Title: Question of Loyalty
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Vaguely Ikkaku x Nemu
Rating:T for a foul mouth
Warnings: Mayuri-bashing. 'Cause I dun like him.
Disclaimer: I am not Kubo Tite, thus I do not own Bleach. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them for my own enjoyment.
Special thanks toVirgo for beta and Ikkaku help.
"Why's she loyal to him?"
Oh, so it was going to be one of those conversations.
"She's so…so devoted ta a guy that doesn't even respect her enough ta treat her like a decent bein'!"
While he could argue that Kurotsuchi-taichou was no worse than their captain, he personally would rather get beaten up by Zaraki any day of the week. And as crazy as their captain was, he at least didn't beat up on relatively helpless women. Nor use sneaky poisons that left you immobilized. No, with Zaraki-taichou, at least you got straight-forward ass-kicking.
"He treats his fuckin' experiments better'n he treats his daughter!"
Well, he couldn't argue with that.
"Fuckin' uses her. Tells her she's useless. Ain't never heard him say anythin' kind ta her. Fucker's obviously a headcase. Never seen her without a bruise." Ikkaku's teeth were almost audibly grinding together, that angry space between his eyebrows furrowing even deeper.
Yumichika mentally flinched. If he kept scowling like that he was going to get permanent wrinkles.
"Every time I see a bruise on her I wanna just wrap my hands 'round his neck and choke the damn bastard."
Yumichika smiled pleasantly to the new division members that had happened to cross their paths as Ikkaku ranted. Mentally he urged them to run in the other direction before Ikkaku decided it was time for his workout-vent.
"Bastard doesn't deserve ta have her loyalty."
Yumichika privately agreed, but didn't voice his opinion. His concurrence was pretty much implied anymore. Ikkaku was aware that Yumichika shared his views. When the 3rd seat got in one of these moods there were only two things to be done: first was the rant, and second was the fight. Somehow screaming and shedding blood seemed to alleviate, however momentarily, Ikkaku's rage at the 12th division captain.
As Yumichika watched Ikkaku growl warningly at the new division members (who were all smart enough to high-tail it out of punching distance in half a second—those dumb enough to ignore those kinds of warnings didn't last long in the 11th) he wondered at the bald shinigami's anger. Granted, almost all of it was directed at Kurotsuchi-taichou. However, as Yumichika watched him clench his fists and glare at the wall that separated the 11th and 12th divisions, he began to think that perhaps some of Ikkaku's anger was directed inward. Yumichika wouldn't bring it up, but he suspected Ikkaku hated himself for not being strong enough to protect Nemu. Pointing this out would do no good—most likely Ikkaku was aware of this fact. He may have been brash, and a little bit of an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. Pointing it out would be like poking Zaraki—a very bad idea, unless you were looking to spend some quality time with Unohana-taichou.
Ikkaku continued, spitting his words as he paced in a circle like a caged animal, his gaze never straying from that wall. "Bastard has the balls ta call himself a captain. Fucker ain't fit to lick Hollow guts from Houzukimaru."
Personally Yumichika thought that the perfect profession for Mayuri and knew he'd pay a lot to see that. He'd even give free beauty tips to the entirety of the 12th division just to see Mayuri knelt in the dirt, ready to tongue-bathe Houzukimaru.
Hell, he'd even throw in a make-over for the vice-captain from 2nd division.
"Dammit! Why? Why's she dedicated ta him? Why doesn't she fight him?"
Yumichika felt it was time to interrupt his companion's tirade. Sighing, Yumichika sat on the steps of the building they were in front of, hands folded gracefully over his knees.
"She can't fight him, Ikkaku." Unperturbed by the glare his friend shot him, Yumichika continued. "Don't you think that, if she had the strength to fight him, she would have done that by now? She may be loyal to him, Ikkaku, but I do not think she likes being loyal to him."
"What'dya mean?" Ikkaku's angry gaze meant his patience was wearing thin. He'd have to fight soon. Already his hands were doing their impatient dance, never settling as he curled callused fingers into thick palms. His scarred knuckles cracked loudly as he fidgeted, shoulders twitching, feet restless, his whole body jittering with barely-contained energy.
"I mean," And Yumichika added a long-suffering sigh for his dense friend, "that she may only be loyal to him because she cannot bring herself to be strong enough to be disloyal to him. Can you imagine trying to be disloyal to Zaraki-taichou?" Yumichika suppressed a shudder. Merely suggesting such a thing left him cold.
Ikkaku's jaw locked and grudgingly he shook his head, fists clenched.
"Precisely. And the man is not just her captain. He is her father."
Ikkaku glared at the dividing wall. Yumichika knew the 3rd seat didn't see the stone barrier—instead Ikkaku saw Mayuri, standing between himself and Nemu. This was, of course, the crux of the matter. Ikkaku wanted to protect Nemu, and to be with her. Mayuri was the dividing obstacle between him and that which he wanted. Mayuri was that wall.
Yumichika noted that the 6th seat was heading for them. Perfect timing. Yumichika would let him be Ikkaku's target. The last time Yumichika had spared with Ikkaku, the bald shinigami had left an ugly bruise over Yumichika's cheek that had taken a month to heal. He'd almost murdered Ikkaku for it.
"Instead of asking why she is loyal to him, why not ask why he abuses that loyalty? Of course, that question is just as futile and will probably make that vein in your forehead throb just as hard."
Ikkaku shot Yumichika a glare, his body tense.
Yumichika shrugged. "Just pointing out a fact." He pointed to the 6th seat. "If you're itching for a fight, fight him. Doesn't he owe you money anyway?" He added this last part as incentive—it was very likely true but he didn't know for sure. He just wanted to make sure Ikkaku didn't decide to shoot the messenger.
Better to shoot a hapless passer-by. At least he was already unattractive. A few bruises wouldn't hurt—at least, not in anything other than the physical sense.