting in the chair, forcing himself to sit still across the desk from the older man with short, neatly groomed grey hair and a thin handlebar mustache.

He can’t escape the nervous feeling of being dragged into the principal's office for a grilling interrogation and reprimand, then kicked out with detention for one imagined slight or another.

Except this time, the ‘principal’ in question is a shinigami who’s probably hundreds of years older than most modern day governments, and the ‘detention’ would most likely put him in the firing line of an elaborately constructed, high-powered kido spell or an itchy zanpakutou aimed for his neck.

(Ichigo shudders at the thought of being shredded to pieces by that purple-black kido box Aizen cast on that werewolf guy. Chances are it’s even worse than eating Byakuya’s bankai head-on and he’s had more than enough of that for one interdimensional jaunt, thank you very much.)

Adding to his apprehension is the fact the last time Ichigo met this gentleman - more accurately, the only other time they’d encountered each other on the battlefield - Ichigo knocked him out with a single punch, probably shattering the man’s whole ribcage in the process. Plus, when Ichigo first sat down, he made the rather unfortunate mistake of asking if ‘the old grandpa’ was joining them.

The brief petrifying stare sent Ichigo’s way would’ve made a gorgon jealous. 

All of this to say, Ichigo’s not discounting the idea there might be a slightest hint of a grudge festering under that reserved fascade.

Sasakibe Chojirou, as Rukia introduced when first guiding Ichigo to the office, lieutenant of Captain-General Yamamoto, has his impenetrable gaze locked on his paperwork. His questions are clipped and to the point, and he studiously notes down Ichigo’s responses. 

Likewise, Ichigo keeps his answers succinct. At least on the matter of how he wound up inheriting Rukia’s powers, and their subsequent activities as her substitute. 

The real hard questions, where Sasakibe’s words became more probing and brutal, started when the subject shifted across to Aizen and his whole clichéd evil monologue, before the other Captains arrived and summarily failed to stop his exodus. 

Again, Ichigo answers as clearly and concisely as he was able. He categorically denies he had any idea what most concepts Aizen was blabbing about actually meant beyond admitting that, yes, Urahara Kisuke was the man who’d set up their whole expedition in the first place. (What Ichigo does understand is enough to know for certain he’d been played, and Urahara’s getting a royal ass-whopping when he gets back to Karakura.)

“You needn’t look so petrified, young man.” Sasakibe states simply, not looking up from his work. “This was not an inquisition nor were you being interrogated. This is a standard debriefing, nothing more.”

Ichigo winces. “That obvious, huh?”

Sasakibe spares the meanest glance up, arching an eyebrow. A flicker of amusement chasing across that stoic expression.

“Was there… anything else you needed?” Ichigo ventures cautiously after another unbearable minute of silence.

“No. We have everything we require to satisfy protocol. Your account matches others we’ve collected from your comrades, Lieutenant Abarai and Officer Kuchiki.” Sasakibe answers, curt but polite. “Your cooperation in this matter has been appreciated. We do regret that you've become involved in this internal political incident."

“It's okay.” Ichigo answers, screeching his cheek awkwardly, somewhat relieved now the tension’s eased off. “I’m just glad the situation didn’t turn out much worse for everyone.”

“Indeed. Quite fortunate for us all.” Sasakibe nods once, adding final touches on his paperwork and stamping it with his signature. 

“Does that mean we’re finished here?” Ichigo gestures to the paperwork. 

“Unless there are any additional comments you’d like to add to your statement?” Sasakibe questions.

Ichigo thinks long and hard before shaking his head.

“Very well. This is one final matter of your on-going duties.”

And just like that, the weight’s back in his stomach with a vengeance and a posse.

“On-going duties?” Ichigo cocks his head to the side, confused. 

Crap. That doesn’t sound good at all. 

“You still intend to use your powers, do you not?” Sasakibe inquires, that eyebrow arched once more.

Ichigo stares at him like a deer in headlights. For all the potential good (and bad) will he’s generated, he’s still technically human and thus isn’t allowed to have these powers, strictly speaking. 

“Not all the time. I still have to finish High School, and- sure, I’d be willing to pitch in and help if you need an extra hand every now and again, but-”

A nod of the head cuts his nervous unfiltered gabbling off.

“Then it is the opinion of the Gotei 13’s 1st division that you are to be certified as an official shinigami substitute. As the region of Karakura town and its surrounding areas falls under the jurisdiction of the 13th Division, they will assume custodianship over you.” Sasakibe announces, all prim and proper and firmly taking the wind out of Ichigo’s sails.

Ichigo blinks. “I’m sorry. What?” 

“Circumstances aside, your work acting as Kuchiki Rukia’s substitute was exemplary. As you intend to continue acting in that capacity, it's only right that you’re fairly compensated for your efforts.” Sasakibe produces a new paper form from a neat pile on the far side of his desk and begins writing. “The position will include a stipend. However as I’m sure you understand, owing to the… unorthodox circumstances surrounding your original investiture, we cannot offer retroactive payment for services rendered.”

“That’s it?” Ichigo blinks. 

Really? They’re letting him off just like that? Sure, Ichigo had assurances that they weren’t enemies anymore but that nagging voice of doubt hadn’t completely gone away. Moreover, is this guy seriously suggesting what Ichigo thinks he is? That they could’ve avoided the entire clash in the first place?

If that’s the case, why couldn’t they have just… spoken to him and Rukia in the first instance? Let them explain the messed up circumstances and spare Rukia from going through all this pain? Spare his friends from getting hurt, or worse. 

(Then again, Aizen bragged about massacring their central government and hand-puppeting their corpses to manipulate the whole organisation. Probably wouldn't have made much of a difference anyhow.)

As if the thoughts were plucked right out of Ichigo’s head, Sasakibe adopts a strangely empathetic expression and his next words are practically a confession. “I’m sure I can surmise what you are thinking. As has been said, these are highly unusual circumstances. Had due process been followed, a large portion of the month’s previous events could’ve been avoided. However, it does not behove a warrior to wallow in what might’ve been."

"Hmm." Ichigo hums, noncommittally.

Sasakibe continues. "Official certification will be provided before you return to your world.”

Ichigo clears his throat. This conversation hasn’t turned out anything like he expected. “Thank you.” 

“There is one provision: If you are to leave Karakura town or the surrounding regions for any duration, we would require you to inform us.”

Guess that means I'm on probation, Ichigo thinks. 

Makes sense. 

Can't have someone with his power running around without checks and balances to keep him in line. 

Ichigo nods. It's not like he has much of a choice anyhow. “That’s fair. I don’t think that’ll happen for a while.” 

Sasakibe nods and writes down something more on his document. “You’re an intriguing young man, Mr Kurosaki. We shall be watching your career with great interest.”

Ichigo isn’t sure if that’s meant to be threatening, flattering, insulting, or a combination of all three.

“I choose to take that as a compliment.” He says cautiously.

“Wise decision.” Sasakibe’s lips curl up with just a hint of a smile that vanishes in a blink. “You may go.” 

Doesn’t have to tell him twice. Ichigo bids a respectful enough farewell and quickly departs. As soon as the office door closes behind him, he exhales the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His shoulders slump as the tension uncoils from his frame.

"See. Told you it wouldn't be so bad." Rukia says, arms folded over her chest with a smug expression plastered on her face. She'd been waiting outside the entire time, apparently. 

Ichigo scruffs a hand through his hair, "Yeah, I guess you were right. And some good news, they're letting me stay in Karakura as an official substitute. Fancy that."

"Really? That's fantastic news!" 

Ichigo grins, "As long as I behave and don't do anything stupid. In other words, no more interdimensional fieldtrips unless I ask the-"

A cackle, wispy and cracking like ice, whispers past his left ear. Ichigo jerks up right and spins around, heart thumping in his chest from a sharp spike of adrenaline, his arm half-way up in a reflexive defense. 

"Ichigo?" Rukia eyes him, concerned. 

Ichigo closes his eyes and shakes his head resolutely. Then he turns back to Rukia, forcing himself to relax. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. Anyway, you said something about a tour? I could use some fresh air." 

Rukia eyes him skeptically, sensing the deflection. But bless this woman, because she willingly swallowed that bait and damn well sprints with it.

For the rest of the day and his tour, Ichigo pretends he hadn't heard that familiar haunting voice.

Chapter Text

School recommences with Keigo’s customary greeting of trilling Ichigo’s name at the top of his lungs and subsequent launch through the school’s hallway. As it usually does, that heedless charge screeches to a blinding halt by Ichigo simply walking through his pseudo ambush without so much as batting an eye.

Keigo, as he usually does, bounces to his feet immediately with a half-hearted whiny complaint and then proceeds to gabble on about the crazy antics he’d gotten up to on his own break.

It's strange but also comforting in a way, Ichigo reflects cracking a genuine smile despite himself. 

For the sheer insanity they’d experienced in Soul Society - the life and death struggles, getting shot out of a freaking cannon at lightspeed, accidentally unearthing political conspiracies, being accessory to a borderline coup, and returning victorious as the conquering heroes with the afterlife’s gratitude and blessings to keep doing what they does - absolutely nothing changed at home. Not a damn thing.

It's also funny in its own way. Going back to school felt weird, but in a good way Ichigo thinks. Not the clawing emptiness like when Rukia was abducted, more like the glimpse of everything beyond the veil gave him a bit of perspective. Maybe that means he’s grown up a little. 

“Whoa, Ichigo. You got jacked.” Keigo points to one of Ichigo's biceps, evidently rattling on while Ichigo was lost in his thoughts. “What the heck did you get up to on Summer break, man? You've been hitting the gym on a fitness kick or something like that?”

Ichigo makes a non-committal sound in his throat. “Something like that.”

“I mean, yeah, you've always been fit but - damn, dude! You must’ve been pumping iron like crazy. What, did you hire a personal fitness trainer or something?”

