A/N: Oh lord... I haven't written for Bleach in a long time. This, yeah... This is an intro to a new fic that I probably won't finish. It's sort of gen-ish right now.

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[Chapter I: Doubt]

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"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Renji. The tone was accusatory, worried. While the words themselves weren't as clear—his mind as blurred as it was with blood loss—from the sound alone, he could get the gist of the message.

And hell, he'd like to know, too.

"—was nothing. S'fine." His reassurance failed its purpose, tumbling out in a sort of choked cough. He held the wound on his side tighter.

"No, really, Ichigo—what were you thinking? Were you trying t'get yourself killed?"

He probably should have said 'no.'

But with the expression Grimmjow had been wearing crowding his head and the dark spots crowding his vision, the only thing he could say before he passed out was—

"I don't know."

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He woke in Urahara Shôten around two days later. He shuffled to the main room, unsure whether it was his injuries or the air of reproachful concern that was making it difficult to breathe.

"Ah, so our dear Kurosaki-san has joined us once again~!" Urahara singsonged with a flippant, overindulgent wave of his fan. But he must've noticed it too, how his affect had soured in the tense atmosphere, because the humor quickly ebbed from his eyes and his mouth settled into a frown. There was always something unsettling about Urahara's moments of seriousness—something that demanded reverence and attention. And it occurred to Ichigo not for the first time that the man might actually switch demeanors for that very effect.

"According to Abarai-san, when the Espada was coming in for an attack, you lowered your weapon." The shopkeeper spoke evenly. It wasn't antagonistic, but Ichigo couldn't help but avert his eyes in shame.

"I'm not going to say 'You know better,' because I don't think it would be very useful right now. But Kurosaki-san—have you been… feeling alright lately?"

"What d'you mean?"

He was confused until he saw it in their faces. Rukia, Renji, Urahara—behind the worry, the admonition, he caught a glimpse of pity and it mortified him. He then understood the implications of the question.

He let out a nervous laugh and it made his voice shake. "…C'mon. Guys… You know I'd never—"

Renji cut him off harshly. "Yeah, y'know, that's what I thought, but I know what that looked like. It looked like you were tryin' to off—"

"Oh, please," he snapped, "do you people really think I'm that weak?"

Rukia tried to rationalize. "No! But Ichigo—you're just fifteen, and there's a lot on your shoulders—"

"Don't patronize me." It came out sharper than he had intended—he recoiled inwardly a bit at that—but it didn't stop his momentum.

He would regret it the second it came out of his mouth.

"And since when has my age ever mattered when I'm sent on errands like this?"

It was a low blow. It was unnecessary, cruel. He knew it and wanted nothing but to rewind the moment and shut himself up. But he couldn't. He could only swallow as he looked at what he had done.

Renji was gaping, affronted; Rukia looked hurt and Urahara guilty, eyes shrouded entirely by his hat. The tension had mounted impossibly, and Ichigo looked at his feet, contrite.

Or at least to an extent. He'd never admit it (even to himself), but a small part of him secretly felt pleased, having retaliated at their apparent lack of faith—even if it didn't serve his original point.

Not unexpectedly, Urahara was the first to recover.

"We've… digressed a little. Intentions aside, the pressing matter is that you almost died, Kurosaki-san. Grimmjow's zanpakutou had sliced through a great deal of your vital organs. Were you conscious when he left?"

Ichigo tried to rein it in when his shoulders sagged in relief—Urahara was somewhat changing the subject, alleviating some of the tension. But he could tell by the look on his face that the man's suspicions were far from gone. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be getting much privacy for the next few weeks.

"…Yeah, I was."

He imagined that Urahara's eyebrows had risen. "That's interesting. Why didn't he make sure he finished you off?"

"Well, he… I think he wants to fight me again, because he didn't think I was taking it seriously or something."

The thought dead-ended a little, and in the renewed quiet, Ichigo realized how divorced Renji and Rukia were from the conversation. It was uncomfortable.

The entire situation was uncomfortable.

"…How long've I been out?"

"It's Thursday morning." Renji's voice was biting.

"Oh."

"…"

In a sad attempt at conciliation, he said, "I was… I was just tired, y'know?"

Too bad he didn't believe it any more than they did. He still didn't quite know why he did something so stupid—only that the incident had impressed on him somehow—and he certainly wasn't ready to inform them about it.

"I think I'm gonna head home."

Rukia was incredulous. "What? You just had almost mortal wounds before they—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I promise not to 'do something stupid' and make them open." He gave a backward wave.

Despite herself, she quirked a small smile as he walked out of the shop.

"Fool."

[chapter end]

A/N: Uh... Anyone care to tell me when exactly this could happen in canon? I know I should know—I'm the writer and all. But I really, really suck at tracking plot. I'm not built for it—I'm built for aesthetics, and this is HAAARD.