Wow, it's been a loonnnnnnnng time since I've written anything. Gotta say, it feels good to put this up here. I've been watching a lot of dark tv lately and I'm beginning to think it's affecting my mind. This is very dark, but I think I did well, but that's up to you. Anyway, I'm very happy with this one, so if you could drop a review, I'd be grateful! Be warned: it's very angsty.

He sits on his bed, staring blandly out the window, watching the sky pelt bullets of water down to the earth bellow. He sighs. It has been three days since they last spoke to one another. Something is wrong.

He turns, head lolling tiredly on his neck, to look at the closet. A thin strip of plywood restrains him from the answers, from the truth he so desperately needs to put his mind at ease. He sighs and turns back to the window. He might as well be asking the sky why she is acting this way; it will probably reveal about as much as any conversation they could have on the subject. They would speak, but the real subject would remain untouched, avoided by meticulous verbal navigation.

He wrinkles his eyebrows, orange fringe descending over tired brown eyes. Why wouldn't she speak? She hadn't said a word since they returned home, not to him; not to anyone. Not since the fighting, the endless bloodshed. What had been the final straw that snapped her like a filament of glass? No one would ever know if she kept this up much longer: in addition to deeming speaking unnecessary, she has deemed the same of eating.

That does it. Ichigo levered himself into an upright position, a familiar resolve burning in coldly shining eyes. He would have answers, and he would have them regardless of whether she wanted to give them to him or not. In three steps he is across the room, powerful hand gripping the handle that would be the first step in wrestling open whatever that irritating Pandora had hidden in her Box.

The door is open, and Ichigo is about to make his presence known (so what if it's two in the morning? They never really sleep anyway thanks to this job) when he stops. There she is, hair black as tar shielding her face, but she is not curled on her side as he expected her to be. Instead she is curled in a corner, looking every inch as emaciated as a person could possibly be. She raises her eyes to meet his gaze. "What?"

Ichigo shakes his head, refocusing his resolve. "What do you think? I wanna talk to you."

Rukia raises her eyebrows, expression quizzical, wary. "Why? There's been no hollow activity recently. Last time I checked, my talking generally irritated you."

This is not what he expected at all. Who was this, this person attempting to imitate Rukia, and what had they done with the strong, confident, arrogant one? Ichigo scowled. "What, I'm not allowed to have a conversation with you?" He demanded, tone blazing full force with irritation. "Do I have to have a specific reason, to speak to you? Or have you decided that we just shouldn't speak until a hollow shows up!?"

Rukia is not looking at him by the end of the sentence. Her head is against the wall, her eyes, such a striking mix of navy and lavender, vacant above puffy black rings. That is the point at which Ichigo's anger snaps. He slams a fist against the closet wall, little trails of plaster dust drifting from the ceiling. "Damn it Rukia! Would you fuckin' look at me for five seconds!"

She looks up at him, her expression one of aloofness, bordering on disgust. "There's no reason to swear at me, Ichigo. You'll wake your family yelling like that."

"They could sleep through a hurricane the lot of 'em," he scoffs. His tone is slightly more relaxed, but his expression is far from it.

Rukia raises herself up, staring him in the eye. With both of them seated on the mattress they are eye to eye: a rare occurrence. She spreads her arms, making the fabric of her dress hang limply about her shoulders. "Well? What is this oh so important thing you wish to discuss with me, hm? Or did you simply feel like disturbing my rest for no reason at all?"

Ichigo doesn't answer; he is staring at her arms. Gashes mar her flesh, rough, jagged unnatural lines that crisscross what should be untainted skin. Several on her upper arms and shoulders grab his attention the most, unwilling to relinquish it. Gouging, diagonal scars rip across her left shoulder leaving the skin so fragile looking he thinks if it tears he could see bone. Similar marks appear on her right arm, circling her elbow: the end of the bite.

She notices what he is looking at, glancing down to inspect them herself. She turns back to him, mouth open as if to speak. He cuts her off. "Is that from what I think its form?"

Rukia nods, smirking. "Yes. That hollow had a nasty bite; it would've snapped your body like a twig if I hadn't saved your scrawny ass. Why?" she continues, eyes filled with detached interest. "Does it bother you?"

Ichigo ignores her, cursing himself for staring. He should have known she would have her own collection of scars, considering her line of work; shouldn't have let it catch him off guard. Nonetheless, they are all he can think about now. The other topic will have to wait; he has to know something first. "Why did you keep them?" he asks. "I thought you would get something like that healed."

