Dear Reader, so this is the follow-on to the Peacock, and while it starts off pretty innocently, it gets very, er . . . wild in later chapters. I shall, of course, post appropriate warnings when the times come. But this should start you off nice and easy! Happy reading! TK

Chapter 1 Rebuilding

"The places I've seen and the roads in between
Make me wonder why
I'm searching for my dreams up in the sky."

Had to Fall in Love
Justin Hayward

The days were growing shorter. In the meadow above Venla, the afternoon shadows were appearing earlier each day and stretching east to their full length in much quicker fashion than even a few weeks ago. The days were still warm and dry, and in the mornings, the yellow-suffused light crept up the mountain like the tide swelling a great river basin. The rays would spill over the treetops and into the meadow, bringing the whole place came to life. The deer came to the edge of the forest to feed. Chiffchaffs could be heard warbling in the trees and over the run of the waving grass. They were on their way south, stopping for a rest in the sub-alpine safety of the open space, where insects were plentiful in the morning activity of the deep, browning grass. The sound of a cuckoo came from somewhere deep in the wood, only to be returned by a louder voice nearby.

It was not yet cold enough to bring overnight frost, but certainly cold enough for a man to see his breath in the early hours of dawn.

Of course, Yumichika had known the days were getting shorter—everyone knew the work of the seasons; but this morning was the first time it had been truly perceptible to him. He had continued his practice of rising before the sun, and this morning he had gone outside to bring in some wood to make a cooking fire. As he picked up the logs, he noticed that the quality of the darkness had changed. It was much deeper and stiller. And it occurred to him that dawn was still at least an hour away.

Yumichika had, at one time, been extraordinarily attuned to the passage of the hours. His circadian clock was precise, and he had gotten on quite well without ever needing a time-telling device of any kind. He had lost much of that sensitivity during his years in the Gotei 13. In the Seireitei, where electronic gadgets held sway, there had been no need to rely on his own senses with regard to the time. The bells rang out the hour and the half-hour; on every street corner someone could be found with a watch or soul phone displaying the time.

But here in the mountains, there were no such amenities to be found. Technology had not crept into this corner of Soul Society; in fact, there were many places in Soul Society where a simplistic, rugged life still prevailed.

Yumichika was glad of it. He and Ikkaku had only been back in the meadow for two months, but his awareness of the cues of nature and his own body was gradually returning. It was a slow process, but this came as no surprise. Everything had become a slow process. Yumichika's deficit of reiatsu had made even the simplest of tasks into a chore. He knew that this act of bringing in firewood would leave him exhausted and needing to rest before settling down to the task of making breakfast. And even once the fire was stoked and the breakfast served piping hot onto the plates, he would eat very little, if at all. No spirit energy meant to appetite.

He could have been tempted to fret and bemoan the situation, but no such complaint could be heard on his lips or found in his heart. The truth was that there was no place in Soul Society he would rather be, and he was already starting to feel comfortable here again, even if the absence of his zanpakuto held him in a sort of enduring trickle of melancholy.

The villagers in Venla had been welcoming and generous. When Ikkaku had made it clear that he could not begin work at the mill until the cottage was restored and Yumichika safely installed and healthy enough to be left on his own, Yenset assured him that the job would be there for him whenever he was ready to start. The rest of the village magnanimously donated a few pieces of furniture, plenty of cookware and utensils; linens, blankets and floor coverings; food enough for a dozen men; and a pleasing supply of fabrics and sewing implements.

Now, with fall right around the corner and winter only a few short mountain-months off, Yumichika was determined to improve his condition. He did not want to be this weak and frail when the snow came, for fear it would turn him into a housebound invalid. Yet, regaining his strength and his reiatsu was not as quickly accomplished as in the past. And although he knew the reason for this, he would not dwell on it. The loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku was something that he kept far removed from deliberate thought.

He gathered half a dozen logs into his arms and returned to the cottage, keeping as quiet as possible so as not to wake Ikkaku who, for once, was not knocking the pinecones off the trees with his snoring. Unloading the logs next to the hearth, he went outside to bring in some more. There was usually a fair sized stack of logs on the stones beside the fireplace, and a well-filled tinder box. But last night, they had used the last of the logs to counter the cold, which was stealing into the room a little more each night; and they'd not restocked before going to bed.

