The Rescue

"Stop! Leave me alone!"

She heard screams and yelling coming from the alley up ahead. 'So cliché,' she sighed. 'Why does stuff like this always happen in alleyways?'

Walking up to the alley, she saw two guys cornering a familiar looking young girl. The brown hair that fell into her face couldn't mask the fear and panic she felt within." 'Somehow, I don't think they care about...' she gawked when she actually managed to take a good look at the guys. 'Holy... what the?! Those guys are a bit big for middle school...'

"We just want to have some fun, relax," one of the guys said in a sickening tone.

She sighed. 'Typical. God, it's like they took this straight out of a shojo manga, minus the knight in shining armor.'

When they began to act on their idea of "fun," a flame ignited within her and rage emanated from every pore in her body. She composed herself and gathered every last ounce of courage in her slight, 5'4" frame to follow through.

"Hey, you fucktards, the lady said NO." She launched a fist-sized rock at the creep closest to her, the unsuspecting target landing on the ground with an unpleasant "thud". She picked up another rock, anger laced her every word with a poisonous bite. "And last time I checked, no meant NO." She hissed as she threw the rock straight into the face of the second assailant. The brown haired girl stared at the crimson-haired savior whose steel grey eyes burned with confidence.

"Things are about to get ugly here, girl, so you better leave now." The timid would-be victim gave a small nod, and made a break for it.

"You'll pay for that, ya lil' shit." The two guys slowly rose from the ground, hunched over. One of them wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. The speaker cracked his knuckles, and suddenly, she began to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Nevertheless, she pulled herself together. She was defending someone. Fighting for their honor. Protecting another person's right to sanity. Yes, in her mind, that was a right. She raised her fists and assumed a fighting stance. Any onlooker would have thought this was a joke. Here is a fourteen-year-old girl, short and weighing 100 pounds at the most, who thinks (with her newly earned yellow belt) that she can take on a couple of seasoned, no-mercy street fighters who stood at least a head taller than her.

The first guy, tan and gangly looking with dreads in his hair and chains hanging from the most inconvenient places on his face, made the first move. He aimed his swing at wherever he thought he could land a hit. Surprisingly, she dodged it and returned his attempts with a left uppercut to the chin and then a right hook to the face. His friend tried to get her down with a few well-aimed kicks, but she grabbed his ankle, and threw him off balance, launching him into the other one. In return, she landed a few kicks, and struggled very little while beating the crap out of the two men. She even managed to knock out the one with the dreads with a swift kick to the back of the head.

Or so she thought.

She was wearing out, and her reaction time was slowing. She dodged a right hook by swaying a little, but couldn't recover fast enough to dodge the blow he sent flying into her stomach. She doubled over hissing in pain as he delivered six bone-crushing kicks to her lower ribs. She coughed, the life spilling out of her in little pools of scarlet as she heard the sickening snap of a few bones. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue.

She knew it was over.

"That's what ya get for messin' with me, ya li'l shit." He delivered another swift, hard kick to her leg, causing her to cry out.

He had managed to break the bone and it was now lodged into her muscle. A twisted grin plastered itself to his face as he pulled her up by her short crimson locks.

"Next time," he snarled, "next time you won't be so lucky." His voice, a combination of a snarl and a pained hiss, didn't sound as threatening as he'd hoped.

A cocky grin snuck its way onto her face and with her good leg; she kicked out and dug her heel into his shin. Enraged, he spat in her face and hurled her against the wall before limping away. An explosion of red flashed behind her closed eyelids, flooding her vision as the back of her head made contact with the cold bricks behind her.

As she coughed, she felt as if her chest was about to implode, each hacking cough caused a searing, tearing pain in her lungs. She didn't dare cry out, for fear it would bring more agony. Instead, a pained whimper escaped her bloodied mouth. 'Help me…' Agonizing hacking ensued, filling her mouth with a sickeningly thick mixture of blood and bile. She retched and heaved, emptying the contents of her mouth onto the cold concrete.

She tried to push herself up onto her hands and knees, but the pain became unbearable, her trembling arms and legs gave way from under her, and she collapsed in the pool of blood and bile, saliva trickling from her parted, bloody lips. 'Help me... please.' She faded out after seeing two pairs of legs jump in front of her.

Kurosaki Ichigo stood a few meters from the guys who'd messed with Inoue. That was enough to piss him off, but what got him was that they beat up a GIRL (so Inoue told him... he wouldn't have known otherwise). That alone was unforgivable. "HEY! Are you the guys that beat up that girl?" The two guys turned, one with a slight limp.

"Don't know about no girl, Strawberry," the punk with the dreads spat.

Ichigo twitched at the unwelcome nickname.

"Only punk we laid out was that shit-head back there."

Ichigo smirked when he heard the guy's voice. It was as if someone stuffed his mouth with cotton.

"That 'punk' was a girl." Guys like these really got him pissed off. "She said you left your asses back there. I just came to hand them to ya." His permanent scowl showed slight signs of amusement.

His taunting got the rise that he was looking for, because they charged right at him. As they came at him, Ichigo swung out his leg, roundhouse kicking both of them in the face. They fell back, motionless and limp as rag dolls, save for the occasional twitch of a finger, or a leg. "You can't be done already." He smirked. "You are? Damn. That girl back there must've had more balls than the two of you combined. It figures, though, doesn't it?" The two gang-bangers responded with a twitch and a groan. He turned and left, heading in the direction of his house, and the clinic.