She shrugs. "I saw no reason too. Besides, each scar is a mark of victory, a physical reminder of an important event. There is no reason to be ashamed of them. Now, is that all? I would like to go back to sleep and I really can't do that with you sitting on my bed." Tiny hands press onto his shoulder, attempting to shove him out of her space. He doesn't move. He is not going anywhere until he hears what he needs too, and he doesn't give a damn whether or not she wants to sleep; she can sleep after they talk.

Rukia, in growing agitation, shoves harder, trying in earnest to throw him out. When did he get so heavy? She wonders. When did I get so weak?

Ichigo forces back a sad, bitter laugh. At any other time he would've been thrown out of the closet long ago (small though she may be Rukia was far from weak.) But now she is struggling to do even a simple thing. She would've been able to throw him out only one month ago, now she can barely push him two centimeters. "What's wrong, midget? I too heavy for ya?"

Rukia snarls, shoving harder. Her pride is on the line now: she'll get him out of here if it's the last thing she does. Her feet are planted against the back wall, muscles straining as she attempts to send him flying. It ends with one of them flying, but it isn't who she expected would.

Ichigo stands up abruptly, lurching away from the closet, making Rukia tumble head first after him. She crashes to the ground, all dignity falling from her form as she crumples. She lies there a moment then levers herself up, fury blazing in her expression. "Bastard! Why did you do that?!"

Ichigo shrugged, boredom emanating from his frame. "You wanted me to move, so I moved." His eyes grew serious once more. "Now, back to the reason I even bothered with this. What the hell happened to you, Rukia?"

She glared up at him, brushing dust off her knees and stomach. "Huh? What do you mean? I'm fine."

Ichigo's face twisted into a snarling grimace. "Yeah, and I'm Mickey Mouse. Just what's you definition of "fine"? If it's starving yourself and not speaking, then yeah, you're fine, bordering on fantastic."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, eyes wide with indignation. She frantically scrabbles for footing, searching for some way to deny his accusation permanently. "What are you talking about?" Rukia deadpans, venom leeching into her voice. "There is nothing wrong with me; you are imagining things, Ichigo. Maybe you are the one who needs more sleep. I, on the other hand, am fine."

Ichigo rolls his eyes so viciously that the rest of his head rolls with them. "God damn it! Just how long are you going to fucking lie to yourself, Rukia?! You're the farthest from fine I've ever seen you! Something happened to you when we left Hueco Mundo; don't even think of trying to deny it!" He seethed. Ichigo towered over her, fury of the purest kind crashing from his body in waves. Rukia is cowering back from him, eyes wide as that of a frightened foal. And she has every right to be frightened. Hell, he wouldn't blame her if she were terrified. He had never been so angry in his life.

Rukia cringed, scuttling backwards until she crammed herself into the farthest corner of his room she could reach. Ichigo's reiatsu, usually so warm and soothing, is crushing against her, grating across her skin like sandpaper. Her own icy reiatsu melted under the force of his, collapsing in on itself and pulling back into her soul. Rukia raised a trembling hand to cover the exposed side of her face as she turned away from him. "Stop it..." she whimpered, voice as strong as a newborn kitten's.

But Ichigo isn't about to stop now. If he stops now she'll just brush him off again. It's not that he's enjoying this, exactly the opposite, he's never wanted to scare her, never wants to, in fact, but he's doing so anyway because he knows it's the only way to get a straight answer out of her. He looses another wave of fury-enforced reiatsu, sending it crashing against her trembling frame. "Stop it! Please, Ichigo! Stop it!" Rukia shouted her voice uneven, broken.

He stops a second later, wanting nothing more than to go throw himself into the nearest body of water. Tears are slipping down her face, reflecting brightly in the bolt of moon light that has filtered through the deluge of rain to reach his window. Rukia was trembling, hands covering her face as she cried. Ichigo bent down in front of her, feeling none of the fury he had a second ago. He couldn't feel anything except self-loathing. "Rukia," he whispered, fumbling for words. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..."

Rukia shook here head, not looking at him. "W-why did you do that, Ichigo?" She muttered, turning just enough to see his face.

