AN

Hello everyone! So nice to see you all again in another story! I honestly thought I was done with this site, but I guess not. I hope you all enjoy this new story as much as you've enjoyed my previous ones. The usual warnings apply: Though it's set in Japan, some American stuff might be slipped in here and there. I apologize for any out of character moments or clichés. Okay, so here we go!

Disclaimer-I own ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I couldn't be any clearer about that.

Trouble In Paradise

Summary - As far as authoress Rukia Kuchiki was concerned, she and the mysterious Ichigo Kurosaki had the perfect relationship. They were good friends. Rukia needed someone who wasn't demanding and Ichigo needed someone who wouldn't ask questions when he disappeared for weeks at a time. It worked, until... Rukia and Ichigo jet off to an island paradise to uncover the source of Rukia's crippling nightmares and find themselves embroiled in a sinister plot involving the Kuchiki family that goes back twenty years.

Chapter 1

He had no right to make the phone call and he knew it. But he had dialed the number, so it was too late to hang up, even if he managed to convince himself he should. She was supposed to be a friend and tonight he needed a friend. With a grim concentration necessitated by the pain pills he had been gulping for the past several hours, Ichigo leaned his head against the gleaming payphone, closed his eyes and listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. He couldn't remember feeling this bad before in his life. He hurt, he was exhausted and his mind wasn't functioning anywhere near its normal level of awareness. Everything around him seemed to be annoying. He couldn't tune out the inconsequential. The constant background noise of the Tokyo airport terminal was grating against all his senses. He couldn't seem to think straight because of the way the silly chatter of travelers, the roar of engines and the smell of hot dogs and fuel was sinking into his nervous system. Ichigo knew the pain pills probably amplified the uncomfortable effect, but the knowledge didn't help. He tried to concentrate more intently on listening to the phone-one ring, two rings, three. Maybe she wasn't home. Christ, for all he knew, she was with another man. Not tonight, he thought as he gripped the receiver a little more tightly in an effort to steady himself.

Don't let there be anyone else there tonight. He sought reassurance by reminding himself that Rukia hadn't seemed interested in any other man during the months Ichigo had known her. Not that she was all that interested in him, Ichigo told himself wryly-except, of course, as a friend. He found himself praying she hadn't turned up any other friends during the few weeks he had been gone. She answered the phone in the middle of the fourth ring. Ichigo felt relief wash through him with a more comforting effect than his little white pills had had. He wondered why he had been so worried. Rukia was always at home at night. Lately, when he was on assignment, Ichigo had found himself taking an obscure kind of comfort in that knowledge. He could close his eyes at any time and picture her sitting home alone in the evenings, perhaps curled up on the old couch in her front room with an album from her collection of early rock music on the stereo.

"Rukia? It's Ichigo."

"Ichigo! Good grief, it's almost midnight. Where are you? Are you home?"

He heard the bright welcome in her throaty, melodic voice. Sometimes Ichigo thought it was Rukia's voice he started thinking about first when he was headed home. He lifted his lashes with an effort and found himself eyeball-to-eyeball with the reassuring symbol of AT&T. Some things, at least, were constant in the universe-Rukia's voice and AT&T.

"I'm in Tokyo. My plane gets into Karakura in an hour and a half."

His fingers tightened on the receiver.

"Rukia, I hate to ask, but can you meet me?"

"Meet you?"

Maybe she was with another man there. Ichigo shook off the sudden, tight anger that materialized out of nowhere.

The pain pills again, he told himself. He had no right allowing himself to react to the possibility of Rukia being with another man. He had no claim on her, just as she had no claim on him. They were friends. Their friendship might be odd, and unlike any he had ever had before in his life, but it was still a friendship. That was all Rukia seemed to want.

"Rukia, if you're busy..."

He let the sentence trail into nowhere, unwilling to let her off the hook completely unless he was forced to do so. He wanted her at the airport-no, needed her there. He had to get home tonight and he was almost certain he couldn't drive. The pills, pain and exhaustion were hitting him too hard.

