A/N: Okay...now we get to have a bit more Bleach fun! This has been kicking around in my head for a bit, and since I got a victim--er...volunteer--to beta for me, I figured this would be a good time to post it. Thanks to 2stupid for being my beta. A wonderful job! Any of you that usually read my stuff will probably notice how much better if flows. Enjoy.

Legal Stuffiness: I do not own Bleach or any of the characters therein. Kubo Tite, sole proprietor.

"Moonlight and Valentino"

Chapter 1: A Gang of Hollows

Renji stretched. His shoulders were so tense…it was great. It had been a very long time since he'd felt this kind of anticipation.

"Do not lose focus, Abarai." Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Renji nodded; there were times when his superior could really get on his last nerve. Right now, he could handle it, though he wasn't entirely certain what had dragged the Sixth Division's commanding officer out of his meditations, since whatever it was that Renji had been sent here for, the vice-captain could certainly handle it.

It had been some time since he'd actually managed to gain the respect of the exceedingly cold man. And respect was as friendly as he wanted to get with him; Kuchiki Byakuya was not the kind of person that he had ever thought of getting to know better. He was the kind of guy that Renji used to beat the shit out of when he was a kid—not that he ever could beat the shit out of Byakuya. That fact did still annoy him, but he could put it aside for the moment. Voicing his curiosity, he said, "Captain, what's going on?"

For nearly a full minute, the other man did not speak. His eyes scanned the night from the rooftop, searching. The notice said that there was heavy Hollow activity in the area, but Renji could feel nothing, and he could hear even less.

The wind whipped his hair around, whistling past his ears and tugging at his clothing. He moved with it and watched his superior for any signs of unease. Instead of shifting, Byakuya stood stock still, braced against the wind, his clothes fluttering around him along with his nearly unbound hair. His voice was low, but still audible. "There have been some…inconsistencies in the data delivery service. I was asked to investigate."

So Renji would do all the legwork while he sat back and supervised? Sounded just about right. Damned bureaucracy. He'd heard Ichigo and his friends talk about human government problems before, but it now seemed as if it wasn't something that was completely subject to the weakness of the human mind; fastidiousness and layers of idiots in power seemed to be a universal. Now he was losing focus. Renji rolled his shoulders, but he simply could not seem to loosen them; something was wrong. There was no other explanation for his captain's presence.

His suspicions were confirmed suddenly when he felt the familiar prickling at the back of his neck. Blinking rapidly, he concentrated his mind, and found that there were six centers of reiatsu that seemed to be moving swiftly in their general direction.

"Captain…"

"Yes. I feel them."

Renji drew Zabimaru. His palms itched; he had been deprived of action for a while, as he'd been forced to take on some extra duties lately. After a long pause, his hand reached up to his forehead, lowering the visor over his eyes. It focused his eyesight so much better for long distances, giving him the ability to visually identify reiatsu from far away. His right eyebrow rose, along with the corner of his mouth. "Guess who."

It gave him a little pleasure to hear Byakuya's voice drop into a near growl. "Kurosaki."

"You got it in one, Captain. Shall I make it so that he doesn't have all the fun?" Hefting Zabimaru, Renji shifted his weight from one foot to the other. At a bare nod, he sprang forth, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Captain?" the younger Shinigami asked as he turned his head to see Byakuya's eyes narrow slightly.

"Focus," was all he said. Renji nodded and made his way up the street to intercept the Hollows and tell Ichigo 'hello'.

"Damn it…" Ichigo jumped back. Tentacles. Why did they always have tentacles? Stupid Hollows and their stupid abilities.

"Come on, little boy! You're in our way." The one he had just avoided—a Hollow not quite the size of Grand Fisher and with a horned mask—shot another tentacle at him as the others seemed content to watch. "Go and play with your toys." Though he dodged the next swipe of the slimy purple tentacle, another shot out and wrapped around his ankle, catching him off guard. As he went sailing end over end through the air, he heard the Hollow chuckling.