"I- I just-," he fumbled, lowering his eyes to the ground. Ichigo shook his head, orange locks flopping everywhere. "I thought maybe if I scared you a little, then you'd stop dodging me; that you'd tell me why you're acting like this." He bit his tongue, forcing himself not to allow even one tear of self-hatred to escape. "I'm worried, Rukia."

Rukia stared at him. The last time she had seen him like this was after Grimmjow's first attack when they were on the roof after the battle. He had had the same look of self-hatred in his eyes. She sighed, shifting a little so she was facing him fully. "When we were in Hueco Mundo, I fought against the ninth espada, remember?"

Ichigo nodded. How could he forget? That moment of pure terror when her reiatsu faded to almost nothing was forever in his mind. "Yeah," he replied, "I remember. Something about you being sliced to ribbons and hoisted up like some bloody flag. I know you killed the bastard, and that you lived. Barely," he added, eyes holding hers gently. Rukia nodded, dropping her gaze to her curled toes.

"He looked like Kaien-dono," her voice wasn't even a whisper anymore, just breath. "He looked like Kaien-dono," Rukia repeated. "And I killed him."

Shiba Kaien. Ukitake had told Ichigo all about him before they left the Soul Society. Ichigo remembered staring at him picture, dumbstruck, horrified by the smiling face of his long dead doppelganger. Ukitake hadn't told him everything, saying it was Rukia's skeleton and he had no right to explain it for her, but he had gotten the point. This man had looked like him, had been important too her, and something had happened.

"I'm sorry," said Ichigo, reaching out to set his hand on her knee. "I know how hard it is to think you killed someone you loved." He chose his words carefully, trying to state it gently, something he was not used too. He was whole-heartedly surprised when Rukia leaped up, eyes flashing with unshed tears.

"You don't get it, Ichigo! I let him pass on! I freed him from the hollow's control! I saved him! He passed his heart on to me, Ichigo; he wasn't supposed to be abused this way!" Rukia was sobbing now, great racking sobs that were broken only by her screams. Ichigo's eyes darted bout the room in a panic; his family could only sleep through so much. Sure the rain was dampening the noise with it's own chatter, but Rukia's cries were even louder than the punishing monsoon.

"Rukia, Rukia please calm down, please," he whispered. He remembered his mom doing this to him when he was young. She would lower her voice, forcing him to quiet his cries in order to hear her. Ichigo struggled, keeping his voice as gentle as it could be. "Rukia... I don't-"

"I killed him, Ichigo. A Hollow possessed him and attacked Ukitake-taichou and me. I didn't even try to save him; I ran him through the chest much as I did with you," She wasn't looking at him, no, she seemed to be looking through him. Although Rukia's amethyst eyes were trained on his, Ichigo could tell she was not seeing him, but some distant memory, playing somewhere behind him. "I wanted to die."

Ichigo seems to snap form the near trance he had fallen into. Rukia? A murderer? It hadn't seemed possible. In all likely hood it was simply an accident which she blamed herself for (she always did. Whenever something went wrong she always believed it to be her fault. They were so alike that way.) He had only just begun to begin to wrap his head around the notion when she dropped the next bomb. "I-bu-eh-du- what?"

Rukia turns her head, a sort of bitter half smirk playing on her lips. "Didn't you hear me, Ichigo? I told you I wanted to die."

He shook his head slowly as though it might fall off his shoulders if he moved too quickly. "No, Rukia yu- wait, you said wanted right? Not want?" Ichigo was looking at her in horror, trying to process everything she was throwing at him. It was too serious and too much and far to fast. She was making his head spin, more so than usual, and once, just once, he wished she would stop.

So it is a surprise when Ichigo hears her laugh. "Yes, Ichigo, I said wanted. When Aizen was telling how his whole master plan fell into place," Rukia's expression was one of supreme revulsion towards the man who had manipulated everyone like they were mere playthings, who had harmed people countless years before the events in the Soul Society. "I saw that it was his fault the Kaien-dono was possessed. And do you know what that made me?" Rukia was staring at him now. "Do you?"

All Ichigo could do was shake his head, waiting for her answer. Rukia's hands clenched into white knuckled fists, muscles pulling taught beneath her pale skin as she thought to control her anger. A cold flood of reiatsu swept across the room. She suddenly went limp, anger draining from her tense frame. "It made me want to die all over again."

Ichigo's head was still shaking slowly from side to side, his eyes wide and frightened. How could she say this? How can she say she wants- wanted; Ichigo couldn't confuse the two- to die so easily? Doesn't she realize what it would do to her friends? Her family? To him? "I asked you to kill me."