If Yumichika moved quickly—or as quickly as he could, given his condition—he could have two, maybe even three of four, armfuls of wood stacked inside before Ikkaku woke up. Completing the task while Ikkaku was asleep was critical, for Yumichika knew that Ikkaku would blow his top if he were to find Yumichika taking part in what he perceived to be too much exertion.

The last thing he wanted was a confrontation, but a confrontation after the fact was better than one mid-activity. He filled his arms again and went back to the cottage. He opened the door with his back, and turning inside, stopped short.

Ikkaku stood in front of him, arms crossed over his bare chest, a challenging simper curling one corner of his mouth, making him look both clownish and demonic in the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp Yumichika had lit earlier.

"Oh! Ikkaku," Yumichika startled. He gave a disarming smile. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Obviously," Ikkaku replied. He looked at the wood in Yumichka's arms. "You didn't want me to catch you doing something you know you're not supposed to do."

"Come now, Ikakku," Yumichika was charmingly dismissive of his concern. "I much stronger now than I was when we got here. I think I can carry more than one armload of wood without keeling over." He sidestepped around him.

"Uh-huh," Ikkaku replied. "Until you do keel over."

"Do I look like I'm going to keel over?" Yumichika asked, although he had not intended that Ikkaku should answer him. He began unloading the logs on top of the ones he had brought in earlier.

Ikkaku helped him set the logs down then took him by the shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other.

"You look like someone who's still recovering," he said. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you overdo it."

It came naturally to Yumichika to press closer and gaze up at him with bewitching eyes, but there was nothing behind it. It was a movement he had long used to seduce others, but this time there was no allure behind it. It was a mechanism and nothing more. An action without any energy behind it. It was habit, and he no longer had the power to support that habit.

Embarrassed, he stepped back, away from Ikkaku's hands on his shoulders, and looked down, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep doing that. "

But Ikkaku was not angry with him. "I don't mind it," he replied. "I probably mind it less now than I ever have."

"That's because there's nothing to it anymore," Yumichika lamented. "You used to see it as a threat—"

"Well, you did use it for the wrong reasons in the past, Yumichika," Ikkaku reminded him. "Not just on others, but on me, too. So, I guess I did feel threatened by it." He paused, then added, "But there were also times when . . . it felt good. Really good."

"Yes, well . . . those days are gone," Yumichika stated, turning back towards the door. "I couldn't seduce a field mouse now—"

"Why would you want to seduce a field mouse?" Ikkaku quipped. He was determined to keep Yumichika's spirits up at the same time as scolding him; for while Yumichika was clearly happy in their return to the meadow, the other tragedies that weighed him down were so burdensome that Ikkaku had to work very hard to ensure melancholy did not overtake his friend.

For there were moments of grief and sadness, and these, more than Yumichika's protracted physical weakness, were what kept Ikkaku from taking up his job at the mill. He was fearful of leaving Yumichika alone – not out of any idea that Yumichika would take his own life, for Ikkaku knew that would never happen—but rather, because everything he had witnessed over the past several months, including Yumichika's deliverance from death, had left him shaken to his very core. If Yumichika had brought forth such a power as Ruri'iro Kujaku that had later dissolved into thin air . . . could Yumichika's moroseness somehow wreak the same fate upon his own body? Without Ruri'iro Kujaku's spirit energy to sustain him, would he simply dissipate on the wind in a zephyr of grief and loneliness?

Until he was certain that Yumichika was safe from his own wretchedness, he did not feel comfortable leaving him alone.

"It was just a figure of speech," Yumichika replied in a humorless voice. He went outside and back to the wood pile.

Ikkaku followed then came around him and leaned against the neatly stacked splits, preventing Yumichika from picking up any more.

"Why does it bother you so much?" he asked. "Do you really still want to be able to seduce people?"

Yumichika did not answer right away. After several seconds, he evaded the question. "Aren't you cold out here, half-naked?"

"I like it," Ikkaku replied. "But you're avoiding my question. Do you still want to seduce people?"

Yumichika mumbled something as he edged over to the old stone wall surrounding the garden. Both the wall and the garden were still in disrepair – projects to be undertaken next year. Yumichika ran his hand over the moss-covered top of one intact portion of the wall.