Without warning, he saw something streaking toward him through the air. It was black, silver, and spiky. Just as it got to him, he managed to turn his body, feet landing on the blunt end of Zabimaru's shikai state. Pushing off from this platform, he flew back toward the tentacle-wielding Hollow. Zangetsu fell into the head of the beast, cutting it neatly in half and planting his point into the pavement below. When he yanked it out of the asphalt, Ichigo rested the enormous sword on his shoulder, looking behind him at Renji, who was smirking. "Heya, Renji. Thanks for the nudge."

"Don't mention it, moron."

A vein started throbbing in the middle of his forehead; he hated it when someone who had to be less than half as smart as he was started calling him stupid. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just insult me." The Hollows were now converging on one of the houses, making as if to crash into it. He motioned to the other Shinigami, and the red-haired man grunted before racing off to exterminate one of the creatures, which had gone around the back of the building. Once he had gone, Ichigo set about getting the attention of the remaining three.

"Oi!" They turned, and he could have sworn that they were wearing annoyed frowns behind the ubiquitous masks. "You guys want to have some fun?"

One of them snorted, another made a gesture that surely meant for him to simply go away. He had never been dismissed by a Hollow before, and frankly, it pissed him off.

"Well…" he growled, "It'll be fun for me."

It was like flies buzzing. The voice of the Shinigami grated on his nerves. For the most part, Bartok had the patience of a saint. He moved slowly, slinking in and out of the shadows. He could and had stalked his prey for days, weeks, or even months before he decided to take them. Bartok was a very patient soul, but that was only because he liked the game. The mask he wore was strange for a Hollow; the markings were similar to those around the eyes of a lion. He had always taken pride in that. It fit his personality.

Now, with the flame-haired Shinigami bouncing around him like some kind of rubber ball, he was growing rather annoyed.

"Fight me!" The Shinigami yelled. Bartok sighed. How long had this Shinigami been going about his job? He seemed awfully impatient for someone who would live essentially forever. As impatient as the idiot seemed, it did not escape Bartok's notice that this Shinigami's reiatsu was keen and nearly overwhelming. When he looked at the boy just right, he was sure that there was something Hollow-like about him as well.

The other Hollows approaching the target were just as impatient to finish things as this Shinigami was. They attacked him incessantly; one had a peculiar ability to melt into the ground and reappear, but it did no good. A moment earlier, Bartok had heard Etienne scream his last. He had not noticed another Shinigami, but he did when the tattooed heathen flew down from the house's roof, swinging one of the strangest weapons he had ever seen. The numerous blades whipped around, seemingly at random, and it was a matter of seconds before the snakelike Marcos was destroyed.

He had been watching idly, observing the powers of these two Shinigami and waiting. The orange-haired loudmouth dispatched one of the younger Hollows Bartok had come into acquaintance with, Alphonse; his true madness had not even set in yet. Now, both Shinigami turned on him. It was, in his opinion, time for a tactical retreat; he had waited six months, and he could wait a little more.

There was a kind of grace and timeless quality that hung around Kuchiki Byakuya at all times. From the way he effortlessly walked, seeming to flow from place to place to the way his breathing seemed to be part of the natural rhythm of the universe, no one could say that he was ever awkward. No, Byakuya was the type of man that others envied for his self-possession, grace and intelligence. In fact, as he approached the other two Shinigami in the street, either uncaring or unaware of this difference, both Renji and Ichigo were struck dumb for an instant.

Renji, for his part, had always been in some kind of awe or another of his superior, even if it was only in his subconscious. Perhaps it was this that caused him to feel the need to surpass the man. In spite of the wind, Byakuya moved with that same ease, his expression remaining calm and collected. Even with his hair and clothing flying in several different directions from the wind, he seemed to be serenity personified. "Abarai."

"Captain."

"One of the Hollows has escaped, Abarai." With a noise that resembled annoyance, Renji nodded, looking away, trying not to be affronted. It was just an observation. He had to keep telling himself this. "I think I understand what is going on now."

