Uuuuh, I just got back from China, so I apologize for the forever-and-a-day it's been since I've put out anything. Unfortunately, I don't have anything spectacular to show for the wait - this is really short and random and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I got food poisoning a billion times on my trip. :P Hopefully you'll be able to get past the cheesiness and enjoy the teensy bit of IchiRukiness? If not... sue me. But not literally, because I don't own Bleach or any of its characters.

Sick

Ichigo had never been more sick in his life.

"Rukia, what the hell was in that casserole?" he shouted hoarsely as he dashed to the bathroom for the fourth – or was it fifth? – time during the nine o'clock hour. Honestly, was it really possible for something that tasted edible to be that toxic? Thankfully, he was starting to feel a bit better, and he knew there couldn't be much more left until his stomach was empty, but he still wasn't about to let Rukia off the hook.

"I got the recipe from your sister," Rukia informed him, wincing at the sound of Ichigo retching once again. She rubbed her fingertips against her forehead and leaned back weakly, wishing her insides could be as comfortable as the leather armchair she was collapsed in. "Close the door, idiot! That sound is making me feel even worse!" she shouted, curling her legs up to her chest.

For the umpteenth time that night, Rukia heard the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by a very pale-looking Ichigo stumbling out of the bathroom. "Sorry I didn't have time to close the bathroom door beforeI barfed up your cooking again," Ichigo retorted bitterly. Given his current physical state, his tone retained a surprising amount of spirited sarcasm, though his voice shook too perceptibly to convey the anger he'd been going for. Clutching the doorframe for support, Ichigo turned to look at Rukia with his usual scowl plastered across his face. "How come you've only thrown up a couple of times?" he asked enviously.

"Because I didn't eat three damn helpings of casserole plus two bowls of ice cream," Rukia answered. "You certainly weren't complaining earlier! I think you must have liked it at the time because I didn't hear you complaining until… well…" Realizing she had once again brought up the subject she was trying to avoid, Rukia trailed off and looked downward.

Ichigo smirked. "See, I told you all along that you couldn't cook!" he reminded her proudly, his triumphant declaration ruined just a teensy bit by an odd sort of hiccup. "Not that that's a good thing, but still... it means I'm right."

"Do you think you could have done better?" Rukia challenged.

Ichigo took a few tentative steps forward and found that when he walked slowly he could hardly feel the dizziness. "Tch. How hard can it be? It's just following a freaking recipe," he said decisively.

"Do you want me to" – Rukia paused for a very unladylike burp – "show you the recipe?"

"Sure," Ichigo agreed. Rukia extended her hand, and even though Ichigo helped her up more gently than usual, her balance was still off by a lot. She stumbled quite unceremoniously and fell right into Ichigo's chest.

(Both felt a stomach jolt that had nothing to do with dinner.)

Rukia stepped away, not quite sure whether to thank him, apologize, or just let it go. She decided on the latter once Ichigo began to laugh, albeit weakly.

"What's funny?" Rukia asked irritably, raising an eyebrow at the orange-haired teen and giving him a familiar look that very clearly said, "That never happened."

Despite his rationality telling him Rukia wasn't yet feeling up to strangling him, Ichigo couldn't shake off the conditioned fear of her death gaze. Still, though, Rukia didn't fall often. "You look drunk," Ichigo announced boldly as Rukia made her way to the kitchen.

Rukia looked back at him and rolled her eyes. "You were the one that kept tripping on your way to the bathroom half an hour ago," her retreating voice reminded him.

"It's your fault," Ichigo muttered, probably not loud enough for Rukia to hear. A little disappointed that he'd (once again) lost his chance at a one-up on Rukia, he took advantage of the shinigami's absence to seat himself in her vacant armchair. He relaxed his limbs and took a deep breath, amazed at how much better he felt sitting down. Ichigo smiled slightly as he heard a loud crash followed by muffled cursing, then heavy – but still somewhat unsteady – footsteps back through their hardwood floors and into the living room.

Not bothering to fight for the armchair, Rukia plopped herself half-next-to, half-on-top-of Ichigo and shoved the recipe into his hands, rubbing her stomach a little as she sat back.

Ichigo's expression went from one of amusement to confusion to shock as he read through the recipe. He had never even heard of some of these ways of preparing ingredients. His eyes widened slightly as he added under his breath. Thirty minutes, two hours, fifteen minutes, an hour and a half… "This took you all freaking day!" he said finally, looking up at Rukia in disbelief. "That's the most ridiculous recipe I've ever read!"

Rukia flushed and looked sideways, nodding affirmatively.

"But Rukia – I thought… I mean… why on earth did you spend so long cooking?" Ichigo asked, genuinely puzzled. "You could have just heated up some frozen stuff if you were in a cooking mood."

"I thought it would turn out good," Rukia admitted sheepishly. "I guess I must have done something wrong… even though Yuzu showed me how to do everything, and I followed the instructions exactly, and I even double-checked to make sure I'd – "

Ichigo cut her off, which was probably a good thing because with every word Rukia spoke her face was growing a tad redder and each syllable sounded faster and more frantic than the last. Though Ichigo's trembling index finger against her lips didn't do much to lighten her crimson cheeks, she stopped talking quite abruptly and looked up at his concerned expression with frozen tears in her wide blue eyes.

"You didn't answer my question, Rukia," Ichigo accused, sliding his finger halfway down her lips before bringing his hand back down by his side.

"I… I wanted to do something nice for you, since you're always complaining about what a pain I am to live with," she said softly, and the tears she had been trying to suppress began to spill over one by one as she blinked. She turned away, embarrassed.

"Look at me," Ichigo said, and though her tears stopped as quickly as they had come, Rukia stubbornly continued to face the other way.

"Look at me," Ichigo demanded, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face toward his. She blinked again, keeping her eyes shut rather longer than necessary, before directly meeting Ichigo's gaze. She couldn't help but notice how much more his eyes stood out against the abnormal pallor of his cheeks.

"You are a pain to live with," Ichigo stated, and for a moment Rukia looked like she was going to cry again. Quickly he added, "But I'm sure it's not so easy living with me either." (He pretended not to notice Rukia nodding in agreement with this statement and continued.) "We've had our differences right from the very start, but… you've grown on me, midget," he confessed, and a teensy bit of the color returned to his cheeks. "And even though you can be a bitch sometimes… it's kinda fun to have you around. I'd be really bored without you."

The corners of Rukia's mouth twitched upward into a small smile. "Can I get that in writing?" she asked teasingly.

"Sure," Ichigo replied, and to Rukia's shock, he grabbed a pen from the lamp stand and flipped the recipe over to the back. He began to write.

Rukia's face fell once she read the words he scrawled across the page. I really appreciate your effort, but tomorrow night we're getting takeout.

"Damn you!" she shouted, and she punched him in the arm, though they both knew she wasn't really offended. In their own way, they'd already made amends.

(Do they even have casseroles in Japan?) ... leavemealoneaboutthat