Authors Note: Usual Disclaimer applies. BLEACH and all its wacky, wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Kubo Tite- Sensei. I could only borrow their essence and attempt to create a world for them to play in.

The story I will present isn't really set in stone. I wrote it in a whirl of frenzied writing one night after watching episode 376. For my own reason I really got ticked off by the Orange-haired One. So I ask that you indulge me if I bash her a little. I'm only human-I am allowed to take sides and get mad some of the time. For that reason I too, I made the main pairing of this tale be inspired by another episode. You'll figure it out soon enough. That being said I am hoping to write a viable story that highlight ties and the bonds among the people that inhabit Bleach universe. Please tell me what you think.

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.

- Alone, EAP

HER

A remote area in Karakura Town...

The high vaulted ceilings boasted by the large antebellum mansion did little to remind those unfortunate enough to enter the room of its much vaunted space. Every inch of its expansive walls were covered by painting of all sizes—ranging from a measly 24 x 36 inches of naked, unframed canvas, to towering murals that flowed to nearly three meters in height. Each and every single one splattered and tattooed with images from the deepest nightmares rarely permitted in the forgiving light of day.

Each canvas was a testament to silent screams of the darkest human emotion—images that spoke in haunting tones of pain and betrayal…of loss and anguish…of despair and death. Over and over again, in myriad ways that defy conventional human understanding or comprehension the images played again and again on the muted stretch of what was once virgin cloth, stained with the colors of unrelenting ebony and obsidian, pale ghostly greys and icy whites that was brought to brilliant relief by the occasional slash of crimsons and scarlet that burned and pulsed like a living wound on the otherwise already pallid picture of otherworldly realms were life seemed more phantom than fact.

The images were divided and held at bay by nothing paltrier than the breaks of thin black lines where one frame ended and another began. Where canvas and blackened wood yielded territory, slivers of jagged metal would take its place, illuminating the various pieces of wickedly edged blades displayed in all their naked glory as they lay pinned to the unmoving walls of concrete by the thinnest length of ultra-fine wires.

Swords of every available shape and size, created from one end of the world to the other, from every known era graced the faceless walls—halberds and claymores from ancient forges lie next to the seemingly impossible elegance of tantos and naginatas, stilettos gilded with blood and gold share space with massive broadswords from the crusades, strikingly fearsome scythes dangling close to seemingly harmless kunais as they lie, silent and still alongside the sensuous lines of a disassembled katana. Their true purpose seemed to be at war with their stillness and the odd serenity they lent in a place that appear intent in its quest to personify death and pain and loss. Their lethal edge displayed as if to emphasize the bond they share with the images that were mirrored on the shining surface of their unyielding blades.

And though the room where all of these things were to be found seemed better suited for the dank and darkness of a dungeon, light poured into the space like some life-giving elixir, flooding every corner with cleansing illumination that came from the skylight that dominated half the ceiling as well as the many cathedral windows that lined all the sides of the huge room. The purity of light bounced off the shimmering surface of the naked blades and created a kaleidoscope that was wholly ignored by the room's sole occupant, and even as the light created a halo-like glow around the crouched figure it paid scant attention. Its focus was on another world, another image that was forming beneath masterful hands that knew no recourse and recognized no disturbance—not even that of the sun's undying light.

Clad in nondescript clothes of grey jeans and tattered mousy brown button-down shirt, the figure's hand moved with surprising grace and economy of movement across the stretched virgin canvas. There were no pencil marks that would've made it easier to map out figures and objects in their proper placement on the surface of the cloth. Hair as dark as shimmering onyx were confined in a messy bun tied back by frayed twine revealing pale complexion and a slight build beneath the bulky mass of fabric. Eyes the color or rain-drenched earth peaked from behind thick lashes intense and unseeing—they looked inward as if the act of creating images on the canvas was a simple and unconscious by-product of intense introspection rather than a creative process. Thin lips gave no indication of thought or passing feeling. It was as if the entire figure was merely channeling the images and had to stay absolutely still lest even the creator becomes collateral damage for the picture that was slowly emerging from its brush.

The brush was poised over a new canvas, the image ready to emerge once more when for some reason the brush failed to touch the stretched cloth. A noise breaks the haunting silence of the room. Though it was faint, the painter's hand paused for an imperceptible moment before quietly resuming its work. Soft unhesitating treads marked the passage into the center of the room, closer and closer to where the creator stood in silent absorption.

"Who let you in?"

"He always lets me in. You didn't warn him about me."

"I'd be sure to tell him now."

"You missed lunch again. You already missed breakfast twice this week."

