AN: Spoilers! This starts after chapter 424 in the manga.
The Spring air was fresh and cold, and Ichigo shivered a little as he walked. He hadn't thought to grab a coat on his way out the door; thinking of the weekend ahead, he'd simply rushed out of the ever-bustling Kurosaki home for some much needed peace and quiet.
He'd found himself needing space more often recently, since Rukia and Renji had left and he'd lost his powers. At least he could acknowledge it now; he could remember the good times, the friendships, without them being constantly overshadowed by pain. He wasn't quite ready to return to normal life though. He'd never felt particularly like he'd fit in, what with his orange hair and his ability to see ghosts, but he felt more distant than ever now.
Ichigo wandered with no particular destination in mind. He realised soon that his feet were taking him to a tiny park, not far from the Shoten. It was often empty, a hidden-away patch of green and trees and open space. He'd discovered it months ago, but had only started frequenting it when he'd realised that no powers also meant no Zangetsu. He missed his zanpakutou more than his spiritual energy, his power - although of course the two were entwined. He'd come to realise that he'd actually started to rely on the old man.
Ichigo slumped onto the lone seat in the park, thrusting his cold hands deep into his pockets with a sigh. Alone, surrounded by nature and peace, and in the semi-darkness, he could finally relax. It was hard not being able to protect, or even to see the threat.
The rustle of cloth close by startled him out of his reverie. He turned his head and scowled at the man who had claimed the other end of the bench without an invitation.
"Urahara-san," he said, managing a neutral tone. He didn't really know what to say after that, because it had been months since they'd last spoken, and he'd assumed Urahara no longer wanted anything to do with him, now that he'd served his purpose. Unless -
"You haven't figured out how to restore my powers, have you?" Ichigo asked, eyes wide, leaning towards the older man.
Urahara sighed, and tugged his hat lower over his eyes.
Ichigo's heart sank. He sat back against the seat with a thump. "Never mind - it was a stupid idea," he muttered, but didn't bother to continue. Urahara had always understood Ichigo better than he himself, anyway. The message would get through.
Shadowed eyes peered up at him from under the brim of his hat.
"Kurosaki-san," Urahara began, his voice terrifyingly gentle, "why haven't you come to visit the Shoten?"
Surprised, Ichigo sat up straight.
Seeing his expression, Urahara continued. "Surely you didn't think yourself to be unwelcome? Or that I only wanted you around when you had a use?"
Shrewd eyes watched Ichigo look away, as shame tinted his cheeks pink.
"My, my Kurosaki-san," Urahara sing-songed, "it seems to me that I'm exactly right, as usual, and those were indeed your thoughts. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?" He tsked, and shook his head with extremely put-upon sorrow.
Ichigo felt himself become annoyed, a conditioned response to that mocking tone in Urahara's voice. His scowl deepened to a frown.
Urahara, on the other hand, was fairly beaming. "In fact, for this lack of faith, I think you owe me, Kurosaki-san! You'll come and clean out my store-room tomorrow, won't you?" He didn't wait for an answer. " Good, good!" Urahara stood and dusted himself off, as if business was concluded to his satisfaction, and now he'd be off.
"Oi, you!" Ichigo said, finding his voice and his belligerence. He stood too, and stabbed Urahara in the chest with his forefinger. The shopkeeper made a very undignified sound and gave Ichigo a wounded look.
Ichigo snorted. "If you think that you can come waltzing into my life every time you need the chores done, you can think again! I don't do slave labour!"
Urahara perked up again, beaming at Ichigo. "No indeed, Kurosaki-san! I promise to feed you, even!"
Ichigo spluttered, caught. "That wasn't what I -"
Urahara smiled enigmatically, then turned and began to walk away.
"Oi," Ichigo said again, but it sounded a bit weak even to him.
The shopkeeper's response was to keep walking, lifting his hat briefly in a wave. "Six o'clock sharp then, Kurosaki-san. Don't be late," Urahara's voice drifted back to him.
Ichigo sighed somewhat confusedly, knowing he was beat but not quite sure how it had happened.
A moment after the shopkeeper had disappeared into the darkness, a thought came to Ichigo. He grinned wickedly and a way to get back at Urahara kept him warm the whole way home.
When he got in the front door, the first thing he noticed was his father's welcome-home attack; Goat-Face took only a moment to dispatch. The second was his sister Karin, apparently waiting for him.
"What's the matter, Karin?" Ichigo asked, immediately concerned.
Karin snorted. "Nothing's the matter, Ichi-nii. I just wanted to let you know that there was a phone call for you, while you were out."
Ichigo had a sudden sinking feeling that he knew where this was going.
Karin continued, arms folded. "Urahara-san said you're to be there at 6am tomorrow, not 6pm, Or Else."
Ichigo groaned, foiled again, as Karin turned away with message delivered. She stopped on her way into the lounge to kick their father in the ribs as he lay in a pitiful heap on the floor, weeping about the strength of his son. Yuzu's laughter carried with the sound of the TV, and Ichigo headed for the stairs.
There's no place like home, he thought, and smiled - just a little.