"Well, then, what's going on, Byakuya?" Ichigo had slung Zangetsu over his back again, the bandage streamer flipping in the wind as he questioned the black-haired captain.

Byakuya's serenity melted. For a bare second, Renji was certain that a little tick started below one of his eyes. "Kurosaki, please be silent." Blue eyes closed for a moment as he collected himself. It was not that surprising that Ichigo got under everyone's skin, but it took a lot to make this particular man lose his cool. "Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to say that this house is the center of some strange kind of reiatsu. The Hollows were converging on the place." Ichigo cocked his head to one side.

"What's so special about the house?" he asked. "I can't feel—"

"It is no surprise, Kurosaki, that you cannot feel the difference. Your senses are not as sharp as your wit, though I must say, that instrument is rather dull." Renji controlled his surprise at Byakuya's resorting to open insults. "There is something strange in this house. Stay here, both of you."

The house was dark, as was expected. It was small and rather ill-kept. Byakuya stepped lightly on the floorboards, certain that if he had allowed his full weight to rest on this flooring, creaking sounds would fill the room. Furnishings in the front room were minimal; a chest was covered by a dark cloth, and two photographs hung on the wall. He walked past these into the other main chamber.

Here, the moon streamed in, casting a pale glow over the room. A futon was laid out on the floor, its occupant sound asleep. Another trunk, situated in a corner, held a small shrine. Photographs and small keepsakes were carefully laid out, displaying the care and thought of the person using them. One photograph drew his attention; a slender woman knelt next to a child of no more than six years. Both had dark brown hair and striking green eyes. The small girl's smile was uncertain as they posed before the building, which looked to be a school. He cast his eyes away from the picture.

There were several bookcases, which were overflowing with books, scrolls, and other papers. Byakuya was not truly interested in these, but he was surprised. The human girl laying on the futon appeared to be only a little older than Kurosaki. Had she read all of those? It was difficult for him to believe. The thought was quickly dismissed, and he knelt, leaning over the young woman's face.

Yes, there was something different about her. Reiatsu was not blasting off her like it did with Kurosaki, but it seemed to be…as he searched for the word in his own mind, Byakuya felt a familiar presence. "Urahara…" Indigo eyes caught the light, flashing his displeasure at the man now standing in the doorway, his cane resting casually on his shoulder. "What are you doing here, Kisuke?"

A slow smirk spread over that shadowed face, and the blonde man reached up, pushing the brim of his hat to reveal more of his face. "I could ask you the same thing, little Byakuya." Without waiting for Byakuya's reply, he continued. "I will not, however, ask that. But I will ask that you keep your voice down." That was a strange request. True, the former captain's voice was only a whisper, but it should not make any difference. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, for there was movement on the futon.

"No…" the girl whispered, "Please don't leave me…" A nightmare? Byakuya's eyes lighted on the girl's face. Her face was calm, serene, but the voice she spoke in was filled with sadness. "I need you…don't go…" If he had not been holding his breath already, Byakuya would have stopped breathing entirely. He was not a fool, and he had a very good memory. There was nothing he remembered better than the last words he ever spoke to his wife as she left the world. Not realizing what he was doing, he leaned down over the girl again. What was she? Could she read his thoughts? His memories?

"Step away from her, Byakuya." A hand touched his arm. He had not noticed the other man move, but his surprise was not so great as his annoyance at being told what to do. It was only when he looked at Urahara again that he realized that his fingers were mere centimeters from her face. "It is not safe for you." The concern in that soft, patient voice was almost infuriating. Safe? What danger could he be in? There was nothing that he could not handle short of Yamamoto's zanpakuto.