"What?" Ikkaku asked, remaining where he stood at the wood pile. "I didn't hear you."

Yumichika did not face him but raised his voice loud enough to hear. "I want to know I still have the ability, if I need it."

"And you think you don't have that ability anymore?" Ikkaku posed.

"No," Yumichika frowned into the darkness that stretched out over the meadow beyond the garden. He saw an owl, black against the lighter line of the trees, returning to its roost after a night of hunting. Another sure sign morning was drawing near.

Ikkaku pushed away from the wood pile and moved to stand beside him. "Well, let me assure you, you still have the ability. It's just . . . it's different from before, because it feels like . . . like there's a choice, whereas before no one ever had a choice. It's not seduction; it's more like . . . a natural attraction."

"Which makes me like everyone else," Yumichika said flatly.

Ikkaku gave a subtle laugh. "You'll never be like everyone else, Yumichika. And I see now, that's a good thing." A pause. "Besides, you're still more beautiful than anyone else—although you really do need to put some more weight on. It kinda scares me to see you so thin."

"Do you think I'll ever regain my reiatsu?" Yumichika asked tepidly. It was a subject that terrified him, and this was his first time bringing it up.

Ikkaku proceeded cautiously. "Well, remember what Captain Unohana said: you'll probably regain enough energy to return to a . . . a normal level of energy, enough to sustain your soul. But the amount of reiatsu you had before, that's not likely to happen again." A pause. "But, uh, don't forget that the amount of reiatsu it takes to sustain your soul is already a lot more than most souls need. But that doesn't really matter. I mean, we'll be living here, just like we used to. You won't need all that spiritual pressure anymore."

Yumichika was perfectly still. "I will, if I want to bring Ruri'iro Kujaku back."

Ikkaku looked round at him in surprise. "Bring—Yumichika, I don't think that's possible."

"If I could give life to him once, maybe I can do it again."

At a loss for words, Ikkaku could only stare.

Yumichika went on. "He always told me that I . . . I was much more powerful than he was. I never believed him, but . . . now I know . . . he never lied to me. And if he was strong enough to save my life, and I'm stronger than him, then I must be strong enough to save his life. I just have to regain my reiatsu."

"But—but Yumichika, you're not saving his life. He's—he's gone. When he brought you—" He caught himself before uttering "back to life", just barely averting a whole new set of worries. "When he healed you, he made it very clear to me that he wasn't coming back, that he was giving everything he had to save you."

"That's why I can't give up," Yumichika replied. "I know there has to be a way. He came from my soul, and I—somehow, I've got to be able to bring him back."

Ikkaku sighed. "I don't want to tell you not to try, but if I see you risking your life . . . Yumichika, I won't let you do that. And I don't think Ruri'iro Kujaku would want you to do that, either."

"How can you know what he'd want?" Yumichika asked. It was not a challenge or a sneer. It was merely a statement of disbelief to which Yumichika was not expecting an answer. So, when he got one, he was stunned.

"Because he told me," Ikkaku said bluntly. He had already related to Yumichika the short version of what had happened in the mourning shrine with the previously agreed-upon deceptions firmly in place, but he had never told him of his promise to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "He knew he wasn't going to be here to watch out for you, so he made me give my word that I . . . would never leave you again."

"You . . . spoke to him?"

Ikkaku nodded.

"So, this is all—you're doing this because of a promise you made to him?"

"No, no," Ikkaku said firmly. "I told you . . . I had already decided to leave the Gotei 13 from the time I saw how you were living in Mito—well, and—and because I realized that you needed me. I had always thought it was just me who needed you, so when I opened my eyes enough to see the truth, I decided to leave the Gotei 13. I had already made that decision before the demons attacked—"

"I wasn't saying it as a bad thing, Ikkaku," Yumichika replied. "Actually, I was touched to think that you and Ruri'iro Kujaku might have come to an understanding that allowed him to exact a promise from you."

"It was as much a promise to myself as it was to him," Ikkaku replied, then adding with grudging admiration, "But he was . . . he was like nothing I'd ever seen. I had no idea the kind of power he had." He thought it was ironic that he now knew of a power Ruri'iro Kujaku had possessed that even Yumichika did not know about. "And he loved you more than anything or anyone else."