"No, Ichigo, I'm not busy. I can meet you. Hang on a second while I grab a pen."

She was back in an instant.

"Okay. Give me the flight number."

"Flight number," Ichigo repeated a little helplessly.

"Yeah, just a second."

Of course there was a flight number. What the hell was the matter with him? His brain had apparently shut down. He groped for the ticket envelope in his pocket. He stared at the three digit number for a few seconds before it made sense. Then, very carefully, he read it aloud to her. With relief, he now realized that the surprise he had at first heard in her voice wasn't a prelude to refusing to meet him. Rukia was really surprised at being asked to meet him. Her reaction was perfectly understandable, he thought. At no time during the past three months had he asked her to meet him at the airport. He had always rented a car and driven back to SeiReiTei from Karakura. His homecoming routine was just that: routine. He rarely violated his own rituals. When a man reached the point where he didn't pay much attention to his past or future, he found himself dependent on his own little rules.

"All right, Ichigo, I've got it. I'll be there."

"Thanks, Rukia. I'll see you in a while."

There was a small pause before her throaty, melodic voice asked hesitantly, "ichigo? Is anything wrong?"

Ichigo looked down at the cane he was gripping in his left hand. He didn't feel like attempting casual explanations over the phone. He would work them up on the flight to Karakura. He was good at doing that sort of thing. Every man was blessed with one or two talents, and inventing convincing explanations was his.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just thought it might be tough to get a rental car at this hour of the night. Drive carefully, Rukia."

After they had said good-bye, Ichigo hung up the phone. Then, gathering his strength with an effort of sheer willpower, he pushed himself away from the phone and, using his cane to brace himself, made his way back to the flight lounge. Halfway there, he saw the flower cart. Something clicked in his fogged brain.

He had formed the small habit of presenting her with flowers when he returned from his trips. He did it partly as a thank you for the questions she never asked and partly as an apology for the answers he never offered. Another ritual. Ichigo made his way over to the cart and bought a handful of yellow roses, so perfect they looked almost plastic. They weren't really Rukia's kind of flower; there was nothing plastic about her. But he didn't have much choice. He cradled them carefully as he finished the trek to the waiting lounge. He almost went to sleep waiting for the boarding call. When it came, he roused himself enough to follow the other passengers on board. A few minutes later, seatbelt fastened and with the yellow roses stowed alongside his thigh, he did go to sleep.

But not before he had a last, anticipatory image of Rukia Kuchiki waiting for him in Karakura. She would be easy to spot in the crowd, if there was one at this hour of the night, Ichigo thought. She wasn't particularly tall and she wasn't particularly lovely. Taken separately, there was nothing unusually inviting about her intelligent, indigo eyes, shoulder-length, midnight black hair and soft mouth. Ichigo knew she was the sort of woman other women said could be attractive if she just bothered to wear a little makeup. Rukia seldom bothered. Her body was slender, small on top and invitingly lush below the waist, but certainly not possessed of thoroughbred elegance or pin-up voluptuousness. Yet somehow, to Ichigo, her beauty was so vivid, she reminded him of one of the covers of the science fiction books she wrote-all bright hues, a promise of excitement and a barely controlled nervous energy. The fantasy of tapping into that feminine energy in bed had been plaguing Ichigo with increasing frequency. Tonight the fantasy was stronger than ever, in spite of the effect of the pain pills, or perhaps because of it. Ever since he had met Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo had found himself letting her structure the odd relationship that had begun developing between them. What Rukia had chosen to build was a delicate web of companionship, a loose friendship from which the sexual element was plainly missing. On the handful of occasions they had spent together during the past three months, Rukia had seemed satisfied with the situation. Ichigo was wondering how much longer he could tolerate it. But the last thing he had wanted to do was push her. But he had another reason for allowing the relationship to continue as it was, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was a clinging woman who would begin to question his frequent, extended absences, his lack of plans for the future and his reasons for having reached his mid-thirties without having married.

