A strong left hook splitting the skin of his chin, a rough-skinned heel cracking down upon his nose in a round-house, perhaps even a foot to the groin (though it had backfired the first time she kicked him there)… Any form of physical violence would have been far more expected, and almost more welcomed, than the silent stare his former vice-captain leveled him with.
Her crimson track suit was stained a darker red by patches of blood, some her own but most not. The Winter War was finally over, the Vizards having been pulled into the final battle. Zanpakuto still in hand, she made no move to return it to its place over her shoulder, if anything it seemed her grip tightened as she stared down her former captain.
It was Urahara who finally broke the oppressing silence. "How's it going," the grin faded as his lips formed her name, "Hiyori."
He did not have time to speak, think or breathe, but his reflexes once again saved him as, not a second later, he found himself poised with Benihime in hand, blocking her blow. He had not seen her for over a century, but obviously time had done nothing to ease the pain.
A childish body, freckles and pig-tails were all betrayed by the look in her eyes. "I knew I couldn't trust you from the first time I ever met you!" She finally snarled, not looking away from him, from his placid poker-face that told nothing of what might be going on behind those emerald eyes.
But you did, he did not have to say because they both knew it. It had taken him a lot of time to win her over, like he'd told Shinji, his then peer; he wanted to be her friend. It wasn't easy, she didn't make it easy, but he'd done it, not that it would look that way to any outsider observing their relationship at captain and vice-captain. Years of smiles and laughter while doing unspeakable things, all the while tagging her along, had somehow gained her loyalty.
Perhaps she never imagined that one day she'd be the one on the other side of the microscope.
Their swords met again. Her crooked teeth ground down together as she scowled. "You did this to us. To all of us. To me."
"No need to thank me," he grinned, dodging another blow. Even had she summoned her mask and the hollow within her small body, she could not defeat him and they both knew it.
She knew it and she did it anyway.
The fact that he did not call out "awaken" to release his Shikai, or even seem to break a sweat as he dodged the blows she gave her all simply added insult to injury. The creation could not surpass its creator.
"Stupid bastard… You betrayed me."
He'd been forgiven for equal and greater wrongs, the troubles he'd caused Rukia and Ichigo, and even for the same crime he'd committed against the other Vizards, but Urahara realized that there was no way in Hell, Hueco Mundo or Soul Society that she'd absolve him so easily.
You had such potential; I made your stronger, a more perfect being. "No need to take it personally." He nearly added take it as a compliment but thought better of it as the tip of her blade came dangerously close to grazing his hat.
He could tell from the look in her eyes, brown irises now swimming in a sea of black behind her horned mask, that she wished he'd fight back. That she was actually strong enough to defeat him. That this had all never even happened in the first place. When it came right down to it, when all threads were traced to a common denominator, it was all Kisuke Urahara's doing. The war, the Vizards, everything.
"You're the one who belonged in the Maggot's Lair!"
Her wrist throbbed as Benihime struck down against it, causing her to drop her own Zanpakuto, which flung clattering loudly upon the hard pavement of the artificial Karakura Town, skidding in circles till it finally came to stop, far out of her reach.
Benihime's blade poked deeper into the pale flesh of her throat as she breathed heavily, clutching her cut wrist, head held high in defiance, forcing herself not to look down even as her body was bowed over in pain. What would he do now? Probably laugh and walk away with a smile. That's what he always did. Probably the only thing you could trust him to do.
She refused to let the mask melt away, even though she was disarmed. It was only fair as he wore his own, in a way, always had. Eyes in shadows, mouth curved upward in a lie when it wasn't busy telling one. Their's was a dance in a masquerade ball. It had been too little too late when she realized it was no fairytale. She'd known better once upon a time; she'd seen the trap, but had walked into it anyway, unable to resist the bait.
The last century had passed like a day, or so it seemed as emotional wounds bled fresh and raw. The current moment, the mere seconds their eyes locked together, passed like hours.
"Whatever you're going to do," she growled deeply in the back of her lightly bleeding throat, "do it already dumbass!"
"I don't want to hurt you, Hiyori." He said calmly. No smirk or smile, though nothing else either. "I never did."
She wanted to see something in his eyes. Wanted to believe that there was regret or pain or sorrow or even malice. Whether it be love or loathing she wanted, needed, to know that there was some feeling within him that made him do what he'd done to her… She couldn't believe that she had ever been naive enough to delude herself to thinking she'd actually seen something in those eyes.
"I hate you, Urahara Kisuke," Hiyori snarled.
Only, she didn't.