The voice that spoke was sweet as spring itself revealing a sense of femininity that celebrates the owner's very nature. The lilts and cadences revealing generous warmth and affection that stood so out of place in a domain that seemed determined to hold life and light at a cautious distance. A sun-kissed cheek dimpled in a welcoming smile even as hands busied themselves laying out the makings of a well-balanced lunch of sandwiches, fruit and tea.

"Come and eat before it gets cold. I decided we could have lunch together since you've been too busy to come see me."

"I told you not to come here."

The figures voice, in contrast with its guest, seemed steeped in the shadowy coolness of autumn. There was no blustery huskiness in the figure's voice to indicate that the creator barely spoke since coming into the room. It was cool, even and uninflected. Like the clothes and the frames that surrounded them, there was an air of emptiness and stillness in the voice that certainly reached its companion.

"I know what you told me. I also know that you get this way every time you work which is nearly every single time. We have school in two hours. You need time to wash the smell of turpentine off of your skin if you want to continue pretending all that you do here is clean rusted up metal."

The young woman held out a moist towel and waited patiently until her companion grudgingly took the offering. She kept her eyes on her reluctant host as it gave pale, frail looking paint-drenched hands an indifferent scrub.

"What I do or don't do is none of their concern."

The towel was folded with an abject lack of attention and placed on the infinitesimally small space that's unoccupied on the scarred, laden table. The young woman gave a chiding tsk before picking up the towel and placing it inside one of the many pockets of the bag she brought with her. She cleared a space on the table by putting way the many odd and ends that littered across the scarred surface before unpacking the contents of the lunch she brought with her. She handed her host a small cup and poured hot tea into it.

"You can't expect Dad not to notice that you smell like you burned down a building all by yourself. And even if Dad doesn't comment on it, you know that he would."she murmured softly.

"He lost the right to comment on anything I do with my life three years ago."came the cold reply.

"Are you still holding on to that argument? It's been, as you said, three years. Surely you've forgiven him for what he said and did all those years ago. You know how he is. He could've done a lot worse."

"Yeah, I know how he is. And he did do a lot worse. Continued on doing it, too. That's why I know he lost that right. Just as he lost…"

The flow of words stopped abruptly, clamping into silence thoughts that were never allowed to be whispered in light of day. Thoughts that were known to the both of them though only one of them suffered far deeper than the other.

"You can't ask that he change his ways. He made those decisions with his eyes wide open. She was his friend-!"

"Don't."

The room's temperature plunged as if it was suddenly flung into a frozen sea. The warmth that began to creep into the painter's eyes vanished in an instant leaving behind an empty wasteland where emotions normally should be.

"Karin-chan…"

"Don't tell me I can't feel the way that I do Yuzu. You, of all people, should know that I could never forgive that woman for what she did. For what she put him through—what I had to live through because of her. So do me a favor and don't ever mention that woman again."

"She explained didn't she? They threatened her…she had no choice."

"I know the truth Yuzu. I saw it inside her. It was there…there inside her where no one bothered to look. But I had to…I needed to…I thought I was going to go insane when I saw him like that…when I saw what saving her cost him. No…I could never forgive her Yuzu. You couldn't ask that of me…"

"Would hating her change anything?"

"Of course not. It didn't do anything to me certainly it didn't do me any good. But neither would ignoring the fact and acting as if it never happened. If they can't or won't say anything—well, at least I did what I thought and felt was right."

FLASHBACK

Blood….

He was bathed in blood…

The crimson flood of his own mixing and mingling with the bracken blood the color of night…

His hair flowing wildly around his disfigured face as those eyes…those inhuman golden eyes behind the monstrous mask looked on in indifferent glee as he ripped through everything around him…talons tipped every digit of his clenched had as it held fast a katana dipped in the color of night...

His skin…bleached a preternatural sheen of white like moonlight on sand…and everywhere else there, was darkness and blood and wails no mortal could ever produce…

That's the nightmare that haunted her all throughout those long hours when he was away…that and the niggling truth that slowly formed inside her as she watched the horrific events unfold behind her closed lids…trapping her in a waking nightmare that new no cessation even when she was awake.

All of HIS pain just to save her…all his strength straining close to the breaking point just so he could bring her home…his heart yearning to see her safe…his soul sacrificing everything to win a fight he didn't have to join in the first place…all because of HER.

"You bitch!"

My arm moved on its own. That much I was aware of. When my palm cracked against her cheek the pain seemed to shoot straight into my heart, numbing it even as tears flowed freely from my blazing eyes.

"K-karin! What the hell are you doing?"

Arms and hands came at me from every side, restraining my straining body but I was blind to everyone around me. All I had inside me was a burgeoning flame of hate that needed an outlet before it consumed me completely. I couldn't—wouldn't hold back. I needed to say the words that have been burning on my tongue since the nightmares started.