Once a man started sleeping with a woman on a regular basis, the woman usually felt she had a right to ask questions about things like that. Ichigo told himself he didn't need questions or a woman who asked about his life. Rukia would be easy to handle as long as she didn't probe. Unfortunately, he was beginning to crave her in a way that could no longer tolerate simple friendship. Sooner or later the situation was going to explode. Ichigo wasn't at all sure what the results would be when it did. His last conscious thought before he let himself be taken by sleep was a vague curiosity about Rukia's reaction when she saw him limp off the plane. When he had left almost a month before, he had had no cane and no injuries to explain. Even a woman who normally never asked awkward questions was bound to wonder what had happened. He ought to get to work on the cover story he planned to tell her. The perfect yellow roses took the full shock of Ichigo's not inconsiderable weight when he finally let himself sag against the left side of the seat. The flowers went down without a struggle, their plastic perfection crumpling into a squashed yellow mess.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

For a few minutes after she hung up the phone, Rukia sat staring out her window at the night darkened sea. Ichigo's call had taken her by surprise. When the phone had rung, she had assumed her father was calling to remind her yet again that he and her mother were expecting her for her semiannual visit to the island. She had put it off long enough. It had been nearly eight months since she had visited them on Aoimizu.

In years past she had eagerly looked forward to going out to the island every six months. Belatedly she realized it was much too late for a call from the island. But she had been taken completely off guard when she heard Ichigo's voice. Ichigo, who never called while he was away. The first she usually knew of his return from a trip was when he showed up on her doorstep carrying flowers. A heavy fog crouched over Seireitei tonight; otherwise she might have been able to see the lights of Karakura in the distance. It was a good half hour's drive to the airport, but with the fog she had better allow more time. Not once during the past three months had Ichigo ever asked her to meet him at the airport when he returned from one of his consulting trips. But then, Ichigo never imposed, never made demands. He was content to take whatever she offered. The arrangement suited Rukia perfectly. But tonight he had broken his own, unspoken rules. He had asked a favor. Rukia shook off the odd sense of anxiety that had gripped her instant she had heard his voice. She got to her feet and headed toward the bedroom to dress.

Following the advice in one of the many books on insomnia that she had bought during the past few months, she had been going through an elaborate routine in preparation for bed. With the usual optimism of such self-help approaches, the author of the book had suggested that the body and mind must relearn the anticipation of sleep. The theory was that a concentration on the repetitive, nightly ritual of undressing, tooth brushing, face washing, and the rest was one approach to reacquainting oneself with an expectation of sleep. It sounded as plausible as anything Rukia had tried lately, and heaven knew she had tried a variety of techniques.

She had just put on a high-necked, long-sleeved flannel nightgown when the phone had rung a few minutes ago. So much for this evening's little ritual of anticipation. No loss, she told herself in resignation as she quickly put on a pair of black jeans, a bright yellow shirt and a knitted orange vest. The odds were against her having gotten much sleep tonight, anyway. She rarely got a good night's sleep lately, no matter how many books she read on the subject, no book could cure her underlying problem. No book could wipe out the memories of what had happened eight months ago on Aoimizu shortly before her twenty-seventh birthday.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

She had been right about the drive to the airport, Rukia realized some time later as she eased her compact car out of the drive and onto the narrow, two-lane highway. The fog was not impenetrable, but navigating it definitely required concentration and care. Rukia gave most of her attention to her driving, but a part of her mind couldn't stop wondering about the reason she was on the road at this hour of the night in the first place. She wondered if Ichigo would offer any explanation for his unusual behavior. She doubted it. And even if she had been inclined to ask, Ichigo was not the sort of man a woman nagged. Rukia was proud of the way she never asked questions, offered suggestions or otherwise tried to impose her will on him. And Ichigo seemed to appreciate her circumspection. She sensed deep down that Ichigo Kurosaki had his own secrets, just as she had hers, but she didn't want to examine that conclusion too closely. A part of her suspected that one of the reasons she never asked any questions was because she didn't want to hear the answers.