"Oi! Byakuya! What's going on?!" Kurosaki Ichigo's voice boomed through the house, the impatient young man striding into the room. The orange-haired imbecile looked around. "What a dump!" Then he seemed to see what and who was in the room. His pale eyes focused on Byakuya, who was leaning over the sleeping figure, his fingertips frozen where they were over the skin of a glowing white cheek. Urahara, on the other hand, knelt beside him, and was gently trying to pull him away, ignoring Kurosaki's loud behavior.

A strange, awkward silence settled over the room. Byakuya looked at Kurosaki. Kurosaki looked at both Byakuya and Urahara. Urahara…well, Byakuya couldn't see what he was looking at. "Byakuya…come away." There was a sort of desperate edge to Urahara's normally calm, devious voice. What could possibly make him so insistent? Turning his head allowed him to see the somewhat shadowed features on the man's face. The corners of his mouth drawn down in a frown, his eyes piercing. Though 'tense' was never a word that he would use to describe Urahara Kisuke, this was certainly as close as he had come to it.

"Ura—" Kurosaki cut himself off at one very hard glare from beneath a striped hat. It had been a very long time since Byakuya had seen that glare; he must have been about fifteen at the time. Byakuya watched as the boy scratched the back of his head. Apologies would come later, he supposed, if the boy could be forced to do so. Somehow, he doubted that a heathen like Kurosaki was capable of such niceties.

"Uhn…" A groan and the sound of fabric rustling brought all eyes to the girl on the futon. His hand drew away quickly; her body was rising from the soft padding of the little mattress and coming into a seated position. Byakuya saw her hair fall down to her waist, the moonlight reflecting off of it dully, and then the way that her sleeping kimono had fallen off one shoulder. But what he truly noticed was that her posture began to tense. With a sudden motion, she whirled around, coming to her knees. Her eyes darted from Byakuya to Urahara, and back, then to the boy in the doorway. A light of recognition dawned in the pale green of her eyes. Her voice, a low, almost manly tone, came out in an accusation. "Kurosaki-kun. What are you doing in my house?"

"I…who…oh, shit!" Byakuya nearly winced. The boy had such coarse language! "Um…sorry, Ise-sempai."

"Don't 'sorry, sempai' me! What are you doing here, and who—" she jabbed a finger at Byakuya and Urahara, "—are these men?" Both Shingami blinked. Byakuya watched as delicate features tightened into a frown, and then as the boy could not find the words, he rolled his eyes. Before he could speak, and before he knew what was happening, Urahara had pulled a small box from inside his haori. With the click of a button, a white gas was expelled into the girl's face. Her eyes then turned on the offender, and she glared. "Just who do you…think…you…" Eyelids drifted shut, and she swayed, "…are?" A soft sigh filled the room, and her body collapsed in such a way that Byakuya was obliged to catch her, lest she fall on him.

Gripping both of the girl's shoulders, he maneuvered her onto the futon again. For once, he was glad for Kisuke's constant tinkering. That gas was quite effective. "May I assume we don't need to worry about her anymore?"

Urahara stood, walking slowly toward the door. "For now." The older man took hold of Kurosaki's ear, dragging the boy out of the room. "Come, now, Ichigo. You need to go home." There was a squawk and several loud protests from the flame-haired young man.

Before he stood, Byakuya pulled the blankets back up to cover the young woman. For an instant, his fingers brushed over the skin of her exposed shoulder. It was like being burned. His hand drew back quickly, and he stared into the girl's face, wondering at the emotions that shot through his mind when he touched her. Perhaps that was what Urahara had meant? But what could happen? He did feel sadness, yes, and loss. But why would he feel these things when he came into physical contact with a human girl?

"Captain," a low voice said from the door, "we're supposed to get back now."

Byakuya nodded. He rose and slowly walked from the room, not looking back. His Hell Moth fluttered just outside the entrance to the house, and as Renji opened the gate back to Soul Society, he merely watched. The girl would be dealt with by those who altered memories, and would be monitored for future Hollow activity. There was nothing to worry about.

A/N: Geez. There are times when I just wanna smack Byakuya. He's too perfect and by-the-book...