Inoue Orihime sat in a stiff-backed chair next to a clean, white hospital bed, where her crimson haired classmate was currently recuperating from the valiant attempt at a rescue. Her warm brown eyes were filled with concern, smooth pale face downcast in sadness. She had held a vigil, waiting for the girl to regain consciousness, to no avail. She had two things going for her that allowed her to keep going the way that she did. One: endless patience, the other, endless kindness. Those combined made her a bit of a worrywart, but also allowed for her to make friends very easily. She continued her vigil, determined to thank the girl and offer up her services once the girl regained consciousness.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, revealing a distraught woman and an equally worried man, the nurse that led them there hidden behind the man.

"Oh my GOD! MY BABY!" The woman placed a well-manicured hand over her mouth, fresh tears welling up into her hazel eyes, threatening to spill over the tear tracks on her tanned face.

The man stood at the door, a look of pure horror plastered on his strong features, unable to speak. The woman broke away from the loose hold of her husband and ran to her daughter's bedside. Orihime, with a look of resignation, gave up her chair to the woman, whose concern for her daughter was apparent. The woman fell back numbly into the chair, slumping like a doll.

"How is she?" The man asked. Orihime assumed it was the girl's father.

"Much better, actually. She's post-op and on her way to a steady recovery." The nurse seemed to have rehearsed this stint. She almost cut him off, answering as if it was easy as breathing.

"Injuries?" He could only manage that, so that he wouldn't start tearing himself.

"She has six broken ribs, two bruised, her right lung was punctured, and her left leg is broken in several places. The back of her head has been stitched up, and she is suffering from a concussion. The swelling has reduced, but we can't guarantee when she'll wake up."

The man walked into the room to comfort his wife, after hearing the extent of the injuries, and to see his daughter.

"Oh God, baby. What happened?" The shaky tenor of her mother's voice came in a little more than a whisper. She stroked Sayuri's face and held her hand, gingerly avoiding the IV drip connected to her.

Orihime managed to find her voice, and spoke up. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It's all my fault." She was on the verge of tears when the girl's mother looked up at her. "You see..." She bit her lip, fighting back the tears stinging her eyelids. "There were these guys... they had me up against a wall," she rubbed her bruised wrists at the memory, "and then she stepped in and… she told me to run. I tried to get her and take her with me, but she…" She swallowed back the lump in her throat, "she just told me to run, so I did. I was so scared... I ran to the clinic, it was the only place I could think of... I told Kurosaki-kun that she... and he brought her here. I… I'm so sorry." Her voice gave way to tears and she buried her head in her bruised arms, giving in to the sobs. A look of sympathy melted into the woman's features and she enveloped the girl in a warm embrace.

"Hey." Orihime heard a weak voice barely over a whisper. "What's all this crying for? Someone dying?" She approached the bed with a bouquet of flowers and candy, sniffling.

"I'm sorry... for getting you into this. Thank you for… for saving me." She placed the flowers in the vase, and gave the candies to her classmate.

"Hey, it was nothin'." Orihime was about to say something, but the girl raised a hand to quiet her. "If I hadn't have stepped in when I did... you wouldn't be the one apologizing. 'Sides, 's about time. Ya gotta admit, they had it comin'." She noticed the tanned, slender hand on hers. Her eyes widened. "Mom? What are you doing here? I thought you were on your business trip."

The woman looked up. "I was, mi hija, but as soon as I got the call, I hopped on the next plane out of there. I was so scared, sweetie, I -" She held her daughter close, carefully avoiding the IV and other tubes stuck in her baby girl. "I don't want to lose you, Sayuri. Promise me you'll never do anything like that again."

"But, P-" Sayuri paused, realizing there were others in the room, and made a fast recovery, "Mama, I h-"

"Promise me." It was barely more than a whisper, but the panic in her voice was evident. It was understandable, really. She was clearly physically and mentally broken. Distraught.

She sighed. "I promise, Mommy. I promise."

"Oi, Orihime, did she…" He was silenced by the people in the room. His loud tone gave Sayuri a headache and she placed an olive-toned hand on her bandaged head. "Is she awake yet?" He carefully whispered, as he was stared down by a pair of cold grey eyes.

Komura Sayuri rolled her light grey eyes. "No, dobe. I'm not awake, just having an out-of-body experience."

Kurosaki shook his head and rolled his amber eyes in response. "Whatever. I'll go tell Yuzu. She wanted to know how you were holding up." He walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, I have to go call someone real quick." Orihime hurried out the door after Ichigo, leaving the family alone for a while.

"Why do I get the feeling I know them from somewhere?" Sayuri mumbled thoughtfully, trying to remember.

"Inoue Orihime and Kurosaki Ichigo." Quizzical grey eyes met hazel, and the older woman quickly added, "they're in your class, dear." Sayuri was thankful for her mom; she was really good at that kind of stuff. She was really involved. "They're good kids."

"Oh." She had a kind of distant look in her eyes for a moment, her thoughts wandering. "How long was I out?"

Her mother hugged her and kissed her bandaged forehead. "Twelve hours, mi vida, according to the doctor."

"Half a day? Man. That sucks. Could be worse, I guess." Sayuri successfully managed to break the tension, as the woman she regarded as her mother shook her head and smirked.