“Something like that.” Ichigo repeats in the same tone.

Because it was sort of true, from a certain perspective. Granted it was less ‘hiring’ and more an ultimatum of ‘train under me because it's the only way you’re getting your powers back, otherwise Rukia gets fried by the giant fire chicken from hell’. 

“Oh come on, man! Give me something more to work with here!” 

“What more do you want me to say? There isn’t much more to tell.” Ichigo says, ignoring how massive that lie was. 

“Whatever you did, did you take Chad with you cause - I mean, yeah sure, he’s always been built like a brick house and,” Keigo cuts himself off with a dramatic gasp, “Is… is that what’s happening?! You guys are turning into gym jocks? Is that it!? Is that it?!”

Ichigo thinks snatching his collar is a bit much, but Keigo is like that. It's all Ichigo can do not to roll his eyes but his lips curl into a visible effort not to smile.

Keigo being Keigo, takes this entirely the wrong way. “So it's true…” he says, voice quavering with dramatic horror. “Y-you and Chad both! You’re not just nerds, you’re turning into nerdy jocks! No, Ichigo - you mustn’t walk that dark dangerous path!” 

Ichigo tunes out the rest of Keigo’s prattling about ‘honour among slackers’ and wailing and bemoaning. Of course ignoring the fact Ichigo’s regularly one of the top mark students in class. Mizuiro joins them at some point, deflating Keigo’s dramatis persona with a few quick barbs of his own.

They continue with their comic routine all the way to homeroom. Ichigo spots Uryuu, Chad and Orihime already congregating by Orihime’s desk. He nods a greeting to them and they nod back as he sits down in time to take attendance.

It's good to be home. Ichigo muses to himself.

Ichigo snaps awake with a startled yell, heart hammering like a drum in his chest as a nightmare vanishes. He bolts upright, shaking off the momentary disorientation of his strange surroundings.

He instantly recognizes the sideways slant of his inner world, locked in a perpetual midday and filled to the brim with skyscrapers that stretch into the skies forever. He’s in his shihakushou and Zangetsu’s blade is wrapped at his side.

Ichigo frowns, trying to puzzle out how he got here.

The last thing he remembers, Ichigo had fallen into a fitful sleep in his bedroom, so exhausted from recent sleepless nights he barely had the energy to eat dinner and finish his homework, nevermind shucking his uniform in favour of pajamas.

“Coulda killed you about a thousand times over with how long yer takin’ to get your ass in gear, King.”

The distorted voice echoed throughout the realm, distorted and snarky, and Ichigo snaps to his feet. Zangetsu in hand and a fearful spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

His eyes land on the monochrome double watching him; the same face, the same clothes, even the same voice to a twisted degree. His eyes gleam gold, a feral grin splitting his lips and an inverted mimic of Zangetsu hands off a black rosary on his back.

Ichigo swallows hard, taking a step back. His grip on Zangetsu tightens, keeping his blade ready to parry or strike the second this… copy tries anything stupid.

“Thought it was long past time for you and me to have a personal chat, King. Since ya been so rudely ignorin' all my generous invitations, figured it'd be easier if I dragged ya here. But if you’re really itchin’ ta start a fight that bad, I’ll skip all that talkin’ you love so much and give you one.” 

Naïve. Always so naïve.

Ichigo can practically hear Urahara tutting in his ear right now. He should’ve known better, Ichigo chastises himself. Burying your head in the sand and ignoring problems never solved anything for anyone, why did Ichigo expect it to start working now? Sooner or later, this dark (technically light?) inversion of himself would’ve reared his head eventually. Guess he chose now to make his appearance. 

So much for hoping the problem would quietly go away by itself.

Ichigo quickly scans his surroundings, making sure not to take his eyes off his double for too long. When he fails to spot the other familiar spirit, his brows crease in a frown, “Where’s the old man?”

Lacking a better term, the Hollow(?) puts a show of gazing towards the open sky to his right, head tilted like his listening for something. “Oh, the old geezer’s still around. Can’t ya sense him?” He mocks, taking on a threatening edge, “Don’t bother tryin’ ta call him out. He won’t answer.” 

“What have you done?” Ichigo demands, a burst of righteous rage overriding his growing wariness.

“Nothin’. We’ve had our own little chit-chat and he agreed ta bow out for a little while - give us a chance to sort out this little… disagreement of ours. Ain’t that just saintly of him, King?”

Ichigo doesn't relax. Not with this threat staring right in his face. His jaw clenches while he thinks how to get himself out of this situation.

All the other times Ichigo's been in his inner world, it's always something else pushing or pulling him in.

Last time, it was Zangetsu guiding him to this space during that skirmish with Kenpachi Zaraki. But if the Hollow's to be believed, Zangetsu won't hear him even if Ichigo tries to call out his name. He growls through gritted teeth. "Bastard. What the hell did you do to Zangetsu? How'd you cut him out?"

The Hollow’s smug feral grin drops, ridicule dripping from every word, “Deaf, dumb and stupid, ain’t ya? Didn’t say he won’t hear ya, just said he won’t answer. He’s still here. Seems ta have faith in ya to figure this mess out all on your lonesome.” The Hollow scoffs, “Can’t say the feelin’s mutual.”  

White hot fury sears through Ichigo and it burns away the edge of fear gnawing in his gut. He concentrates for a second and could sense some truth to the Hollow's words. Old man Zangetsu is still lingering beneath the surface, not erased or destroyed per Ichigo's gut reaction, just... out of the way. Observing.

If anything, Ichigo swears he gets the impression of a parent locking two unruly children in a room to scuffle and hash out their differences. He's not sure how to feel about that, but he's relieved the old man's still there in any capacity.

That being said, his relief was temporary. A drop of water in a scorching desert before he refocused his attention on the Hollow.

This haunting apparition has been the bane of his existence since that fight with Byakuya. He has no interest in anything it has to say and just wants it gone.

"Now, why are ya makin' that scary face? Here I am bein' the bigger man and offerin' ya parley - and all ya doin' is glowerin' like I'm somethin' ya stepped on." The Hollow prods gleefully, he thumps a fist over his chest. "That hurts me, King. Right here."

"Can't say I feel terribly broken up about that." Ichigo counters coldly, he still has Zangetsu in hand and his eyes are glued to his Hollow counterpart, but he slowly begins to walk, if only to ease that nervous twitch to do something.

The Hollow matches him and they're circling each other, a pair of hunters sizing up their competition.

“Fine. If old man Zangetsu’s playing referee, what’s the game and what’s the prize? I'm not letting you take over my body again if that's what you're after, so you can just forget it. No matter how many nightmares you try to torment me with or how loudly you keep screaming in my head, I'm not gonna just let you have your way." Ichigo declares boldly. 

His confidence is feigned. Truthfully, he has no idea if he can win against this thing if it comes down to a straight-up fight. But the prospect of being kicked out of the metaphorical driver's seat wasn't one he relished. Furthering that, the idea of being consumed by this vindictive prick wasn't just terrifying beyond Ichigo's capacity to describe, it was a shamefully pathetic end to boot.

Ichigo cannot - will not let that happen. And if that meant having to beat this damn thing into the dirt, he'd do exactly that.

“This is the thanks I get?” The Hollow throws his hands up in mock exasperation, "If I wanted ta take over your body, I'd have chopped off yer head while you were still in a daze back there and taken it all for myself." 

The Hollow then seems... wistful? "If only ya'd let me help every now and again, ya'd have a much easier time takin' down your enemies. Or have ya forgotten all the times I've already saved yer life? In case you ain’t keepin’ score, I saved yer sorry ass from that Cherry-blossom asshole. If I hadn't jumped in, you woulda ended up a corpse and that little snow lady you're so fond of would’ve wound up skewered by her own ‘dearly beloved big brother’ like a kebab.”

Ichigo grits his teeth, a hard glare etched on his face and he swallows down a lump in his throat. "I admit it then. You did save my life against Byakuya. And probably against Kenpachi too. Do you want me to thank you, is that it? Then fine. I can do that; you have my gratitude. But just because you saved my life doesn't mean I'm about ready to hand everything over to you wrapped up in a pretty little bow. You'd probably kill the every person you see if I did, and wouldn't stop until Kisuke or Yoruichi beat your ass into the pavement."

The Hollow scoffs, hefting his white Zangetsu over his shoulder, "I can't believe you. You really are denser than a neutron star, ain't ya? What's with this 'You, you, you' crap?"

Ichigo's eyes narrow, jaw clenching tightly, "What the hell do you mean by that?"

The Hollow shakes his head and snorts, "And here I thought the face gave it away. Ya really aren’t payin' attention, are ya? Don't ya get it, King? Is there nothin’ in that cavern between yer ears? I am you."

Ichigo blinks, his lips part momentarily stupefied then shakes his head to clear it. "That doesn't-- you wearing my face doesn't mean -just because you share the same headspace as me doesn’t mean you’re me. And I don't care what you have to say; I'm not giving you the chance to threaten my friends and family, and I'm sure as hell not gonna let you turn me into some kind of monster."

The first strike is brutal and Ichigo only just manages to block the downward slash. Sparks fly and the impact resonates through Ichigo's bones. His hands are numb. Another wild strike sweeps in from his left and a third stab goes for his guts.

Ichigo parries, blocks and deflects them with scant nanoseconds to spare. The white blade nicks his Shikahusho, tearing clothing but Ichigo's reflexes are enough to avoid blood being spilt... barely.

The Hollow is relentless, his cackles are a mocking chime that echo throughout the inner world.

Ichigo narrowly manages to push back and return a sweeping strike of his own, but the Hollow simply jumps to avoid it, utterly bored by this entire exercise.

The Hollow releases of his blade, snatching the cloth wrap to spin it around and throws the damn thing like a dart.