"I'm going to find a way to bring him back," Yumichika stated again, and it was clear he believed what he was saying.

His conviction almost made Ikkaku think it might be possible to restore the peacock.

Almost.

"It'll be getting light soon," Ikkaku noted. "I'll bring more wood inside. You can get started making breakfast."

"So early?" Yumichika raised an eyebrow. "You never eat this early. You're never up this early."

"It's your own fault," Ikkaku replied. "You woke me up, and now there's no way I'll be able to go back to sleep. Maybe I'll work on this wall a bit while you're getting breakfast ready—" he said, referring to the garden wall.

"Unh, no," Yumichika protested firmly. "You think you're going to work on this then come into breakfast all stinky and sweaty? No. No. I barely have an appetite as it is. I don't need you to ruin what little I have."

Ikkaku smiled to himself. This was a brief flash of the old Yumichika, and its appearance was most welcome. He took a step forward. "You like me stinky and sweaty."

"Ohh, don't be disgusting," Yumichika sniffed, turning back towards the cottage door. He had gone only a couple steps when he heard Ikkaku's voice low and challenging at his shoulder.

"Maybe you need to get stinky and sweaty," he suggested, and in the next moment, he wrapped his arms around Yumichika and twisted him down onto the grass, straddling across his waist and holding his wrists to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" Yumichika demanded. "Get off of me! This ground is cold!"

"When was the last time we wrestled?" Ikkaku wondered out loud.

"Who cares?" Yumichika squirmed beneath him. "You always won, and—"

"Yeah, but you made it fun," Ikkaku cut him off. "You used to at least try to win."

"Until I learned it was useless," Yumichika griped. "Now, get off me. Honestly, you're such a buffoon sometimes."

"So you're not even going to try to fight me?" Ikkaku lamented.

"I'm really not in any condition, Ikkaku. I'm still recovering, you know. I can barely go an hour without having to stop and rest. And –hey, you don't want me bringing in the wood, but you want to wrestle with me? It's cold down here, and the ground is wet from all the dew. Do you want me to get sick? What's the matter with—"

Ikkaku swooped in and pressed his mouth to Yumichika's, effectively silencing him.

It was an unexpected move. They had not shared such an intimacy in more years than either of them could remember, and since leaving the Seireitei, their relationship had taken on a character that was new to both of them. Yumichika's increased reticence and docility, along with Ikkaku's new sense of responsibility had made for a rather staid situation that had been entirely chaste.

What Ikkaku felt for Yumichika was not lustful or erotic. It was a kind of love that he had long believed existed, only he had never encountered it. Not until that moment in the mourning shrine when Ruri'iro Kujaku had sacrificed his own life, his very existence, in order to restore life to Yumichika.

That act had done something to change Ikkaku. For the first time, he felt as if he were living for the good of someone else. There was no guilt involved. No sense of obligation or amendment. He was willingly and joyfully putting someone else's needs ahead of his own.

The kiss had not been an attempt to incite anything greater. It had not been intended as a sensual encounter, although it certainly had its sensuous aspects. It had simply bounced into Ikkaku's mind as the most inoffensive and humorous way to silence Yumichika's litany of complaints. And if it aroused pleasant memories and feelings of affection at the same time, that was a good thing.

As he drew back, Ikkaku saw Yumichika looking up at him in the paling darkness. A bit of gray was entering the sky.

"Any more complaints?" Ikkaku asked wryly.

Yumichika's voice was quiet. "No," he replied. "But . . . will—will you kiss me again? Just like that?"

Ikkaku complied.

A smile crept over Yumichika's face. "That's how it's supposed to feel . . . isn't it?" he said in subdued wonder. "It's supposed to be that easy."

"I'm not the person to ask," Ikkaku replied. "I don't have any experience at this stuff, but . . . well, if I had to give my opinion . . . yeah, it seemed right." Then, with a self-deprecating laugh, he added, "I mean, this time I didn't feel like running away or tearing your clothes off."

"Don't be crude," Yumichika chided. "I'm trying to be serious!"

"So am I," Ikkaku insisted. "My point is that . . . now that you don't have all that seductive reiatsu swirling around you, I know that whatever I'm feeling is really my own and not the result of your spirit energy."