This sends him over the edge. "What the hell?! Rukia, what the fuck are you saying?! You asked me to kill you?!" Ichigo demanded, hoping against hope that he had heard her wrong, that it had been a slip of the tongue. The expression on Rukia's face made him feel like the ground had just fallen away.

Her amethyst eyes hold none of their usual mischief, no resolve, not even the vacancy they had held a few minutes ago. He would have preferred it if they did. Rukia's eyes were tortured, poisoned by a kind of guilt and wretchedness no one should ever have to endure. They were the eyes of someone who had seen so much misery, so much pain, that they had finally given up. She was just so... emaciated. A weary smirk played across her lips. "Yes I asked you to kill me; do you never listen to me when I speak to you, Ichigo?"

Ichigo's look of despair twisted into a vicious snarl. Amber eyes flashed furiously, dangerously. "Oh yeah? When the fuck did you tell me that you wanted me to kill you?! Huh?! Tell me that! When the hell did you ask me to kill you Rukia?!"

"When I was first taken to Soul Society," she replied, tone lilting oddly, like this was all painfully obvious. "I told you not to come after me."

Ichigo was shaking his head again. "No, Rukia-"

"On the bridge, when you came, I told you to leave again, to get out while you were still alive."

"Hell, Rukia, don't-"

"At the Sokyoku, I told you to let me die!" Rukia's voice was approaching a shout again, hysteria beginning to rear it's ugly head as she spoke. But Ichigo was still frozen in place, unable to do anything but shake his head as though it would change what she was saying.

"When Grimmjow first attacked, I told you to run so I could face him alone!"

"Rukia, no! You have no idea what you're saying!" Ichigo finally regained control of his legs (they had been bound by something far more powerful than kido: they had been bound by fear.) He lunged forward, trying to smack her, grab her, hold her, he didn't know what, but she stepped back as he advanced. She wasn't done yet.

"When Grimmjow attacked a second time, I stopped him, got in the way of his cero blast." She countered his weak arguments. Rukia knew perfectly well what she was saying, had had this conversation over and over again in her mind. She wasn't going to let Ichigo have his say until she had finished.

"Rukia, god damn it, that wasn't your fault," Ichigo ground out, barely able to control his anger. How could she keep saying things like this? He would've gladly allowed his Hollow to take control, or been on the receiving end of one of Chad's punches; they couldn't possible be as painful at this.

Rukia sniffed, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "He asked me to kill you," she whispered, collapsing onto his bed, her anger and energy utterly spent by her out burst. "He told me to kill all my nakama, to repent for what I did to him."

Ichigo deflated instantly, anger gone and replaced with something akin to pity. Rukia was incredibly, fiercely loyal. To her friends, to the Soul Society, to Kaien. For one of them to ask her to kill her nakama was near sacrilege as far as he was concerned. He sat down next to her, not quite sure what to say. What do you say to someone who wants to die?

"Well," Ichigo muttered, turning to look at the woman sitting next to him. "You didn't. I suppose that's something."

Rukia broke into laughter, great loud peals of it. She tumbled backward on his bed, holding her ribs. Ichigo grinned widely. Of all the things to mindlessly tumble from his mouth, he hadn't expected something that would make her laugh.

"James Bond?" Rukia spluttered, rolling over to face him, eyes dancing with familiar energy. "I tell you I want to die and you quote James Bond?!"

Ichigo shrugged his shoulders, falling back with her. The last trickles of laughter faded away, drowned out by the rain. Ichigo rolled over and grabbed his quilt, pulling it on top of them. He sighed, pulling Rukia to rest against his chest. Under normal circumstances, Rukia would've fought against him, but instead she curled against his side, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Rukia," Ichigo whispered, lips ghosting against the forehead. Rukia nodded tiredly against his shoulder, black hair falling to cover her face. Ichigo brushed it back without thinking. She was out in an instant, frail body clinging to him like he was her only lifeline. Ichigo closed his eyes. He knew this was far from over. Her scars were bared to him, and they ran deeper than he had ever imagined. He knew that it would be a long time before Rukia returned to normal; if she ever did. But she was alive, and each day she lived was one more step to recovery. Well, she's still here. I haven't lost her yet, Ichigo thought as his mind began to flicker into sleep, so I suppose that's something.