Ichigo dives out of the way, but the white blade seemly has a life of its own and swings around like a whip. There's not enough time to bring Zangetsu up in a parry and it slices a line cleanly through the right sleeve of his shihakusho, sinking deep into his flesh. Crimson spills from the sleeve and Ichigo retreats in a flight of Shunpo.

The Hollow isn't too far behind, spinning his white Zangetsu like a pinwheel. 

"You need to do better than that Ichigo, or else I'll end up killing you!" His howling laughter chases after Ichigo, who dodges another projectile.

Before the Hollow can yank his blade back, Ichigo lunges forward and strikes at the black cloth. If he cuts it, the Hollow won't be able to retrieve the blade. He'll be disarmed and Ichigo can beat the bastard down.

Zangetsu strikes true and the cloth does warp under Ichigo's strength, but it curls and writhes like a snake out of the blade's path.

The white Zangetsu yanks itself out of the ground, sending up a mess of debris and dust that blinds Ichigo for a split second.

"Really?" The Hollow's distorted tones hiss in Ichigo's ear, sounding for all the world like an exasperated teacher.

A swift knee to Ichigo's kidneys sends him to the ground wheezing while the Hollow looms above him.

Ichigo manages to turn his head and see the terrifying specter looming over him. A monster with its fangs bared, ready to sink deep in his throat and horror locks him in place. "There ya go again, tryin' to apply logic to somethin' like this. Did ya think cuttin' the cloth would work? What - didja really think you could disarm me like that? It's as much a part of Zangetsu as the blade itself and it'll take just as much effort ta break."

A swift kick in the gut sends Ichigo spinning into the air, away from his sword. He lands, face down, on the building. The impact teases the glass. He gasps, barely able to such in a breath as his solar plexus spasms and lungs struggle to inhale. He can barely lever himself onto his hands and knees. The coppery taste of blood wells up in his mouth and red droplets fall from his mouth, paint tiny ruby clusters on the white-grey surface.

The realization hits. This Hollow thing is going to kill him. It will kill him and there's nothing Ichigo can do about it. This monster -

Wait.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

What in the hell is he doing?

This is... stupid! So bloody stupid Ichigo would've laughed if he could catch his breath. This is his soul. This is his mind. If what this Hollow said is true, that it really is him, then... this whole thing is pointless. He's fighting himself! And he refuses to partake any longer.

With that pearl of insight, its as if time itself slows down to a syrupy crawl. Even the pain from his wounds lessens. He's aware of them but they're not bothering him anywhere as much as they should. 

"Givin' up already?" The Hollow tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly. He bends at waist, his Zangetsu precariously balanced across his shoulders. "Disappointing, Ichigo. So very dis-"

Ichigo's fist collides with his jaw, fast as lightning, catching the Hollow completely off guard.

A victory by itself.

The force of the impact knocks him into the air, his white Zangetsu clattering away. He lands on his back, hard, cracking the glass and concrete skyscraper.

Ichigo doesn't give his Hollow a chance to recover, tackling him. Wrestling him down. Wild punches, scratches and scrambling kicks (and more than few bites) fly back and forth until after much struggle, Ichigo has the Hollow pinned flat against the skyscraper, face pressed into the glass. Ichigo plants himself on his back, his right elbow between the Hollow's shoulder blades, painting the white robe crimson with his blood, and he's got the Hollow's left arm twisted back to the point of snapping.

In a while, Ichigo would probably look back on this whole situation and laugh - caustically, of course, but laugh all the same. The way they were squabbling just now? Old man Zangetsu was right. Less mortal enemies, more two quarrelsome siblings squabbling over the TV remote. 

"We're done here." Ichigo grounds out through gritted teeth.

"Get your fat ass off me! We ain't done 'til I say so." The Hollow roars.

Ichigo give his left arm a warning tug, earning the Hollow's grunt of pain. "I said we're done here. Do you understand me? This ends, right here. Right now."

The Hollow manages to turn his head enough to glower up at Ichigo with a baleful golden eye.

“I'm not fighting you. Because neither of us can afford it." 

"Speak fer yerself. I could keep this up all day! 'Til the end of time, if I have ta." The Hollow barks, continue his failed attempts to wriggle out of Ichigo's iron grip. 

"And THEN what happens?!” Ichigo barks right back, his fury burning a path through his fear of this like-faced creature. “Let’s take these overblown hissy fits of yours to their logical conclusions, shall we? You continue acting up, continue affecting my performance, and then what happens? I miss a strike that should've easily ended a fight. I don't deflect an incoming attack I could've easily countered if I hadn't been splitting my concentration trying to keep you in check. Or worse, I could wind up dead. All because you have to piss and moan and scream so loud I can barely think straight!”

The Hollow snarls, feral and inhuman.

Ichigo presses on. When in doubt, belligerence, belligerence and more belligerence is the way.

"Stop acting like a bloodthirsty psychopath for one goddamn second and use that brain of yours, if you even have one. Tell me how in the hell that serves anything or any one of us?!” Ichigo pushes out. "You're a part of me, fine. I accept that. But I refuse to fight you because what good does that do either of us?! You really want to spend our lifetimes at each other's throats, because I sure as shit know I don't. Like it or not, we're stuck with each other. And as I see it, this only works one way." 

The Hollow's resistance lessens and Ichigo is struck by the fact he's actually listening. Tentatively, he eases up on the pressure. The Hollow remains motionless.

For now. That baleful look has eased somewhat. Only somewhat. Guess that means something Ichigo is saying is resonating (Or he's being a cunniving little bastard, waiting for Ichigo to drop his guard further).

"You want to be strong, right? I want to want to be strong too. Strong enough to do what I gotta do and protect what I wanna protect. You want to fight along side me to do that? Fine. You want to watch my back? Go right ahead. But allow me to make myself perfectly clear; You do not get to call the shots here, and you will not get in my way. This is my soul, my world. You're a part of it but I refuse to let you control me. Are we understood?" 

The Hollow bares his teeth but makes no further efforts to move or resist. Taking that lack of reaction as tentative agreement, Ichigo slowly, very slowly, releases his pin. He stumbles back and lands hard on his rump, eyes closed and panting from the exertion, one hand nursing his probably very bruised stomach.

Ichigo slowly pries open his eyes and is confronted by a very miffed looking Hollow, "... About fuckin' time ya figured out ya needed me, dumbass..."

Ichigo releases the shaky breath, astounded his gamble paid off. His Hollow simply squats there in a little ball, arms folded over his knees, unwilling or unable to resume his combat stance.

Ichigo slumps, feeling his tension and nerves drain away because - holy shit, he was bluffing like a mad bastard. He did not expect that to work.

His white doppelganger is pouting, staring out like a sulking child who just had their favourite toy was confiscated or been put in timeout.

Taking a good long look at him now, it's... so bizarre. Ichigo knows he was terrified of him. Knew he did everything he could to pretend he didn't exist. Thought the Hollow was an honest to god menace meant to be purged. But right now, Ichigo can't bring himself to feel an ounce of that terror. That fear he'd felt until now completely vanished, as if it never existed in the first place, and honestly it all seems so completely irrational.

Whatever subconscious impulse had cast the Hollow in a manic monstrous light is gone, and its like a veil has been lifted. Practically night and day. In truth, the Hollow doesn't seem all that scary. Childish and petulant and prone to tantrums? Oh, absolutely yes... but not the personification of dread Ichigo had come to view it as.

“Is that all you wanted? For me to show a little spine?” Ichigo groans, chin dropping to his chest. “God, you’re worse than Goatface.”

In an absurdly comedic way, completely at odds with his threatening presence mere moments ago, the Hollow's head snaps around and glowers at him, genuinely - genuinely offended. “You take that back.” 

"Eat me." Ichigo retorts, equally petulant - and forgetting for a tired second the whole point of this exchange was explicitly to avoid that outcome. "You know, getting an honest look at you now..."

"What?" The Hollow snaps, sore over his last remark.

Ichigo shrugs, he's well beyond caring. With his adrenaline spent and battle high evaporated, his fatigue slams into him like a freight train and Ichigo flops onto his back, letting his limbs splay across the glass. It's cool and soothing to the touch. Exhaling a heavy breath, he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, all the while the Hollow is grumbling and muttering to himself like an irritated child.

A thought occurs and Ichigo pushes himself up on his elbows, facing his bleached copy, "... what's your name?"

The Hollow's head snaps around so fast, its amazing he didn't crick his neck. "The hell did ya say?"

"I asked what's your name?" Ichigo repeats, tired but digging into some unknown reserve of patience he never realized he possessed, "Unless you want me to keep shouting 'Hollow' whenever I want to talk to you."

Despite popular opinion, Ichigo was raised with some manners, even if he chooses not to employ them as frequently as he probably should.

Something unreadable passes over that alabaster face and the Hollow's silent for the longest minute of Ichigo's life. "Pick one."

Ichigo blinks, "Excuse me?"

"Ya ain't deaf; I said gimme a name."

Ichigo groans again, flopping back and closing his eyes, "I don't know, why are you asking me, you lazy bastard? I suck at that sort of thing! Think of your own name." He's whining and he knows it. Ichigo opens his eyes and peers out over the skyscrapers.

"Hell no. Stop bein' lazy, ya brat." 

"I'm not lazy, you pest. Why are you pinning this on me? It's not like I'm great at naming things in the first place. I-" Ichigo sits up again, wincing at the pain in his gut. A spark of inspiration as he peers out at his inner world.

"Hakuto." Ichigo announces, turning addressing the Hollow. "I'm calling you Hakuto."

His hollow arches an eyebrow. "... really?"

Ichigo scowls, feeling a headache coming on, pointing demonstratively to the skyscrapers around them, to the Hollow - Hakuto and then himself in turn. "Yes, really. White City, White Samurai or White Orange. Take your pick. If you don't like it, suck it up, because that's about as inspired as you're gonna get from me this late at night. Else I'm screaming Hollow every time I want talk to you."

Hakuto folds his arms. "Where do you get the balls?"