Rukia let his full name ripple through her mind. It was a good name for him. The first time she'd met him Rukia decided immediately that Ichigo could have been the reincarnation of an old-school samurai. A man with big, strong hands and a face carved from unyielding stone. One of those men who could look you in the eye and make you believe in hell. he had that delinquent air about him that warned you not to mess with him because he knew what he was doing. The blunt, hard lines of his face were well suited to the equally blunt, hard lines of his body. He was somewhere in his mid or early thirties, but his amber eyes seemed to have seen at least an extra generation's worth of the world. On some level, Rukia knew, Ichigo's cool, watchful gaze had been what initially attracted her to him. But the easygoing quality of their relationship was what held her. She had discovered Ichigo was good at relaxed friendships. And she needed someone who was content not to make demands. Still, she found the thought of any kind of relationship with Ichigo Kurosaki odd. Rukia knew that under normal circumstances she would never have gotten involved with him. He was not really the gentle, honest, and straightforward kind of man she had once sought. He wasn't the kind of male a woman knew instinctively could be domesticated, the kind who would make a good husband and father. Rukia knew that even though he was good at projecting whatever facade seemed suitable to the occasion, there was an underlying darkness in him that would have threatened, even repelled her eight months before.

But she was no longer living under "normal circumstances."

The simple truth was that Rukia was not the same person she had been eight months before. For some strange reason the change in her left her open to viewing Ichigo Kurosaki in a different manner than she once would have done. On some level, the hardness and darkness in him actually appealed to her now. Perhaps, she thought, she subconsciously longed to have some of that dangerous internal strength for herself. She was waiting at the airport gate when Ichigo finally came through the door. He was one of the last passengers off the plane and Rukia had begun to wonder if she had met the wrong flight. When she saw the cane and the stark, controlled expression on Ichigo's face she had the fleeting sensation of having definitely met the wrong plane. It was as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. He stopped when he saw her. He had a small leather flight bag and a bundle of sadly crushed yellow roses in his right hand. The passengers leaving the plane behind him separated and flowed around him in twin streams as if he were a boulder that had fallen into their path. Rukia saw the grim challenge in his eyes and swallowed her shock. She hurried forward, reaching automatically for the leather bag. Impulsively, driven by a need to offer welcome and comfort, she stood briefly on tiptoe to brush her lips lightly across his. She had never before offered such a personal greeting and she was startled by the feel of his mouth. It was hard and inflexible under hers. Quickly she stepped back. Summoning a smile, Rukia sought for the light, cheerful touch that had characterized their relationship for the past three months.

"You do know how to make an entrance, I'll say that for you. Want me to get a wheelchair?"

He glared at her.

"No, I do not want a wheelchair. I'm embarrassed enough as it is. The thought of you pushing me in a wheelchair is a little more than I can take at the moment. I know I look like hell."

Rukia arched her eyebrows faintly, studying him. He'd never snapped at her before; not once during the half dozen or so times they'd spent together. His tone of voice tonight was undoubtedly caused by his present physical condition.

"That's one way of putting it."

Ichigo's mouth twisted wryly.

"Sorry for the short temper. It's been a long day."

Ichigo started forward as Rukia walked beside him.

"I can see that."

Rukia smiled easily.

"Where did you come from? A war zone?"

"I had an accident."

"Somehow I managed to figure that out all on my own. Ichigo, no offense, but you look terrible. Should I take you to an emergency room?"

She found the flight bag surprisingly heavy and wondered how he'd managed it in his condition. Quickly she scanned his face, trying to assess the damage as she walked beside him to the car.

"The last thing I need is an emergency room. I've had all the doctors I can stand for a while."

"What on earth happened? Was it an industrial accident? Did something happen at the job site?" Rukia asked seriously.

"Nothing that dramatic. It was a car accident."

Ichigo frowned down at the crumpled flowers under his arm.

"Here, these are for you."

"They look like they went through the same accident."

Rukia smiled with determined brightness as she took the crushed flowers.

She was touched that he had remembered. It made her realize she'd grown accustomed to the little homecoming ritual. Maybe there were more expectations between them than she was willing to admit.

"I slept on them in the plane."

"Where did the accident take place? In Saudi Arabia?" Rukia asked as she halted beside her compact and fumbled for the keys.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Saudi Arabia."