"What are you feeling?"

"You don't really expect me to say it, do you?"

Yumichika was not dissuaded. "I'm just asking you a question."

Ikkaku rolled to lie at Yumichika's side. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, fingers laced together. Above him, he could see the stars, fewer in the lightening eastern sky, more in the still dark western sky. "I love you. The way I should," he said softly.

The way I should.

Yumichika did not have to ask him what he meant by this. He knew that it wasn't simply an apology of sorts for Ikkaku's past failures to protect him or to accept him as he was. No, this was an admission that the whole nature of Ikkaku's love had been skewed, that his devotion had been feeble because the underpinning love had been defective. There had always been an erotic undercurrent running through the relationship between the two men, and while it had certainly made for some entertaining moments, it had done much more to create pain and frustration. Yumichika had only to think of the torment he'd suffered in Maiweg's Orchard and on the bank of the Dambach stream over a hundred years ago to remind him what unregulated lust and unopposed sexual temptation could lead to. The jealousy and distrust that Ikkaku's father, Totui, had been able to engender in the two of them would not have been possible had they not allowed the more lascivious aspects of their persons to overshadow reason and compassion. For Yumichika, the nature of his love for Ikkaku had begun without a sexual aspect, only for it to creep in later. For Ikkaku, he had never even viewed what he felt for Yumichika as love. He'd been fond of him, affectionate towards him, and ever wary of the carnal allure that followed Yumichika everywhere he went. He'd given in to that allure often enough; he'd been unable to resist. But even without Yumichika's often playful and usually ill-timed deployment of his seductive abilities, Ikkaku had always had a tacit knowledge that his attraction to Yumichika had a sexual component to it that was not due to the sultry reiatsu and that prevented him from treating Yumichika as he deserved.

He wanted to love Yumichika without condition, and now that Yumichika's seductive power had been stripped away, here was his chance to love him without having to wonder if his love was genuine or the fleeting love of a lust-induced desire generated by a tempting spirit energy.

When Yumichika said nothing, Ikkaku asked, "You believe me, don't you?"

"I believe it's what you want," Yumichika replied evenly.

"But you don't think I'm there yet?" Ikkaku supposed, and he was not upset about it.

"I think you're on your way," Yumichika answered.

Ikkaku accepted this. "It's not easy to change, Yumichika," he admitted. "I never wanted to care about anyone, and I ended up caring about you. And . . . knowing your power—and Ruri'iro Kujaku's power—I tried to be careful, but you're hard to resist."

Yumichika grinned up into the starlight. "You're more of a Capchetin than you know."

This statement, coming out of the blue, stunned Ikkaku, but not in a bad way. "What do you know about it?" he asked. "You've never met any Capchetins."

"After you told me the story, I did some research. I wanted to know more about them," Yumichika replied. A pause. "I wanted to know if you . . . "

"If I what?"

"If you should be a Capchetin after all," Yumichika said softly.

"Did you forget? They don't exist in Soul Society," Ikkaku reminded him. "And even if they did, I've already been turned down once – for good reason. I don't believe in a lot of that stuff." No sooner had he spoken than a memory flashed through his head.

Yumichika's hospital room.

"Don't let him die. I'll do anything. After all he's been through . . . can't you help him just this once?"

To whom had he been directing his supplications? In those moments of fear and desperation, had he really considered, even for a split-second, that there might be something beyond his own understanding? A force greater than that which he could see and hear and touch? He recalled how Yumichika's death had cemented his unbelief. But then that death had been miraculously reversed and in a way he would never have imagined.

Perhaps there had been some kind of deific power behind Ruri'iro Kujaku's action, and the peacock had simply been the tool to answer Ikkaku's plea.

It was possible.

Huh. The admission of the possibility of a god beyond Soul Reapers was hardly a banner statement for Ikkaku's induction into a religious brotherhood.

"That's because you've only ever wanted to depend on yourself," Yumichika said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "And you've only ever wanted to obey yourself. Well, except with Captain Zaraki. You made him your god for a long time." A pause. "But I think there's still some part of you that wants to believe that there's a power beyond anything you can imagine."

"Are you trying to be a psychiatrist?" Ikkaku scoffed with an uncomfortable laugh. "Or a—a philosopher?"

