Title: Delivery
Author: kerumica
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ikkaku/Kira
Warning/Rating: pg
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Leave me be. Also, the poem, "Passion Makes Old Medicine New" is by Rumi and is owned by him. The only things I own are the ten headbands I bought last weekend.
A/N: Because I fail at email, I forgot to send myself the story I worked on a couple of days ago. I have since written a different story. Also, this has not been beta'd and the guys are a bit OOC.
Summary: Kira gets an unexpected package. Ikkaku gets an unexpected visit. Takes place after the defection of the three captains.
He looked up and down the hallway before looking back down at his feet. The package was still there. It wasn't ticking, so it wasn't a bomb. No weird smells, so it wasn't a dead bunny or anything. He kicked the small white box once, then twice. Nothing. He bent down and picked it up, shook it slightly, put his ear to it and then sniffed it. Still nothing. He looked around again. Finally, he slid open the door to his office and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Ikkaku peeked around the corner and made sure the young man had in fact taken the box inside with him. He smiled slightly before heading back towards his own division.
Several hours later, Ikkaku was on his way to the bathhouse when he saw a familiar face. "Kira?"
"Hello, Ikkaku."
"Hey. Uhm…what are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to thank you for the gift. Oh, and the poem."
"The poem...?"
Kira nodded. "The gift was thoughtful. The poem was…unexpected."
"It was?"
Kira nodded again and walked towards the older man, grabbing his hand. He placed a folded piece of paper into it and closed his hand around it.
"When you're done with your bath, would you care to stop by and share my gift and discuss the poem?"
Ikkaku, unable to comprehend what was happening, only nodded. Kira smiled.
"Well, then. I'll see you later." He flashstepped away, leaving behind an opened-mouth Ikkaku.
After a few moments, he finally looked at the paper in his hand and unfolded it, reading its contents.
Passion makes the old medicine new:
Passion lops off the bough of weariness.
Passion is the elixir that renews:
how can there be weariness
when passion is present?
Oh, don't sigh heavily from fatigue:
seek passion, seek passion, seek passion!
'Well, hell,' he thought, as he resumed his walk toward the baths. 'Guess I owe Yumi dinner after all.'