Ichigo slid into the passenger seat with a muttered groan. He shut his eyes briefly and then opened them.

"They drive like crazy people over there."

"No kidding? Well, now you're in my hands," Rukia remarked as she slipped in beside him and started the engine.

"The mind boggles."

"You should have thought of that before you called me to come pick you up."

She shifted into reverse and backed out of the slot. Ichigo turned his head to look at her. In the shadows of the car his face was an intent mask.

"Thanks for coming out tonight, Rukia," he said quietly. "I don't know what I would have done without you. I'm in no shape to drive."

"I've noticed."

She kept her tone dry so the worry wouldn't show through. Ichigo wouldn't want her worrying, and she was a little afraid of what her worrying about him might mean.

"Any permanent damage?"

"I'm told I'm still structurally sound although it doesn't feel like it at the moment."

"Who told you that? The doctors at your company's engineering site?"

"Yeah. But what do they know?"

"Good question. Did you sue?"

"Who? The driver? Not a chance. Things work differently over there. It took three company lawyers and a hefty bribe just to keep the guy who hit me from suing me," Ichigo said laconically.

"The perils of being a globe-trotting engineer. Those of us who only sit and wait lead far less adventurous lives."

"So I'm told. How's the book going?"

Ichigo leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She had learned to expect such polite inquiries from him.

"It's going together all right. I've finally got a handle on it."

"Settled on a title? You were calling it Untitled Opus Number Four when I left."

"Somehow I decided after you left that that sounded a bit ostentatious. The new title came to me in a blinding flash last week while I was scrubbing the shower," Rukia admitted lightly. "Private demons. What do you think?"

Ichigo considered the matter with mocking solemnity. "I like it. It's got charm, wit, pathos and the essence of a double entendre. What more could an editor ask?"

"A book that lives up to the title?"

"Some people have a lot of nerve, don't they? They'd complain if they got hung with a new rope. God, I'm tired

."

He fished in the pocket of his cotton slacks for a small bottle.

"What's that?"

Rukia shot him a swift glance as he swallowed a tiny tablet without opening his eyes.

"Painkiller. Good stuff. Worth fifty bucks on the street, the doctors told me. Maybe if I have any left I can sell them and make enough to take you out to dinner as thanks for picking me up tonight. Might as well salvage something from this trip."

He shoved the bottle back into his pocket.

"I take it you don not consider this trip a resounding success?"

"It was an unmitigated disaster," he told her flatly. Startled by the admission, Rukia bit back a response. It wasn't like Ichigo to be so open about his business problems.

"Well, I'll have you safely on your front doorstep in less than half an hour," she assured him.

"You're sure you don't want to go to the emergency room?"

There was no answer to her remark. Rukia took her eyes off the narrow, winding road long enough to glance at her passenger's face. Ichigo was asleep. She didn't think he would appreciate waking up in an emergency room. Half an hour later Rukia turned down the main street of Seireitei. The sprawling community was sound asleep. There was one street light at the intersection by the post office, but other than that all was in darkness. Even the inn had turned off its vacancy sign. Ichigo's small, weather-beaten house was located on a bluff overlooking the sea. Rukia started to slow as she approached the turnoff, then glanced again at her sleeping passenger. Ichigo was in no condition to look after himself tonight. The man was dead tired and doped to the gills with little white pills. Rukia made her decision and put her foot back down on the accelerator. A few minutes later she parked the car in the drive of her own cabin. She turned in the seat, trying to estimate the task ahead of her. Ichigo Kurosaki was all hard muscle and solid bone; there was nothing light or airy about him. There was no way she could get him inside unless he walked on his own two feet.

"Ichigo?"

Gently she touched his arm. He didn't move, but quite suddenly his amber eyes were open and fixed on her face.

His abrupt awakening gave Rukia a jolt, and her hand fell away from his arm.

"Are we there?"

The intensity faded from his gaze.

"Yes. And there's no way I'm dragging your butt inside. Unless you can levitate, i'm afraid you're going to have to walk."