Ichigo answers irreverently, "Probably because you look about as threatening as a wet kitten right now. But if I said it had nothing to do with the fact your sword's all the way over there, I'd be lying."

"Still got arms an' legs, King. Even without a sword, I can think up of plenty o' ways to knock ya flat on yer ass. Or I could just, ya know, wander over there, pick it up and stab ya repeatedly in the face." Hakuto counters with a feral grin. It doesn't have that earlier lethal edge; challenging sure, but more scoping out a potential rival than prey.

"Not really much of an achievement considering I'm already sitting on my ass, you moron." Ichigo says flippantly, ignoring the blatant threat because honestly, he couldn't care less right now. "And while we're on the subject, stop giving me nightmares, won't you? Let me get enough rest or I'll really lose focus in the middle of a battle and die for certain. Pretty sure that'll spell trouble for you too."

"Only if I get regular sparring matches; there ain't much ta do in this world and the old man's about as borin' as watchin' paint dry." 

"Fine. Sparring it is. Just keep it to the weekends; or nights I can actually afford to lose a little sleep." Ichigo agrees, done with the conversation.

"And I wanna fight too. Yer want me to be all nice n' quiet-like? That's my price. Take it-"

"Done." Ichigo answers again, cutting Hakuto off. "Living in my head rent-free and you have the gall to act this damn pushy. Just... do whatever you want, except take over my body, all right? And if you're planning on dragging me in here for a friendly spar," Ichigo heavily emphasizes the 'friendly' part, "Send a little heads up first so I can lie down somewhere safe. The last thing I want is to collapse in the middle of a street or a conversation because you got a little too sword happy."

(Ichigo remembers how much of a bitch it was to clean up after people found his soulless body in the street when he was acting as Rukia's substitute. Her chewing him out for his 'carelessness' while she deployed that memory modifier gadget of hers was a weekly occurrence.)

Hakuto grumbles something under his breath, "It'll have ta do, stupid King." 

Ichigo huffs, reluctantly climbing to his feet. He whips away a smear of blood from his chin with one hand while the other still nurses his stomach. "Now how the hell do I-?"

Ichigo doesn't finish the thought. A foot lands square in his back, kicking him right off the edge.

And Ichigo yells, flopping off his bed in the real world, landing on his wooden floorboards with a hard crash, feeling a jolt of numbness then pain spreading out from his right forearm. He curses loudly in the dark. "Ah, dickhead."

Ichigo sucks in a pained breath through tightly clenched teeth, nursing his right arm against his chest. He expected bleeding, but all that's there is a nasty purple-ish yellow bruise. He expects he'll have matching bruises on his stomach and back in the mornig.

Regrettably, Ichigo's too distracted to hide it when his door slams open and his little sisters practically tumble into the room. His father isn’t too far behind.

As soon as they recover, Yuzu spots the giant bruise on his forearm - Ichigo thanks his lucky stars the cut didn't show up on his human body (for whatever reason) - and moves to fuss over him. 

A nightmare, he promises them. Just a nightmare.

They aren't convinced. Yuzu continues fussing over him, checking his temperature and asking all the standard welfare questions she'd issue to any patient. It takes a good ten minutes before Ichigo finally persuades his family he's fine, bruising aside.

One by one, they shuffle out. Yuzu then Karin, and finally his father. 

Isshin looks at him with crossed arms and Ichigo catches glimpses of a concerned frown flashing across his face, mixed with a puzzling expression Ichigo hasn’t seen… ever, now that he thinks about it. His father opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, thinks better over it, then closes his mouth, shakes his head and departs for his own room.

“Back to sleep with you. You’ve got school tomorrow. Don’t think for a second I’m not going to kick you out of bed because you’re up late.” 

Ichigo rolls his eyes, climbs to his feet and closes the door. He has his ear pressed to it, listening for everyone to return to their rooms. Five minutes pass and when he’s absolutely certain everyone’s back in bed, Ichigo exhales a gust of air and a knot of tension unspools in his stomach. 

He drags himself back to bed, flopping across the mattress and haphazardly pulling the blankets over himself.

“If you’re going to drag me into my inner world for future hissy fits, could you at least wait for my family to be out of the house, you pain in the ass?”

Through the hustle and bustle of airport activity on a clear Monday morning, a man deftly weaves his way through the other arriving passengers to collect his belongings from the carousel. 

He's tall with a fit lean frame, tanned skin and shaggy black hair, dressed in a fairly trendy style; black boots, pale blue jeans, charcoal undershirt and blue-grey high-collar jumper. A hooded navy jacket embroidered with subtle floral patterns completes the look. 

Almost on cue, his phone chimes in his back pocket and he answers, pressing it to his ear.

“Morning!” The man chirps brightly, grinning cheerfully as he makes his way out of the throng towards the exit, a laden duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. “Yeah, leaving the luggage carousel now. Back’s stiff as a board and I’m glad to finally stretch my legs. 7 and a half hours cooped up in a flying tin can is not my idea of a good time.”

He laughs merrily, “True. Good thing I left when I did. Apparently a huge thunderstorm hit Cairns about half an hour after the flight took off. Hit a spot of turbulence, must’ve been the tail end of that storm cell, but smooth enough ride after that. Granted I spent most of it asleep. Makes me damn glad Tokyo's sunny.”

More words exchanged. The man heaves a sigh but smiles shortly after, “Yeah, yeah. That was a bust. But I won’t say I didn’t take it as an excuse to not enjoy myself. So what’s up? Did you need me for anything or did you just miss the sweet sound of my voice?” 

The man cackles mischievously, enjoying the reaction on the other end of the line. “If you didn’t want smartarsed remarks, why did you raise me that way? That’s no one’s fault but your own... Oh please. As if you weren’t encouraging us the entire time.”

His eyes shine as if he'd heard the news of a lifetime. 

“Ichigo's come into his powers, then? Finally! I know people can be late bloomers but 16 is a bit ridiculous for how much natural power he has.” He blinks, perplexed now. That confused knot in his brow shifts into a frown.

“Whoa whoa whoa, back up a second. Slow down. Start from the beginning, what happened? Okay, I’m lost already. What does Kuchiki have to do with any of this…? …She did what?"

His jaw would've made a crater if it drops any lower, "What do you mean, execution?! Why didn’t you call me for help?! I would’ve been on the first flight back! Yeah, you’re telling me now - after the fact... That’s entirely besides the point! I hope you realise I'm going to kick all your asses to Hueco Mundo and back for keeping me in the dark about this.”

“Why in the Soul King's name does Ichigo have a hollow…?! Excuse me?! Why would you let Urahara do that?! It’s only been three months! What else did I miss?!” Shiba Kaien demands.

Chapter Text

Ichigo rubs sleep out of his eye, feeling like he hadn't rested one wink in the last forty-eight hours.

One day, Ichigo insists resolutely to himself, one day he’ll wake up in the morning, go through the motions and have a perfectly normal day. No muss, no fuss - just a measly twenty-four hours of peace and quiet to decompress from the steaming pile of crazy that’s been his life these past three months plus change. 

Naturally life takes one look at Ichigo’s heartfelt wishes, laughs in his face, then dumps a fresh new mountain of problems in his lap. Typically in the form of one colossal douchebag or another attempting to insert themselves into his personal affairs, like a collection of the creepiest, most obsessive stalkers you can imagine. 

In fairness, Rukia hardly fit that category. Her appearance, abrupt and tumultuous as it was, helped Ichigo get his life in a kind of order. Late nights and chaotic hollow-hunts and the toll that took on his academic scores aside, he’d been largely listless before that fateful day. Sure, initially she had to twist his arm to get his backside in gear, but hollow hunting and protecting innocent souls from their hungry maws gave his life much needed direction.

Admittedly, Urahara or Yoruichi don’t exactly fall into that category either. 

For all his faults, and as much as Ichigo wants to bash his brains in for his idiot antics, Urahara did feel guilty about manipulating Ichigo and his friends into raiding Soul Society. Their objectives aligned, they both wanted to save the same person anyway. It's not like Ichigo wouldn’t have gone through with the mission had he been told the truth. What pissed him off was the fact Urahara legitimately thought he’d run if he learned the fight was a lot tougher than initially anticipated.

On Yoruichi’s side of things, she did attempt to guide them through the world - key word there being attempt - and she did help him train and learn Bankai, despite the fact she'd done more than her fair share to legitimately piss Ichigo off too.

But Aizen absolutely fits into that ‘colossal douchebag’ category. Same applies to that fox-faced smarmy prick Gin and the blind, up-his-own-ass-about-justice guy Ichigo vaguely remembers is named Tousen. (Ichigo questions what kind of ‘justice’ requires the brutal and theatrically public immolation of an innocent woman, but he doubts he'll ever understand the answer anyway.)

Now there’s another creepy douchebag trying to muscle in on Ichigo’s turf by the name of Hirako Shinji. 

The audacity of that damn schmuck; infiltrating Ichigo’s school class, spending the day tapdancing on Ichigo’s last nerve, then attacking him at night with a freaking zanpakutou! After which, Hirako has the gall to taunt Ichigo about his reiatsu. Some-freaking-how, he conjures a hollow mask out of thin air and prattles on with that eerie buck-toothed grin. 

‘Yer a Visored, like me. Ya don’t belong on the shinigami’s side’ he said, as if pulling out a sword and a mask was enough to convince Ichigo to willingly join whatever clandestine cultish scheme he's cooking up.

Naturally, after pulling off a stunt like that, Ichigo rightfully told that arrogant bastard to shove the invitation up his ass and pointedly quit the conversation before Hirako could get another word in edgewise.

All this to say, Ichigo's in the tiniest bit of a foul mood right now.

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he severely offended some God or Gods in a previous life and they were using this one to enact petty retribution. 

“I hate my life.” Ichigo grumbles under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and desperately trying not to scream in frustration at the latest cosmic prank at his expense.