"Neither," Yumichika replied earnestly. "I just want you to be happy."

"And you think being a Capchetin would make me happy?" Ikkaku posed dubiously.

"I don't know," Yumichika shrugged. "Maybe."

"You're nuts," Ikkaku chuckled, getting to his feet and extending his hand. "Besides, I am happy. And I don't want you worrying about me. I'm supposed to be looking after you, remember?"

"I think it goes both ways," Yumichika said, accepting his hand. He was on his feet with one strong pull.

"Yeah, I guess it does," Ikkaku replied. "Now, get inside and start fixing some breakfast while I work on this wall."

"We're back to that? I told you I don't want you coming in smelling like a—"

"Yumichika!"

Yumichika scuttered back into the cottage without another word. Only a smile.

Head Captain Genyrusai Yamamoto looked out over the northern reaches of the Seireitei as he strolled along the colonnade in the cool of the evening. All was still, and for this he was thankful. It had seemed, for quite some time now, that no sooner did one calamity end than another began. But all had been quiet since the destruction of the demons nearly eight months ago. Even though Heykibi was still unaccounted for, the fact that no further demon incursions was some indication that either the threat was gone or at least so degraded that it could not be counted upon at present to pose a danger.

Ayasegawa had been safely sequestered away in some remote mountain sanctuary, and only a few Shinigami were privy to that location. Madarame had gone with him, and that was certainly reassuring, for Captain Yamamoto felt that any miscreant that might think of making use of Ayasegawa's abilities—or rather, those of his zanpakuto, now defunct—would have a hard time getting past Madarame. With time, Yamamoto felt certain that Ayasegawa could go back to living an undistinguished life, just another inhabitant of Soul Society. But until that day, the head captain must keep track of his whereabouts and ensure his safety – not only for Ayasegawa's own good, but for the good of Soul Society. For Captain Yamamoto was still not convinced that Ruri'iro Kujaku was truly dissolved.

And even the remotest possibility of the Atmen reappearing necessitated vigilance.

Captain Yamamoto sensed the presence of Captain Ukitake before the latter had even announced his arrival, but that was how it always was with the head captain.

"Juushiro," Yamamoto said, turning to face him. "What news have you brought?"

"Nothing new, sir," Juushiro replied. "Ayasegawa and Madarame appeared to be doing well. The cottage will be weather-ready by the time the first frost hits. I think it's going a little slow due to Ayasegawa's condition, even though he seems to be getting a bit stronger every time I go there."

"And they still don't know you're checking up on them?" Yamamoto asked, in the manner of seeking confirmation.

"They've never seen me, and Shunsui said the same thing. They've never even seemed to sense we were nearby," Juushiro answered. "I have to admit, I feel like I'm spying."

"You are, in a sense," the head captain said. "But it's for their protection."

"I still don't understand what the danger is," Captain Ukitake said. "Are you really afraid Heykibi will come for Ayasegawa? Surely, once he discovers Ruri'iro Kujaku has been dissolved, he'll have no reason to be interested in Ayasegawa anymore –if he's really interested in him to begin with. And we don't even know if Heykibi is still alive."

"It's not just Heykibi I'm worried about," Yamamoto explained. "As I've said before, an Atmen is a rare and much-desired power. People have done truly villainous things in the past to possess that power. If someone even suspects that there is a living master of an Atmen, they can go to great lengths to control that person. Every Atmen known to date has outlived its master, so no one would believe that Ayasegawa has outlived his Atmen. They would assume the Atmen is still alive. And that would put Ayasegawa in great danger. All it would take is one small slip of the tongue, one careless word, and he will become a hunted man."

"And in his current condition, there's no way he could defend himself," Juushiro concluded.

"Precisely," Captain Yamamoto said, his voice sounding like a low growl. "And it is doubtful he will ever be able to defend himself the way he could when he was a Shinigami. No matter how much of his reiatsu and physical strength he regains, he will never be as he once was." A pause. "That is why I am depending on you and Shunsui to keep an eye on him and Madarame."

Juushiro nodded. He prepared to leave, but stopped. "Captain Kurotsuchi suspects Ruri'iro Kujaku was an Atmen, as well."

Yamamoto nodded slowly. "I know."