"Right now levitating sounds easier."

With a sigh he stirred and opened the car door. Rukia got out on her side and hurried around to help him.

"Here, let me get your cane. Don't worry about the flight bag. I'll bring it."

Ichigo leaned one elbow against the roof of the car and stared at the house. "This is your place."

"I see your powers of observation haven't been completely dulled by little white pills. Come on, it's cold out here. Let's get inside."

He looked down at her as she stood illuminated in the faint yellow porch light. His amber gaze was unreadable.

"I don't want to be any more of a pain in the ass than I've already been tonight."

"Forget it. I'd rather have you here where I can keep an eye on you than send you home where you might get into trouble."

"What kind of trouble am I likely to get into at home?"

"In your present condition, you could have any one of a variety of common household accidents," she informed him as she took his arm and pried him away from the support of the car.

"For example?"

He sounded only mildly interested as he allowed her to lead hi m toward the front door.

"For example, you could lose your balance in the bathroom and drown ignominiously in the toilet."

"It would be a hell of a way to go, wouldn't it?"

"It would definitely make for an embarrassing obituary. Watch the step, Ichigo."

"You've only got one bed."

His protest was remarkably feeble.

"I'll use the couch."

"I can take the couch."

"You," Rukia announced with gentle tyranny, "will take what you're given. You haven't got the strength to argue about it tonight."

"You may be right."

She got him through the small living room with its old wooden floors, comfortably shabby furniture, braided rugs and collection of savage science fiction and horror art posters. Proceeding into the bedroom, Rukia flipped on the light to reveal more of the same rustic furniture. There was a poster featuring a well-endowed, futuristic Amazon warrior confronting a dragon on the wall over the bed. Ichigo came to a halt beside the bed, wavering a little. He focused first on the poster and then on the flannel nightgown Rukia had left lying across the quilt.

"I sleep in my shorts," he announced.

"How terribly macho of you. Can you get yourself undressed?"

He swung his gaze to her concerned face, his heavy brows coming together in a nearly solid line.

"I won't know until I try. If you want to play nurse, go ahead. I'm not proud."

She felt the heat rush into her cheeks and was startled by the degree of her own embarrassment. She moved nervously, collecting the flannel nightgown from the bed.

"Forget I asked. I'll give you some privacy so you can get ready for bed."

"Ah, Rukia, I'm sorry. I guess I snapped at you again, didn't I?"

"Not exactly. I think you were teasing me." She gave him a sharp look. "You better have been teasing me."

Her gaze softened. "But you do seem a little on the edgy side tonight."

"That's funny," he said consideringly as he fumbled with the buttons on his khaki shirt. "I always think of you as being the edgy one. Queen of high-strung at times. Nervy. As if you're always walking along some ledge."

Rukia paused in the doorway. "I had no idea you'd been busy analyzing me."

"I spend a lot of time thinking about you. Especially on airplanes. Always a lot of time to think on an airplane."

She saw his hands tremble slightly as he reached the last button of his shirt. The man was definitely half out of it, she thought. In a few more minutes he would be asleep on his feet. Even his dark, gravelly voice was taking on a slurred, groggy quality. She had a hunch Ichigo didn't know what he was saying.

"Be careful, strawberry. Maybe you'd better sit down."

He ignored her advice, his mind obviously pursuing its own line of thought. "I thought a lot about you on the flight back today, Rukia. I got to wondering."

"Wondering what, Ichigo?"

She had picked up her nightgown, and now realized she was crushing the fabric in her hands.

"Whether you'd lose some of that high-strung edginess in bed. Be interesting to find out, wouldn't it?"

Rukia's eyes flew to his face, but he wasn't really looking at her. She had the impression his attention was focused on some image in his head.

"You're in no condition to find out anything tonight, fool," she informed him briskly. "Call me if you need any help."

She started to turn away, but his voice stopped her.

"I need help."

Rukia turned back and saw him watching her with a steady intensity. His khaki shirt hung open, revealing the sleek contours of his chest and a wealth of orange hair that tapered down to his flat, taut stomach. His hands seemed all tangled up with the buckle of his belt. When he wavered slightly, she rushed forward.