To compound Ichigo's black mood over the whole situation?

It's raining.

Great.

Ichigo groans, the back of his head thudding loudly against the shelter wall. 

He’s damp, cold and stuck waiting for the bus after school hours. Worse still, he’d have to walk home in this deluge when he got off at the local stop. 

Thankfully this is a covered bench which keeps Ichigo mostly dry. Mostly. And for the time being, he didn’t have to share it with anyone. 

Even better. 

So he sits alone, stewing in his irritation. 

Maybe if he asked politely, either Zangetsu or Hakuto would pull him into his inner world for a spar to vent his frustrations. It’s part of their bargain, so Hakuto would absolutely leap at the chance. Or who knows, Ichigo might happen across a wandering Hollow on his way home. Any distraction to work off the excess stress sounds absolutely dandy right about now.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Ichigo leans forward, raking his fingers through his orange hair. 

Maybe he should reach out to Urahara? He seems to know what’s what when it comes to Karakura’s spiritual comings and goings. Certainly more than Ichigo ever will. He’d probably know if Hirako is legit, or if he’s some two-bit hack to stay the hell away from… 

The thought lingers for a moment before Ichigo sweeps it aside with a shake of his head. 

No. Ichigo knows well from personal experience, that old shopkeeper can't be compelled to give up answers he’s not already prepared to offer anyway. Or if he does volunteer information, it’d be in that infuriatingly cryptic manner that instills a fierce desire to knock someone’s teeth out.

Ichigo drags his hand down his face with another groan and a muffled curse. Maybe he should skip the middle man, track down this Visored group and politely kick their asses out of town. There’s enough overly complicated bullshit going on without a new faction throwing their hat into the ring.

A mix of being lost in his own head and the heavy yet oddly therapeutic patter of rainfall against the tin roof prevents Ichigo from noticing another person approaching his spot.

“Hey, sorry, there’s no other cover. Mind if I join you?” The man asks, snapping Ichigo out of his pensive mood.

He’s a tall man dressed fairly casually. Black boots, pale blue jeans, black undershirt, blue-grey high-coloured jumper and navy jacket over the top. He's got his blue hood up against the elements, shadowing most of his face, but Ichigo can see those aqua-green eyes regarding him curiously. 

A tiny sense of recognition plays in his mind, like déjà vu or some half-forgotten shadow, but Ichigo dismisses it and sidles across the bench, allowing the stranger to take a seat.

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Thanks.” The man responds, cheerfully plopping himself down, flicking off some rain from his pants and sleeves. 

“Heck of a shower today. Forecasts said this wasn’t due until tomorrow. Guess it decided to make an early appearance, huh?” The man begins conversationally. 

Ichigo doesn’t make much of an acknowledgement. He’s a bit preoccupied with his thoughts to talk at the moment.

“It's a nuisance. I hate the rain.” Ichigo mutters.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” 

Ichigo flinches. 

Despite the friendly attempt to strike up some small talk, Ichigo wants none of it. He slouches and looks away, pretending like he’d never spoken in the first place. Then he feels bad. It’s rude, he chastises himself, and yes, he’s in a bad mood but that doesn’t mean he needs to take it out on a friendly stranger.

This stranger murmurs in agreement, taking Ichigo’s sullen silence in stride.

“Yeah. I can relate. The rain brings back some gnarly memories for me too. Stuff I wouldn’t care to relive if I could help it.” The man presses a hand to his chest in an unconscious gesture with a strained smile. “But it can tell you its fair share of stories if you know how to listen. Sometimes listening to it patter down can be downright soothing. There’s a certain ambiance to it, perfect for an afternoon when you wanna kick back, relax with a nice hot mug of coffee and enjoy a good book.”

"Well… you're not wrong there." Ichigo concedes that point, deciding on politeness after all. "Not so much a fan of coffee but yeah, I don't mind cracking open an epic novel now and again with this kind of background noise. Or people-watching. Not so great weather for travelling though."

"I'd say that's down to a matter of perspective. I used to know a little kid who adored jumping and splashing around in every puddle he saw, no matter how hard his parents tried to keep him dry." The stranger chuckles at his own memory, a wistful smile pulls at his lips. "Rain has it's fair share of misery sometimes, but it has its joys too. It can be cleansing in its own way." 

The stranger shrugs with a chuckle, “Then again, my zanpakutou’s a water type. The more water there is, the better she can fight - be it seas of heavens. Suppose that makes me biased, right?”

Ah, the glorious sound of the other shoe dropping.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Politeness and the burgeoning lighter mood firmly done away with, Ichigo hisses under his breath, eyes closing and grits his teeth, exhaling a short aggravated breath.

“Okay, what’s the game this time?” He demands flatly, patience expended.

“Excuse me?” The stranger is taken aback.

“Listen buddy. I’ll tell you upfront I’m in a spectacularly foul mood right now, so if you’re looking for a fight I’m more than inclined to give you one. But how about you spare us both the bother and get lost before I decide to introduce you to my zanpakutou blade-tip first?” Ichigo’s eyes narrow threateningly, fingers crawling towards the combat pass hanging from his belt loop.

The stranger winces. “Yeesh. Tough customer. I’m not here for a fight, I’m just trying to make polite conversation, and uh… okay yeah, I can see how my comment came across as a threat.” The man raises his hands defensively, “See for yourself. I don’t have her with me. I’m simply here to talk so please don’t stab me. This is my favourite jacket.”

Ichigo scoffs, unconvinced and glares, “Yeah, but not having a sword doesn’t make you any less dangerous. Let me guess, you’re part of Hirako’s group and you've got Shinigami powers too, right? Means you’ve got all types of fancy Kido you can dish out before I could even switch out.”

The man cocks an eyebrow with a genuine look of hurt and disappointment before he answers, rueful and sympathetic, “... aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?”

“Aren’t you psychopaths a little old to be stalking teenagers?” Ichigo slouches once again. He can pretty accurately guess who sent this guy to find him.

“Ouch!” The man covers a bark of laughter with his fist. “Gez. Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

“There aren’t enough hours in the day nor enough of your bones to break.” Ichigo retorts darkly. 

Is Ichigo being petulant and immature? Yeah probably. Does he care at this junction? Nope.

The stranger rubs his chin thoughtfully, a hint of a bemused smile on his lips, “They weren’t kidding. I was told you’d inherited a temper almost as bad as mine, but damn, you are super cranky. Missed our afternoon nap, did we?”

Ichigo scowls at the attempted teasing, fingers curling into a fist.

Great. They say to never shoot the messenger but if Ichigo has to hear one more word of this Visored recruitment crap, he’s going to knock this guy’s lights out. For whatever reason, these stubborn jackasses are dead set on recruiting him for their own purposes. 

What? Did they decide Hirako’s schoolyard ploy wasn’t working after a day so they sent along someone else as a change in tact? (It would explain why Hirako wasn’t harassing him today, or in class at all for that matter.) 

Making his rejection emphatically clear at the business end of Zangetsu is looking more and more appealing by the second. Or maybe Ichigo’ll track them down to give them a personal demonstration about exactly what Hakuto can do? 

No deaths, of course, but beating their asses to bloody pulps might finally get the point across to leave Ichigo the hell alone.

“I’m sorry about Shinji. He’s a bit, eh, peculiar and sometimes he can be a major asshole, but all and all he’s actually a pretty great guy. Real ‘ride of die’ when you’re in his good books. He just has his own thoroughly bizarre way of doing things.” The man says, returning to a friendly tone. “If it makes you feel better, I decked him pretty hard for ambushing you last night.”

Ichigo blinks, taken aback, anger grinding to a spectacular halt for a half-second. “Really?”

The stranger chuckles, tapping the side of his own hooded head demonstratively, “If you see him around in the next couple days with a giant lump round about here-ish, now you’ll know why.” 

The stranger leans forward, elbows on his knees and pulls down his hood revealing a mess of black hair. Ichigo can see an old scar running along the carotid artery on the left side of his neck, bisected by a tattooed string of kanji. From the looks of it, that rope of scar tissue circles around his entire neck like a noose.

Looks like someone tried to take his head entirely. 

Ichigo vaguely wonders if it was Shinigami enforcers who tried to sanction him out for obtaining hollow power. Like how Byakuya and Renji went after Ichigo for borrowing Rukia’s powers. If a shinigami donating their powers to a human gets them slapped in irons, it isn’t hard to imagine the legal consequences of using Hollow powers in Soul Society’s eyes. Why else would these Visoreds act so cloak-and-dagger?

The black kanji spells out a partial name, but Ichigo decides he doesn’t care enough to read it before turning away.

The man continues, oblivious or outright ignoring Ichigo’s unwillingness to pay him any mind.

“See I’d very specifically asked to be the one to reach out to you. But if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans, right?” He sighs, indulgent more than exasperated, “If they’d just waited a day, we could’ve avoided yesterday’s whole drama entirely.”

“Is that so?” Ichigo retorts, disinterested. “And what would you have done to get my attention, hmm?”

“Exactly this. Walk up and ask if you had a minute to talk.” The stranger replies frankly, gesturing to both of them. 

“Comforting.” Ichigo mutters in a snarky tone, rolling his eyes. “Sorry to say you wasted a trip, pal. I already told Hirako to pound sand, so why don’t you piss off before I get mad and decide to do something about it.”

The man grunts in sympathetic irritation, “Yeah I get it. Being ambushed by a Zanpakutou and a Hollow mask ain’t the best of ice breakers, is it? I don’t even know what the hell Shinji was thinking. See, any rational person would’ve just approached you and, I don’t know, explained themselves… but no, gotta be as dramatic as possible because god forbid anyone cuts the bullshit for once.”

The guy emphasizes the ‘dramatic’ part with sarcastic jazz hands. 

Ichigo lets an amused snort slip before he can catch himself. He definitely relates. And he had to admit, this guy was definitely making a better impression than Hirako. Low bar to pass as that was to crawl over.