"You bitch! How dare you! How could you!"

I knew that I shocked them all. I knew that none of them—not my father, not my twin—not even the woman my brother sheltered in his room and bled for before had ever seen me in a towering rage before. I was the stoic one, the one with sarcasm and cynical views. I was never the type to be emotional or physical unless it involved sports. Now it took all of their considerable strength to restrain my slight form from inflicting more damaged to the stunned figure that stood trembling before me.

"Karin what is the matter with you?"

I turned and pinned Rukia with an agonized look before my gaze fell on the silent prone figure of my clearly exhausted, damaged brother—torn between joy at seeing him whole and alive and the harrowing memory of seeing his empty eyes look out at that haunting badlands. My voice quivered but I couldn't have prevented that any more than I could've prevented the nightmarish visions I had to watch over and over again.

"I saw Ichi-nii! I saw what happened to him out there in that desert—that wasteland where she went to. I saw—gods in heaven Rukia I saw him fall—I watched him die…"

"Karin, w-what are you saying? That's just a dream…it's not-!"

I saw the truth in her eyes before denial poured out of her lips. I know that she's finding it harder and harder to try and pass of what she did—what they did—what my brother continues to deny that he does as inconsequential imaginings on my part. I wished in my heart that just for once, she wouldn't try and prevaricate. That just once she would simply tell the truth.

"Don't lie to me Rukia, please! Not over this…not because of her!"

"Karin-chan…I-I"

"Don't you touch me you selfish pig!How dare you! I will never forgive you!"

I watched them all. My brother's 'friends'—the pale, four-eyed man, the tall, powerful Ossan that once upon a time saved me, the red-headed tattooed man that sometimes accompanied Rukia and even Rukia herself. I saw them watch me with wariness that did little to assuage the hatred inside of me for the orange-haired vixen that they sheltered behind them after my first strike.

"You don't know what you're talking about Karin-!"

"I know! I saw it in her! I saw it while I was trapped in that waking nightmare the entire time you were gone!"

"Karin, she didn't have a choice-!"

I closed my eyes against the hatred surging through me—robbing me of breath for a moment and for that moment I felt all hope ebb from me. I opened my eyes and saw Rukia watching me with a knowing, anguished look in her eyes. Eyes that saw and acknowledge the same truth twisting inside of me like a venomous snake but she only sought to bear the burden of the guilt she bore within.

"She did it to protect all of us-!"

I shook my head in denial. I knew the truth though now I wish it was otherwise. It was tearing apart everyone around me but I had to say it—someone had to, that much I was sure of. They needed to hear it and I needed to exorcise it from my soul before it festers into yet another scar I had to live with.

"She made the choice. That creature—that man with green eyes saw the jealousy festering inside her. He knew how to get her. No matter what she says, no matter what she tells you I SAW her truth! She left because she couldn't be with him! She left with him because she was jealous and selfish and greedy!"

"Karin, that's enough. It wasn't her fault…"

"It was…it was her fault he had to suffer and bleed and die that way…it was because of her…she was blinded by her selfishness…she allowed for all of it to happen because she knows Ichi-nii would come no matter what-that he would be with her just as she wanted. She risked it all for that reason alone. She knows that much about him."

"Stop it. Please, Karin. Stop. Inoue was confused, that's all. That's why she left with him. You can't blame her for that."

"I can and I do. You can't ask me to just leave it be. You can't ask that I forgive and forget what I saw there. What I felt when he died-! Ichi-nii—Ichi-nii!"

"Please Karin...please…for me…just let it go."

"No! Listen to me you bitch! No matter how long it takes I will learn how to strip you of that power that calls to nothing but pain and misery for those around you. I don't care what it takes—but I will find a way to make sure you will never belong in my brother's world ever again."

"Karin-chan?"

"I don't think about it Yuzu. It's better that way. Come on, we'll be late if we don't get a move on."

As the pair walked towards the huge pair of doors that would lead them outside the painter cast a last lingering look at her domain. It was true. She doesn't think about things any more. There was no need. The chance for exacting revenge never came. Her chance at vengeance never materialized because the reason for pursuing precaution against further interaction seemed moot. By the time her beloved brother woke he no longer had the necessary skill that would allow his world and theirs to touch. The day her brother woke was the day his powers ceased to exist. It would have been the end of it but unfortunately fate doesn't play fair. The day he stepped out of the reach of all that caused him pain and misery became the day her own gift exploded into full bloom.

The only difference was this time around, they would have to drag her kicking and screaming before she allow them to get her involved. There was no way in hell she was letting them get to another Kurosaki any time soon.