"Here, let me do that," Rukia said quickly. "You really are in bad shape, aren't you?"

"I don't know. I've got so many pills in me I can't feel a thing."

He sank down onto the edge of the bed, eyeing her with interest as she knelt in front of him and pulled off his low, worn boots.

"In the Middle East they're very big on subservient women."

"The Middle East has several enormous problems. The attitude toward women is only one of them," Rukia informed him as she let the second boot drop to the floor. She glanced up and saw the warmth in his amber eyes. She didn't need feminine intuition to know that what se saw in his gaze had absolutely nothing to do with sexual desire, or at least not much to do with it. She put her hand on his forehead. "Did those doctors give you anything for a fever?"

He blinked owlishly.

"There's another bottle of something in my flight bag."

"I'll get it."

She was on her feet before he could argue. Inside the leather bag she found a small bundle of dirty laundry, one clean shirt, shaving gear and a bottle of tablets. By the time she got back to the bedroom, Ichigo had managed to slide out of his trousers and make his way into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later he was wearing a pair of snug briefs that only emphasized the fact that he was built solidly everywhere.

He confronted her, bracing himself with one large hand wrapped around the doorframe. The strong, masculine contours of his body were broken not only by the underwear, but by a wide swath of white bandage around his left thigh. There was an ugly, fading bruise over his rib cage and what looked like a line of stitches slanting diagonally across his right arm above the elbow. Rukia stared in shock.

"My God, Ichigo!"

"Structurally sound," he reminded her dryly. He followed her glance to the bandage on his inner thigh. "Just barely. Let me have those tablets."

Wordlessly she handed him the bottle and watched him disappear into the bathroom to swallow more pills. When he emerged a second time he headed directly for the bed. Sinking down into it with a deep groan of relief, he tugged the covers up over his bare chest and turned his face into the pillow. "Smells just like you," he mumbled.

"Well, it is my pillow," Rukia joked weakly.

"Soft and warm," he continued.

"That's not a scent."

"Do you realize this will be the first time I've ever spent a night in your bed?"

He was asleep before Rukia could think of a response. She quietly switched off the light and wandered out into the kitchen. She stood in the center of the old linoleum floor and wondered whether it was worth trying the tryptophane tablet she'd bought the day before at the health food store in town. As wound up and wide awake as she was now the odds were against her getting any sleep tonight, regardless of what approach she tried. Still, anything was worth a try. Uncapping the bottle, she grimaced as she saw how large the tablets were. Regular horse pills. She would be lucky to get them down. She ran water into a glass and tossed down two of the pills. Her heart wasn't in the project. Still, trying something was better than trying nothing at all.

There was a certain psychological value in taking assertive steps, and certainly the tryptophane tablets couldn't hurt her. Moving back out into the living room, Rukia surveyed the old lumpy couch with a resigned eye, then went to a cupboard and pulled out a sheet and some blankets. She felt odd getting ready for bed knowing Ichigo was in the house. But thinking of him in her bed was odder still. The fact that she and Ichigo had not become lovers was her own fault, of course. While she had made it clear from the beginning that she wanted only friendship, she had never found a way to explain that friendship was what she needed and about all she could handle at the moment. Dealing with her private anxieties took most of her energy. Ichigo hadn't pushed. He never pushed. He took what was offered in the way of companionship and an occasional meal and then went home. Once or twice he had invited her out to dinner. He seemed content with their arrangement, but there had been times when she knew he felt quite differently. She was always very careful around him on such occasions. This was the third trip he had made during the three months she had known him. He'd been gone a month this time, the longest stretch yet. The first trip had lasted seventeen days and the second had lasted three weeks. When it was all added up, Rukia decided ruefully, she really hadn't had that much time with Ichigo Kurosaki. They were really still just getting to know each other, so in a way it made sense that her feelings were so confused. He came and went with only the most casual of explanations. The first time he had told her he was leaving on a consulting assignment she had wished him a good trip and offered to drive him to the airport. He had declined the offer politely, and Rukia had never again volunteered.