The man huffs. “But that's not Shinji's way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a good laugh but it's only funny when everyone’s in on the joke.”

Evidently, he’s stuck with this conversation so Ichigo decides to engage a little. 

Only a little.

“Let me guess, that bastard was the stick and you’re supposed to be the carrot, right? Try to butter me up, make it sound like I’ll have a great time rockin’ around with a bunch of Hollow mask-wearing freaks?”

There's a pregnant pause, Ichigo can feel the man’s aqua eyes on him and there’s a genuine note of dismay, “You’re far too young to be so damn cynical.”

The man takes another moment to consider his next words carefully, running his fingers up and down the kanji on his neck.

Frustrated, Ichigo was about to turn around and snap at the man. Why did it matter if he was cynical or not? But his anger stopped dead when he finally met the man’s sympathetic eyes and got a good look at that face. Give him ten years and black hair, and this man could’ve been Ichigo’s twin!

The identical stranger’s gaze lowers as if weighing some internal decision, before meeting Ichigo’s again, “It's admittedly a bold ask, but would you be willing to pretend you’d never met Shinji. Maybe even consider this a new first impression?”

Bonus Content: Encounter under Rainy Skies by Patrick Nyugen

Ichigo takes a second to compose himself, exhales and slumps with his arms folded over his chest. He pointedly refuses to look at the identical stranger, but mostly because he’s trying to puzzle out just what the hell is going on. 

“Fine then. Whatever. At least you’re not threatening me with a Zanpakutou this time. A-Plus for effort. But I still ain’t interested. So knowing that, what’s your elevator pitch, huh? ‘Come to the dark side, we have Hollow Masks’?”

“Actually, thought I might start with ‘thank you’.”

Ichigo thought it was an entirely sarcastic remark but the wind’s taken from his sails when he glances back. 

Those aqua eyes were so earnest and warm and accompanied by a kind smile on his lips. It catches Ichigo completely off guard by how honest the gratitude really was. He had no issue believing this was entirely genuine either. But he has no clue exactly what he’d done to earn it?

And so he asks, “For what?”

“For saving Rukia from the Sokyoku and Aizen’s schemes when I couldn’t.” He answers and leans back, exhaling deeply as if trying to expel some great shame weighing on his shoulders.

Well, if he didn’t have it before, he definitely has Ichigo’s undivided attention now. How did this guy know about that? And who was Rukia to him? But thoughts of Rukia, and by extension Ukitake, plant a sneaking suspicion and Ichigo feels himself growing agitated for an entirely separate reason now. 

As if hearing the unspoken question, the man continues with a sombre tone even as anger and the tiniest hint of a dual voice layers his words, “I was out of the country - part holiday, part running errands. I didn’t even know it was happening. I only heard the full story when I returned two days ago, well after everything was already over.”

“Suffice it to say infuriated is an understatement, and I absolutely want to rip Yoruichi and Kisuke a new asshole for keeping me in the dark about the execution. Had I known I would’ve happily ditched everything to loan my sword to the cause, consequences be damned. Maybe we could’ve avoided other problems entirely if I had.”

He rubs his neck, brushing his fingers against that tattoo again, giving a long deep sigh. “Then again, had they told me what was going on from the jump, they knew I would’ve torn the Seireitei to shreds to save Kuchiki. But I’m glad Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyoraku managed to cotton onto the foul play and lend you a hand in their own ways. They’re good men. Some of the best I’ve known.”

That sneaking suspicion grows exponentially. Even as Ichigo knows it can’t be possible. 

“Just who the hell are you?” Ichigo demands. 

The man observes him once more, allowing a long minute to pass while he weighs his options. “My name is Shiba Kaien. Former Lieutenant of the Thirteenth Division. And you’d be Kurosaki Ichigo - it's my genuine pleasure to meet you.”

Ichigo’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. So much so he barely registers the hand being offered to him or how it dejectedly falls when Ichigo doesn’t engage. He’s no longer surprised that everyone and their dog in the spiritual world knows his name, but he’s more shocked that a dead man is sitting right in front of him.

Shiba Kaien. 

Ukitake’s former Lieutenant, Rukia’s mentor, the dearly loved and dearly mourned elder brother to Kukaku and Ganju, was alive… alive and apparently working for the Visoreds! About a hundred thousand questions exploded in his mind.

Ichigo sputters, unable to process that information, “But… they said you died. Rukia- She… she killed you.”

Kaien agrees immediately with a nod, his hand pressing once again rubbing that spot on his sternum. “She did. And I did die. In excruciating agony. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

White-hot fury burns through Ichigo’s veins, replacing his fatigue with righteous rage. All of which he directs towards this revenant, “Why the hell am I your priority?! What about your family?! Your brother and sister! And Rukia! Ukitake and the others! Why haven’t you told anyone you’re still alive?! Do you have any idea how they’ve suffered because of that?!”

Kaien looks regretful, a dark shadow around his eyes, “Ichigo, you’re an older brother yourself. I shouldn’t have to explain to you how much it’s killing me inside to be away from Kukaku and Ganju, from my captain, my men, my student. Yes, I’ve made the best of a bad situation, but do you seriously think for a second I wouldn't leap at the opportunity to see them again? That I’ve been getting my kicks from letting everyone I love continue believing I’m dead while trying to prepare for a war?”

"And pray tell, what's stopping you?" Ichigo snarls.

Kaien releases another slow, steady breath. "That's a longer and far more complicated story. But that doesn't matter right now-"

"I beg to differ!" Ichigo snaps.

“Ichigo, my family is everything to me. There's nothing I want more right now than going back home to them - to hold them and never let go. But as much as I wish it were otherwise, I don’t have that option.” Kaien snipes right back. “What I can do right now is help you.” 

Ichigo scoffs, shaking his head, gazing off into the distance. “Yeah I know the whole spiel; if I join your little Visored organization you’ll help me learn to control my Hollow, right?”

“From their point of view, they’re trying to recruit you - cheerfully ignoring the fact that you’re a child and you shouldn’t be anywhere near this whole fucking mess whatsoever. Me? I want to help you because you are a child, you’re sick, and without help you’re going to die. There’s nothing more to it than that. But if you do need more of a reason, consider it my attempt to repay you for saving Rukia.”

It's a bit of an exaggeration. 

Ichigo doesn’t feel like he’s going to die. He’d already made a deal with his Hollow, and Hakuto’s been sticking to his end of the bargain thus far. Granted, including today it's been less than forty-eight hours but he's been behaving himself enough to let Ichigo get a decent night's rest.

But if it's a way to get some answers, Ichigo might as well play along for a while. Skepticism is in his nature, so it's not hard to act the part. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but why? You don’t even know me.”

“When a man’s drowning, do you really think twice before throwing him a lifeline? Or do you save his life first and ask questions later?” Kaien counters, he closes his eyes and leans back on the bus stop wall. “I won’t ask you to trust me. God knows you’ve got plenty of reasons not to. ‘Fool me once’ and all that. But the only thing I want to do, the only thing I can do, is help you. The Visoreds, for all their Shakespearian levels of theatrics and eccentricities, want to help you too. They’ve been on the lookout for similarly afflicted Shinigami. Hell, they saved me when I was trapped in far more dire straits.”

“It’s not an exaggeration to say they dragged my ass back from the abyss. I don’t mean the occasional blacking out in the middle of battle - I mean subsumed completely. Yet here I am; alive, Hollowfication mastered and sane.”

Kaien winces, “Eh, questionably sane.”

Kaien then meets Ichigo’s gaze evenly, looking every bit as earnest as he sounds. “We’re not the enemies here. Every single one of us are just victims of circumstance. Every single one of us were dealt shitty hands and chose to make the most of it. Truth be told, we have more reasons than most to want Aizen’s head on a spike. If it helps you think of us any better, consider it less an organization for… whatever the hell Shinji was trying to peddle, and more a support group for Hollowified Shinigami. A support group that’s managed to develop the tools to tame and train Hollowification. Or, if you prefer the more cynical approach, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Ichigo rubs his chin, he’s not convinced despite Kaien’s attempts to frame these people as somewhat helpful eccentrics. Stalking him in his own damn school didn’t strike Ichigo as something any ‘helpful’ person would do, but Kaien did say that he wants to repay a favour. Rukia spoke precious little of her former Lieutenant and mentor, but what little she shared was spoken with glowing praise.

“I know it's terrifying dealing with a Hollow, and I know the thought of learning to use it is sickening to one degree or another, but at the end of the day it's all just power; Shinigami. Hollow. Good. Bad. Whatever. Those labels ultimately mean nothing when you get right down to the brass tacks. The important part is to not lose sight of yourself and your ideals.” Kaien reaches up and flicks Ichigo’s forehead before Ichigo can stop him, “If you remain true to who you are in your heart, what does it matter if you wield a sword or wear a mask?”

Ichigo rubs his forehead, mulling over the words for a long silent moment. Kaien fishes a pen and a slip of paper out of his pocket. He jots down a number and his name before handing it to Ichigo. “You’re not alone in this. Definitely not the only one who’s suffered either. Here. You can reach out to me whenever. It doesn’t even have to be about the Visoreds.”

Ichigo ponders the number for a moment, he clicks his tongue. “Credit where credit’s due; yours is a better ice breaker than Hirako's, that’s for damn sure.”

“Mmm. I’ll see you when I see you, okay? And don’t be afraid to reach out. I mean it. It doesn't matter about what, whether its to talk about this or something else entirely. The last thing anyone needs is to be trapped with nothing but the voices inside their head for company. Even Shinigami need more than that from time to time.” 

With that, Kaien rises to his feet and replaces his hood. He’s about to venture back out into the rain but hesitates and turns back, “How are they doing these days? Kukaku and Ganju, I mean?”

Ichigo hesitates, suddenly feeling quite terrible about his earlier outburst. “They’re… they’re doing okay last I saw. Ganju helped us infiltrate the Seireitei when we tried to rescue Rukia and Kukaku’s…”

Kaien’s lips pull into a crooked smirk, folding his arms. “Kukaku?”

“Yeah. I, uh… I don’t know if you know about her-” Ichigo gestures to his arm vaguely. He doesn’t know exactly how long Kukaku’s been missing a limb, nor if Kaien knew about it so he's treading carefully.

If the scoff was any indication, evidently he had. Kaien’s brow creases, disappointed. “What, don't tell me she blew off her good arm again?”

“Yeah, I - wait, ‘again’?” Ichigo does a double take.

Kaien’s eyebrow shot up, he leans against the bus stop sign, arms folded across his chest as casual as you like, “Oh, didn’t you know? That’s her Zanpakutou’s ability. Lets her regrow anything from her fingers tips to whole limbs whenever she blows them off. Man, I’ve lost count of all the times she’s done it, testing out one new little firecracker or other. I mean, no surprise right? She’s the Fireworks Expert of Rukongai after all. Always loved her explosive toys. Ever since we were kids.”

Ichigo winces, completely taken aback by the whole idea and how casual Kaien is about it. It takes him a minute before he realizes something and glares, “You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“Little bit.” Kaien admits lightheartedly, straightening up. “But before I head off, mind if I offer a small suggestion?”

“I get the vague impression you’d offer it even if I said no.” Ichigo replies.

“Smart boy.” Kaien flashes a smirk briefly, “Do yourself a favour; try limiting your reiryoku output by half.”

Ichigo arches an eyebrow, “Only half?”

“Trust me. You'll thank me later." With that, Kaien departs throwing a wave over his shoulder.

Ichigo watches his image disappear into the rain just as the bus pulls up. He takes a few seconds to contemplate the scrap note, slips it into his school bag and hops on.

Chapter Text

Amazing how a month of imprisonment and forced inaction helps one gain a new appreciation for the mundane things. After all, there's only so long one can do nothing but contemplate their impending death and guilty conscience before that grows tiresome.

Rukia returns to work with renewed vigour, limited though her duties are at the moment. It earns scores of light-hearted teasing from her squad mates, most of whom are some combination of pleased to see her return, relieved to know she’d escaped a ghastly fate, and dismayed by her work ethic showing them up. 

Rukia gladly takes the light-hearted admonishments in stride. If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t think she’s been this thrilled to return to work in… She can’t remember how many years.

Adding to her much improved mood is Sode no Shirayuki.

The spirit’s been making her presence known at the back of Rukia's thoughts for days now. Weak at first, whispers like the faintest breeze through a silent meadow. Then as the days passed her refined crystalline voice grew stronger, as clean and pure as fresh fallen snow, and thoroughly pleased in her own right by their gathering strength. Culminating in this morning where Rukia’s powers, and by extension her zanpakutou's, had recovered enough to reconstitute her physical blade.

Though Rukia's heart soared seeing Sode no Shirayuki back in the flesh (or the steel, as it were), her emotions were tempered by uneasy tension.

To her great shame, Rukia hasn't spoken to her spirit in almost as many years. An impenetrable wall of guilt and loneliness in her mind prevented Rukia from finding the inner peace necessary to commune properly.

Truth be told, part of Rukia feared her spirit would despise her. Hate her for the silence and resent the wall Rukia forced between them.

But when Rukia's fingers brushed against her reformed zanpakutou’s hilt this morning, she understood how truly foolish that notion was. At first touch a chill shot through her arm and settled in her core, a familiar comforting sensation that felt like a loving embrace from an old friend, overjoyed to be reunited once more.

Sode no Shirayuki spent all that time patiently waiting for Rukia to return when she was ready, had faith that she would, and Rukia had never been more grateful for her zanpakutou spirit.

(If there's one solace Rukia can draw from these hectic three months, it's the fact their forced separation reminded Rukia just how much she'd missed the spirit and valued her companionship.)

Of course, that also means in a few more days, Rukia would be cleared to commence training with her sword again. Which is the source of that extra spring in her step when she knocks on the Captain's office door that afternoon.

“The day's reports, Captain, and mission briefings for expeditions into Rukongai North's 62nd, 63rd and 73rd district." Rukia places the stack of neatly arranged manila envelopes on her Captain's desk, itemized and alphabetized according to priority, duration and resources.

Captain Ukitake accepts them with a gracious nod, "Thank you Rukia. I knew I could count on you." 

Flattered, Rukia inclines her head and a tiny smile snuck its way onto her face. “Yes sir. From what Third Seat Kotetsu’s told me, the expedition teams are ready to deploy as soon as you’ve approved their mission plans. We can set up the new stone quarries within the week.”

“Ah, I’m glad to hear it.” Ukitake nods, a smile working its way onto his face. “It's heartening to see our division attending to their duties with such enthusiasm, in light of everything else that’s happened.”

“I would say they’re eager for a distraction.” Rukia replies, “We’ve had a challenging time lately, and even harder times lie ahead. They want to focus on something in the now, to give themselves something tangible to do. No matter what it is.”

For a split second, Rukia thinks she might have spoken out of turn, but the Captain’s smile remains and his eyes shine with subtle approval. “Astute observation. Say, Rukia,”

Rukia tilts her head quizzically.

Ukitake folds his hands on the desk and leans forward, “Forgive the idle curiosity but have you given any thought to the upcoming officer candidacy exams per chance?”

Rukia blinks, surprised. “Uh, no. Captain, I haven’t. I hadn’t even considered it.”

Ukitake nods as if expecting that answer, “The Fourth, Seventh and Ninth seats are vacant. We’ve been fielding potential candidates - Kiyone, Sentaro and I. Of course the exams won’t be for many months yet, which means you’ll have ample time to recover from this recent ordeal. But I believe you’d do well as a seated officer. And maybe, one day, serve as a Lieutenant.”

Rukia is taken aback by the assertion. She doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m… flattered, Captain. Deeply flattered. But that’s… those are big offices - big shoes to fill.” Rukia searches for the right words, “If I may ask, what brought up this idea? The end result aside, I… botched my last mission. Rather badly, relatively speaking.”

Ukitake doesn’t seem too bothered by her self-deprecation, brushing it aside with a shrug and a conceding nod.

“We shan’t deny your recent assignment was anything but typical, and rife with unintended challenges. In spite of that, you rose to those challenges and conducted yourself to the best of your abilities, all the while demonstrating excellent resourcefulness in completing those duties as well as you were able. That precise kind of ingenuity is one of the defining qualities divisions seek in prospect officers.”

“Even still.” Rukia says, sounding rather pathetically if she was honest.

“If I may speak frankly Rukia, between you and me, despite what you may think of yourself - your issue has never been a lack of skill. That, you have that in ample supply. Yours was a lack of confidence.” Ukitake explains patently, “You may not have noticed it in yourself, but you have grown remarkably since your departure.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Rukia says earnestly, sincerely touched by his compliments. 

She supposes she has. In the human world, she wasn't Kuchiki Rukia - sister to Byakuya, an adopted noble and all the stigma that entailed. Free of the political and social expectations placed upon her by Soul Society's nobility and the deference that forces upon others, Rukia was just another person trying to live her life and do her duty. She'd made ordinary friends and built ordinary relationships. She supposes the experience was a normality she craved ever since she'd accepted adoption by the Kuchiki. Free of that burden, she was allowed to grow as Rukia, not as a Kuchiki.

(The last time she felt like that was... decades ago, when Lieutenant Shiba was still alive.)

Though Rukia doubts whether Byakuya would allow her to advance to higher ranks, to pursue more dangerous missions. Especially in light of his private confession about Lady Hisana and their relationship, but that is a discussion she may have with her elder brother another time. 

“If for no other reason, perhaps consider it a means to gauge your own abilities. I’m not pressuring you to do anything one way or another - I’m merely suggesting you think it over.” Ukitake encourages.

“I… I will, Captain.” Rukia bows politely, “Thank you for your kind words, sir.”

Whatever Ukitake is going to say next is lost in a coughing fit. 

“Captain-!” Rukia starts, moving to circle the desk but a raised hand stops her. 

Ukitake reaches across his desk for a ceramic cup of water and sips slowly. Rukia waits, worry etched on her face while Captain Ukitake takes steady breathes, counting under his breath and allowing the minor episode to pass.

Rukia swallows, an idea springs to mind. Probably a bad idea, but it couldn’t hurt to float the idea.

“Um, Captain. I know this will seem out of line, but… have you considered, maybe, looking at the human world for another treatment?” Rukia suggests, not quite sure why. 

Ukitake raises a dark eyebrow at her expectantly.

“What I mean to say is, the human world is different, different compared to how the Soul Society is. And Ichigo’s father is a doctor who runs a clinic. Maybe,” Rukia’s burst of confidence waivers, “I mean no disrespect towards Captain Unohana but it might be worth looking into? There might be a human medicine that could treat your condition? Or at the very least, help with Unohana's own treatments?”

A moment of silence stretches, and Rukia fears she might have crossed a line after all. That is until Ukitake’s smile returns, albeit slightly pained. “As I said before, Rukia. Resourceful.” 

He appraises the idea then nods once more in agreement, eyes shining with approval and genuine gratitude. “I will consider it. It would give me an opportunity to speak to Ichigo as well, see how he’s adjusting to his new duties. Thank you for the suggestion. I’m grateful.”

Rukia smiles brightly, relieved. “Yes sir, of course.” 

“Now,” Ukitake has another sip of water, clearing his throat. “Is there anything-”

Kiyone and Sentaro burst into the office, crashing to the floor in a quibbling mess of ‘who got here first’. 

“Captain!”

“Captain Ukitake!”

“Kiyone, Sentaro - What’s the matter?” Ukitake prompts. 

Rukia sees the indulgent curl of his lips and Rukia finds herself smiling privately to herself. 