She had understood that he didn't want even a tiny, niggling sense of obligation between them.

When he had reappeared on her doorstep seventeen days later with an old-fashioned bunch of flowers in his hand, she had seen the pent-up sexual need simmering in his eyes. It was as if whatever he had done on his trip had built up pressure and tension inside him that were seeking a channel for escape. Apparently, he had decided that channel was sex. Rukia had been happy to see him, but her womanly instincts had reacted skittishly to the barely restrained sensual demand she sensed in him. She had invited him to stay for dinner, wary of the outcome. She sensed he was a volcano waiting to explode. The sensible side of her nature warned her it would be better to send him home. She couldn't handle a lover, least of all a man like Ichigo Kurosaki. But she hadn't sent him home. Instead, she had put a drink in his hand and a nourishing meal in his stomach and then held her breath. To her relief he hadn't pounced. The conversation had been light and easy, as it always was. He had told her the usual traveler's tales of airport delays and lost luggage and asked her polite questions about her writing. But the trapped heat had continued to blaze in his eyes. Afterwards Rukia had put some of her favorite early rock artists on the sound system and dug out a checkerboard. She nearly dropped the disks and she felt clumsy setting up the pieces of the game. She knew her awkwardness was a result of the tension in the room. Ichigo had glanced at her face and at the checkerboard. He seemed to sense her near panic and fear. Then he had walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of brandy. When he returned to the living room, Rukia saw that his sexual tension was under control. She had been relieved, and strangely touched that he cared enough not to press her.

But what came as the greatest surprise was her realization that her own sensual awareness was so high. Rukia knew that the unusual rush of excitement was a direct response to Ichigo's masculine need and it startled her. It was not like her to react so strongly to a man. But the situation had been defused by checkers, then Pictionary and a rousing game of Uno during which they playfully bickered nonstop. Perhaps Ichigo had controlled himself because of something he had seen in her face. Whatever the reason, the volcano burning in him did not erupt that night. The evening settled back into a sedate pattern and Ichigo went home around ten after thanking her politely for dinner. Rukia had stood in the doorway watching him drive off in his battered pickup. As the truck had vanished around a curve she'd closed the door, realizing his consideration of her feelings had made them much closer. She felt herself very near to the brink of a precipice she wasn't sure she wanted to explore. What sane woman willingly descended into the heart of a volcano or attempted to ride the tiger? The second time he had returned from an assignment Rukia had seen evidence of the same sensual fire in him, but Ichigo had it firmly under wraps. After that first dangerous evening, he had always seemed in control of himself and placidly content with the friendly, undemanding companionship Rukia offered. But tonight, Rukia knew, she and Ichigo had come to the edge of another potentially dangerous barrier. This was the first time Ichigo Kurosaki had ever openly asked her for anything more than the most casual of favors. He had come home hurt, bruised and feverish, and had needed care and comfort.

He had tried to limit his demands to a simple request to be met at the airport, but they both knew he'd needed more help than that and she had provided it. Rukia crawled into her makeshift bed on the couch with an uneasy premonition that something fundamental had begun to alter her relationship with Ichigo. And she wasn't certain she was prepared to deal with the subtly shifting situation. The thought of waking up trapped in a web she never intended to weave was enough to keep Rukia awake for the next two hours. The truth of the matter was, she was already enmeshed in the sticky strands of another web, one that was ruining her peace of mind. She wasn't at all sure she could handle Ichigo Kurosaki and all his bright-haired glory in addition to the trauma left over from eight months before.

AN

So there you have it, my first chapter of Trouble in Paradise. Just to clear up any confusion you might have about Ichigo's travels: From a Tokyo airport he flew to Karakura airport where Rukia picked him up and drove him to Seireitei where they both live. I feel I might not have made that very clear since locations kept shifting in my mind and I wrote Japan once when I didn't mean to. Also, my computer is messing with me so I don't think I'll be able to find my mistake. Feel free to leave your thoughts or guesses about the storyline or questions in a review. Until next time!