The two Third seat officers are always and forever in competition over Captain Ukitake’s regard. It's equal parts endearing and exasperating. Rukia recalls countless times where she was either the victim or bore witness to their spirited competitions.

The co-Third seaters recover quickly and drop to one knee in the office doorway, their heads respectfully albeit hastily inclined, but their faces are lined with anxiety. Seeing that, Rukia drops her smile. As does Ukitake.

“Captain Ukitake! We’ve detected an extremely potent yet unknown reiatsu coming into contact with Kurosaki Ichigo!” 

Ukitake’s good humour evaporates instantly and he’s on his feet, grave concern on his face. He circles his desk quickly, beckoning his officers to follow him. Rukia trails after them, matching their hurried stride.

“Tell me everything.” 

“Yes Captain,” Kiyone continues severely, “Fifth Seat Takahashi is currently working to pull up any information she can find; timestamps and audio recordings.”

“And why has no one reported this sooner? Is Kurosaki Ichigo in any immediate danger?” Ukitake questions gravely.

Rukia prays not. Ichigo is strong, fiercely strong. But if this is someone strong enough to rile Kiyone and Sentaro up to this degree, she hopes he’ll be all right.

"F-forgive us Captain!" Sentaro says, as overly contrite and penitent as ever, "With the clean-up from Aizen's betrayal and other duties, we've been unable to monitor the combat pass and its associated functions as studiously as we should have. This is an unforgivable failure on my part! I'll accept any punishment you see fit-"

"No, Captain, this is all my fault! I should've been more attentive to it. It's a crucial task for the ongoing security of the Soul Society-" Kiyone pips in, eager to throw herself on the metaphorical sword as Sentaro, a comment that descends swiftly into their usual bickering.

Ukitake allows them to continue. Whether or not it's because he’s indulging their antics or because he’s too focused on the task at hand, Rukia couldn’t say. 

The party arrive at the archive chamber in the depths of the 13th Division’s barracks, where Fifth Seat Takanashi Yomi is leaning over a control panel, diligently typing away. Her pale brow etched with concentration as her fingers dance over the keys with a speed that’d make 12th Division researches weep with envy. 

"What's the situation?" Captain Ukitake says by way of greeting and Takanashi halts, snapping an immediate salute to her captain and the rest of his escorts.

Rukia stand away and to the back, unsure what she could contribute to the scene unfolding before her.

Yomi Takanashi is a tall woman with pale red eyes and long brown hair tied back in a tight braid, her maroon wrapped Zanpakuto slung across her back. If Rukia’s honest, the woman somewhat intimidates her with that perpetual unnerving, unchanging expression. Her name’s been floating around, hailed as one of the division's rising stars. Rumour has it she's even set eyes on the vacant Lieutenant’s post.

Takanashi quickly resumes her task after Ukitake waves a hand to set her at ease, "I've found the timestamps from when we first detected the unknown reiatsu signature to when it vanished. I'm currently pulling up the audio recording; my theory is that if we can create a voice print, we could identify further instances of contact with the Substitute Shinigami and we'll be able to ascertain whether this new encounter is a friend or a foe."

"What about the reiatsu signature itself?" Ukitake prompts, "Have you been able to identify anything about it at all since Kiyone and Sentaro reported this to me?"

Takanashi shakes her head, "No, Captain. All I can tell you is that this individual is not in the Wanted Persons list, Missing Persons nor our active directory. Whomever this is, they aren’t on our registeries. But the quality and refinement of the reiatsu sample we've analyzed through the pass implies they've had a significant amount of training in the Shinigami arts. Its structure also corroborates this theory."

"A Shinigami?" Kiyone says, blinking in surprise then bites her lip, "Are you saying this could be a rogue Shinigami that's contacted Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"It does fit the pattern. Shihoin Yoruichi was fighting alongside the Ryoka for a time, and where she is, Urahara Kisuke is never far behind." Takanashi agrees, her brows knit together in thought, "It might be this person has been taught our techniques and arts through the former captains. As I said, there's no match in our records." Takanashi repeats firmly, frown deepening as she ponders quietly, "An unsavoury possibility is they could’ve been taught by another faction entirely."

Sentaro is the first to speak up on the implication, giving the Fifth seat a hard look. "Are you suggesting Aizen could've trained his own host of Shinigami in secret?"

"At this point, how can we know he didn't? Though exposed now, we simply don't know just how deep and wide his deceptions ran. And presuming that's indeed the case, this person could very well be an Aizen sympathizer or loyalist." Takanashi explains, "He could be using the weakness in Soul Society and our tenuous relationship with Kurosaki to recruit him against us."

"That's entirely a possibility. However, given how severely Aizen wounded him during his departure, and how much he made his friends suffer, I doubt Ichigo would ever willingly side with the man." Ukitake admits grimly, even as the words choke him on the way out. His brow furrows in thought. "Its an equal possibility that this is another party entirely; one outside of Aizen's influence. We need to know more before we can judge the most appropriate course of action to take from here."

Takanashi finally notices Rukia. Those crimson eyes zero in on her, narrowing as she scrutinises the younger shinigami before turning to Captain Ukitake. “Respectfully sir, should Kuchiki be listening to this discussion?” 

“I trust Rukia’s discretion in this matter.” Ukitake replies easily. 

“Very well.” Takanashi is anything but convinced. She returns to her work, scrying through the data.

"Could it be another human who obtained Shinigami powers?" Sentaro suggests, attempting to veer away from the rather unpleasant scenario.

"No, you idiot!” Kiyone shuts him down, just about ready to engage in another round of bickering. “If it was another substitute Shinigami, their reiatsu signature would match another officer in our directory! And we've had no reports of missing Shinigami in the last three months since Kuchiki."

Ukitake brings a finger to his chin, "That's very true. But that doesn't answer the question of who it could be."

Takanashi's fingers are still a blur, but abruptly stop when shock runs across her features.

"What's the matter, Yomi?" Ukitake enquires.

Takanashi swallows a lump in her throat, then turns to her commanding officer, "On a whim, I ran a new query in the inactive directory of our database; those killed in action or confirmed deceased.”

She glances down at the display flashing through profiles, more and more lines populating the screen. Each subsequent appearance edged just that much closer to a complete match. "Captain, there's already over a dozen hits with a roughly sixty to eighty point match to this reiatsu signature. They’re all members of the Shiba clan."

"The Shiba Clan..." Captain Ukitake echoes in stunned disbelief.

“What…?” Kiyone says, then glances towards Rukia.

"Have you located the audio recording of the encounter? Can you play it for me?" Ukitake requests.

Takanashi nods and activates the soundbite. The sound quality has decayed due to heavy background noise. Rainfall if they had to guess but with swift keystrokes the interference abates slightly.

Meanwhile, Ukitake approaches the display and looms over Takanashi's shoulder to observe the results.

Listening to the recording, it seems for all the mystery, this unknown entity (evidently connected to the Shiba clan) really was intent on making pleasant conversation, even if Ichigo wasn't exactly receptive to the attempt. 

Rukia glances around, trying to ignore her gut doing summersaults. There's an aching familiarity about this other voice, even through the weather interference.

Then, a particular phrase used by this unknown man snatches her attention,

:Then again, my Zanpakuto's a water type. The more water there is the better she can fight - be it seas or heavens. Suppose that makes me a little biased too, right?:

No. 

No. No. No.

She feels icy fingers coil around her heart even as a traitorous fragile impossibly hopeful thought bursts to the forefront of his mind. 

A water type Zanpakuto, a reiatsu signature that aligns to the Shiba clan and that turn of phrase she's heard many, many times in her days as a new novice.

Rukia quells the rampant thoughts in her mind. Doubtless the same idea is playing out in everyone else’s. 

Zanpakuto are as wide and diverse as the Shinigami who carry them. She’s been distracted lately, that's all. After making peace with the Shiba family, they’re simply at the forefront of her mind. That’s all. Her mind’s leaping to conclusions over a mere coincidence. 

Point of fact, it would be virtually impossible if there weren't other water-type Zanpakuto. Even the Shiba, renown for their elemental zanpakuto, had more than one water type.

"Captain?" Sentaro prompts, concern lining his face. Ukitake brushes it off with a silent wave.

Rukia stops herself from squeaking out of fright when a gloved hand lands on her shoulder. 

It’s Kiyone’s. 

“Are you alright? You've gone a bit pale."

Granted, it's the same for all of them. Doubtless, all three officers are close to drawing the same conclusion as the Captain, if they haven't already.

Rukia gives a shaky nod. That glimmer of hope is growing like a bittersweet weed the more they listens even as her rational mind howls 'impossible' over and over again.

:Actually, thought I might start with ‘thank you’:

:For what?: They hear Ichigo ask back,

:For saving Rukia from the Sokyoku and Aizen's schemes when I couldn't. I was out of the country - part holiday, part running errands. I didn’t even know it was happening. I only heard the full story when I returned two days ago, well after everything was already over.:

:Suffice it to say infuriated is an understatement, and I absolutely want to rip Yoruichi and Kisuke a new asshole for keeping me in the dark about the execution. Had I known I would’ve happily ditched everything to loan my sword to the cause, consequences be damned. Maybe we could’ve avoided other problems entirely if I had.:

:Then again, had they told me what was going on from the jump, they knew I would’ve torn the Seireitei to shreds to save Kuchiki. But I’m glad Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyoraku managed to cotton onto the foul play and lend you a hand in their own ways. They’re good men. Some of the best I’ve known.:

:Just who the hell are you?:

Ichigo's caustic tone demands as the search concludes, producing a signature match of 97.89 points.

Without prompting, Takanashi presses the entry, the profile expands to cover the display.

Rukia sees the face and chokes. 

:My name is Shiba Kaien. Former Lieutenant of the Thirteenth Division. And you’d be Kurosaki Ichigo - it's my genuine pleasure to meet you.: