The End of Perfection
By debbiechan
Blessings to Nehalenia who is such a thoughtful editor and an honest friend.
Hugs to partner-in-many-crimes mags-duranb who is illustrating this fic.
This fic was inspired by ideas from Neha, Mags, gunnerpalace and many others.
This fic is dedicated to elena (formerly deathbympreg), mizulily, teodoralovesteo, sequencefairy, and any others who have been harassed by Church Ladies for writing adultery fics post the Bleach 686 final chapter. My heart supports you, my tongue is my cheek, Ishida's Uryuu's tongue is everywhere.
Warnings: Sex sex sex, adultery, post-structuralism, implied homosexuality, swearing, character-death.
This fic has an actual plot with sword-fighting, rise and fall of action, and consequences. NOT KIDDING ABOUT THE POST-STRUCTURALISM. Questionably "fix-it" fic. I prefer to call it personal therapy. IshiHime (adultery), IchiRuki (theme of destiny), IchiIshi (almost?), appearances by Kazui, Hiyori, Mayuri, Urahara, Ryuuken on cell-phone, and someone else. I apologize for Chad missing. No really, I do.
1.
"Ah ha!" With a cheery flourish, Orihime spread the last dab of raspberry meringue on her freshly baked cake. She was so proud of the skills she'd acquired in the bakery shop over the years. Observing the chief baker had taught her much, but applying simple chemistry to cooking had been her great revelation. Meringues turned out better in copper pots because the metal helped stabilize ions. Adding too much sugar in a cake made starch molecules form; thus the cake became lumpy and hard as it cooled.
Some customers were picky about cakes. Ichigo and Kazui ate anything, never commenting on particulars.
Ishida-kun noticed whenever Orihime changed the tiniest ingredient in her hand-kneaded bread sticks. He inspected her new wagashi creations, holding them close to his glasses before nibbling.
The doorbell rang, and Orihime put her hand over her heart.
This was the Orihime who Yhwach had abandoned in the perfect timeline of happiness. The God of the Quincy had sought to destroy some willful teenagers in their happiest moment in the future, and as the Almighty had seized ribbons of possibility in search for one happy hour, he had neglected the currents of unhappiness that precede such a time. In a dying God's dream of perfection, he had forgotten the fact that even in the picture of joy, memories of suffering persisted. He had never learned what mortals paid for their hours of happiness or that every victory held its own antithesis.
Orihime would never describe herself as unhappy. Unsatisfied? Lonely? Doubting her worth as a wife? Ichigo had grown more distant over the years, more sullen and peculiar.
Ishida-kun was dutifully taking off his shoes and shaking his trench-coat off at the door. A light summer rain was still falling, the sound of it a comfort to many of Orihime's troubles.
Right away the young man said, "It's not me you should be talking to about these things." His eyes were deep blue and sad. "Your husband. You should be talking to your husband."
Orihime's smile dissolved. She bowed her head. "You know how it is. You know how hard he is to reach."
They sat down for tea and cake as they often did during the doctor's lunch hour. He was busy; he cancelled appointments for her; he had flown to her home at the speed of hirenkyaku through rain and sleet before and been late for board meetings; he could never say no to her.
He was at her side because Ichigo so often was not; over ten years ago her husband had blamed himself for so much of the destruction of worlds around him, refused a position in the Gotei, and started arguing with Rukia. Orihime and Ishida had both tried to reach him—the latter with logic and Orihime finally with her touch. The boy who had denied himself so much for others responded to her love like a tired child falling into his mother's lap. Orihime had been overjoyed. There had been three nights of awkward courtship, sweet fumbling kisses and then one passionate moment on Orihime's futon; Ichigo was a kind and sensitive boy, but his lovemaking didn't fit her fantasy. What sort of writers created stories where first times were pure delight, as important as wedding cake—these writers were liars!
It had hurt; Orihime healed herself without a word, watched Ichigo open his mouth in pleasure as sweat ran over sinews of his straining neck, and that sight itself was enough to mildly arouse her. Nice, promising. The old fantasy broke, and a new one grew in her heart; Ichigo would marry her and all doubt would be gone.
Orihime became pregnant right away. The first person she told was Ishida-kun.
"He hasn't even spoken to me for three days." She had sobbed over a perfectly moist cake. Salt ruins a cake—there's no taking back the taste of tears. Orihime had pushed away the plate. "He won't marry me. He doesn't love me."
Ishida-kun had been smiling gently the whole while. "You will be such a wonderful mother." He had taken her hand in his, and his touch had startled her with its intimacy. Had he ever touched her like that before? Why was he so happy? "Kurosaki will be thrilled. Tell him. Inoue-san, I swear to you that he will be so glad."
And so it was. Ichigo was delighted. For a while he seemed happy. The wedding was small, and friends were there. Tatsuki even wore a dress. No one from Soul Society came. Orihime did not know if anyone had been invited; there was lingering animosity; she was sure it would be healed, like all things were, with time. A baby was a promise. Wasn't a baby the ultimate hope for the future?
But Ichigo got depressed again. He would seem to get better sometimes, but then he always got depressed.
Orihime served cake to Ishida-kun on the china starter set she'd received as wedding gift from a distant aunt. Two plates, a pattern of paired white doves, meant for a bride and groom.
"This meringue is just the right amount of tart and just the right amount of sweet," The fork still had plenty cake on it, and Ishida-kun held the fork high near his chin. The review usually came with the first taste, and it took him at least two bites to eat a forkful of cake. He took such tiny bites of her food, not in fear of her cooking as people once had, but because he liked to savor it. He had told her once that in medical school he'd learned to eat hurriedly, for the sake of efficiency, because there was always something more important to do, but he'd recently reacquired his sense of taste, among other things.
His jawline was just the right sharpness to look masculine and just the right softness to look like it belonged to an otherworldly angel's. His lips were fuller than Ichigo's, tinged with raspberry. His eyes were thoughtful. His attention was on her cake.
Orihime had been spent years now imagining what sort of a lover Ishida-kun would be. Ichigo was kind; he tried not to be rough but he was quick and distracted. Orihime had never had an orgasm with her own husband, only a few months ago by herself.
An early morning, after the child was gone to school, before she had dressed herself for work at the bakery, Orihime flopped on her own bed and ached to talk about her sadness. She considered calling a friend—Tatsuki, maybe the pork bun girl at work, maybe Ishida-kun. A different flavor to this sadness. Yuzu wasn't home anymore; the clinic had been closed for months since Yuzu had found gone to nursing school in Shizuoka; Ishida-kun's father had found some job for Ichigo's father at the hospital, something to do with juggling and performing magic tricks for sick kids. The loneliness had gone from a pang in her heart to a stillness all around the house.
And the suspicion that her husband didn't love her grew. That morning, the worry had turned to anger to sadness to anger again. There were fleeting thoughts of Ishida-kun—his handsome face, his soft lips. With one hand she had pinched her right nipple—a gesture of anger- and with the other hand in a fury of utter lust—she had rubbed the nub between her legs.
She hadn't even understood that the spot was the ticket to gratification, only that Ichigo had sometimes thumbed the area and aroused her to frustration. When shudders came, like a fit of high fever, it was Ishida-kun's long fingers she'd been imagining; they slid across her entire body, petted the drenched lips between her legs. Arched to a sitting position, she climaxed that morning with a sense of shame, grief and perfect revelation.
Orihime put down her own knife and fork, placed her palms in her lap and looked at Ishida-kun with the pleading expression she knew always worked. "I need to know something."
His eyes didn't realize the seriousness of her request. His lips were parted, still tasting the raspberry. Orihime's heart felt like it was going to thump right out of her chest and land on the table.
"I know that all of us …." She didn't know how to start. She had not practiced this at all. "It seems so long ago that all our friends shared something so special. A bond. A set of experiences. We were all so close at one time. I know Ichigo cares for me but…."
"Of course he cares for you," Ishida-kun said like he'd said dozens of times.
"I know what I know," Orihime said. "He doesn't want me like a woman."
Ishida-kun put down his fork.
"If we're going to discuss Kuchiki-san again…." He looked so uncomfortable. "I told you—I think it's best you talk to your husband about this."
"He doesn't want me like a woman," Orihime repeated, "but I need to know—do you?"
Years and years, and the unspoken was finally being spoken. The color in the room seemed to change from fluorescent light to lurid purples. There was a clap of thunder. The rain fell harder. Suffering itself felt muted, as if it were being written by an author in another room in another timeline, by a sadist with a mysterious agenda.
Ishida-kun's expression was naked with despair. His chest was heaving.
"You don't even have to tell me," Orihime said. Her voice was tiny and trembling. "I've always known."
There was another long silence, and Orihime could not bear his look so she cast her gaze to her plate. Why was she always doing things like this? She didn't think things through. Had she hurt him? She hadn't wanted to hurt him. But hadn't she always done that?
"How long have you known?" His voice came across very plainly, without any hesitation or anxiety, so Orihime raised her eyes to his face again.
"Always, I think." She was trying to suppress tears. She felt one bloom in her left eye and die when she blinked. "In Hueco Mundo, I knew. I didn't care. I was so in love with Ichigo. I saw all that you sacrificed for me, and I didn't care." She stood up from her chair. She put her hand over her heart. "Here, I swear. I loved you like I loved him all that time, when you were my friend, before and after the baby, now, when you talk to me. But I-"
"Please," he said. "You don't have to. I understand."
"No!" She surprised herself with how loud she exclaimed the words. "No! No! You don't understand!"
She standing before him in a moment, hitting the table so the dishes rattled, her hands on his shoulders. His head tipped backwards in amazement and Orihime saw an expression of utter helplessness at her hysteria. Ishida-kun was paralyzed.
"I'm selfish." Was that her own voice snarling those words? She wanted to run her hands through his hair, so she did. It was as smooth as she'd imagined. "I'm selfish," she continued in a voice that was softer, hoarse, and desperate. "I need to know what it's like to be made love to properly. I'm so sorry. I want you to make love to me. Please."
His eyes neither widened or narrowed but seemed to acquire a faint glaze.
Orihime put her hand on his chest and felt the unnatural rise and fall there. "Please."
When he put his hand on her upper arm, it did not feel like an attempt to push her away. Then she saw that his mouth was trying to say no to her, so she kissed him. He could never say no to her.
It was a mild kiss, like taking the tiniest taste of flavor one anticipated would be too strong, so their lips touched then parted then touched again. She heard the smallest moan in his throat and this time his mouth opened and his tongue brushed her upper lip. The forbidden line had been erased. Their hands swept past where that line had been, and Orihime found herself sitting in his lap and holding his face. His kiss deepened in a way she did not know was possible; his breath was hard on her cheek and his fingers pressed into her ribcage.
He kissed her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, and the way he palmed her breasts made Orihime think he must have done this a thousand times in his dreams. "This isn't wrong," she whispered and began to unbutton her blouse.
"Yes, it is." With those magical fingers of his, Ishida-kun undid the entire blouse and tossed it behind him before Orihime could take another breath. The snaps on the front of her bra came undone, and although her body felt hot, his fingers burned where they touched her.
He circled one nipple with his tongue.
"Don't stop." Those were words from the fantasy books; she had never spoken them. She was truly afraid he would stop. Her ears were pounding and her thighs were stuck together with wetness. She wondered, while it rained and lightning flashed, in this heightened sense of unreality, if he had ever been with a woman. He was always so busy. He was shy.
The shy Ishida-kun took the whole of Orihime's areola into his mouth. The strong sucking sent such pulsing pleasure through Orihime body that she forgot herself for a long time.
When she started to remember herself again, it was because she was cold, she was on the sofa, completely naked—had he carried her there? There was the scent of raspberry cake in the air still, and the storm had calmed to a light downpour. Ishida-kun was over her, fully clothed—had she torn that shirtsleeve herself? Orihime's flushed thighs were on either side of his hips and he rested his palms on her knees. He tossed his long hair out of his eyes-his glasses were gone. What a beautiful face, so unafraid.
"Is this what you want? It will destroy your husband if he finds out."
"He doesn't have to know. Would you tell him?"
Ishida-kun shook his head.
"I want this so much," Orihime, arching her back involuntarily as the space between her legs frothed in corroboration of her words. She blushed that Ishida-kun could see that. "Do you?"
He leaned forward, and she was expecting a kiss but he yanked her hairpins out. "These!"
"What?"
"These guys can't see anything, can they?"
Orihime grabbed the pins and tossed them to the farthest side of the room. "Not if I don't want them to!" The words were no sooner out of her mouth when Tsubaki leapt to the ceiling, wings raised high, black eyebrows menacing.
"Holy shit!"
Orihime had never heard Ishida-kun curse before.
"Tsubaki, get out of here right now!" She raised her naked body on her elbows on the sofa and tried to explain to Ishida-kun. "He's my will to destroy. When I get mad-when I get-I— "
"DO something about that little flying squirrel!" Ishida-kun yelled.
Tsubaki torpedoed to Ishida's head, grabbed the longest lock of hair and held on fast while Ishida tried to pry the fairy off his head with both hands. "Get this stupid … goddamn barrette off me! I don't want to hurt it!"
"Tsubaki!" Orihime's heart directed her fairies, not her words.
"Shut up, lover-man," Tsubaki spoke clearly from behind his little mask. "I'm just here to give you a warning and to make sure you don't leave."
Tsubaki released the lock of hair. Ishida's hands dropped and so did his jaw in amazement. He turned his face to Orihime for explanation, but she had none.
"You give her an orgasm the way that moping, disrespectful husband of hers never could," grumbled Orihime's killing intent. "You're a doctor. You know how a woman's body works, right? You've only had the hots for her for thirteen years, so don't fuck this up."
The way Ishida looked, Orihime was afraid Tsubaki had killed the mood.
Then Tsubaki went on: "She wants to tie you up, you know. I can help. She's imagined it, night after night. She's pictured you refusing her, being the wimp-ass gentleman you are. Well, in the event that happens, lover-man, you don't have any power against what I can do." Ishida opened his mouth to protest, but he was too in shock to talk. Tsubaki flew to the other side of Ishida's face, fully in command of his malevolence. "I am all her strength to do wrong in the world. I could hold you down. Oh how I've laughed because she's wanted that—to see you defenseless, crying like a little girl while she rides your dick."
All the color in Ishida's face left, and Orihime's face could not flush any hotter.
"Please, Tsubaki, leave him alone." She started to cry. "It's true. I've had fantasies about you. But he makes it seem—so ugly."
Tsubaki was at Orihime's face in a split-second, and he kicked her cheek with his tiny foot. "So you want the lover-man tonight or do you want him to be your bitch?"
"Please, please, Tsubaki. We've got this. I'm doing ok. Honest I am."
"I'm out. You're disgusting."
And with that, Tsubaki vanished.
Orihime had started to tremble from the cold and excitement.
"He's back in the hairpin?" Ishida-kun asked.
She nodded.
"He won't tell anyone what happened here this afternoon?"
She shook her head.
Ishida-kun shook his too, as if shaking off a bad dream. "Your powers. I'm not sure I understand them, but please relax. My fingers move fast, that's all. Let me know if it feels ok. Tell me if it doesn't, promise?"
Orihime was a little concerned that her skin was blotching white and red from hot and cold and that it was goose-pimpling from anticipation. "Promise," she whispered.
Ishida-kun lifted Orihime's thighs with his palms and pressed his lips to her clit, gentle kisses at first. Orihime forgot all about her killing intent and started to feel like she was melting into a puddle of lust. Then Ishida's lips began to inhale and release the tender nub with gradually increasing greed. Her first orgasm hit her as surprise. Her breath hitched, and her vulva smashed into her lover's face. There was no drop-off in pleasure; her entire body was still warm with anticipation. The second and third shudders made her moan, and still, there was no end to this ecstasy.
"You like this," he spoke into her wetness. His not sucking anymore was torture. He was saying something else? What? No, please, DON'T STOP. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, and he put a finger inside her, rubbing the inside and the outside both at the same time with that magical speed of his.
Delirium.
Her head was turning this side, that side, as she stifled screams, vaguely aware that there were neighbors in this universe, even if the universe as she knew it was done away with, destroyed forever, this was the end of her life.
And when it was over, there was a pang she remembered from childbirth, a feeling of longing in her womb even as waves of joy were washing over her body.
Sunlight was coming through the windows. Ishida-kun, still fully clothed, was reaching for his cell-phone in his pants pocket. "Please cancel my afternoon appointments. My father is on call in the event of an emergency."
"It's done," Orihime said, panting.
"Yes, it's done," Ishida-kun said. "We've ruined our lives."
She felt unashamed of her nakedness, unashamed of anything, still selfish, still full of desires. "No one will be here for hours. No one has to ever know."
Ishida-kun looked so serious. He always looked serious, but this time he looked like he did when he faced an enemy. Orihime wasn't sure she wanted to be seen as an enemy. Didn't he love her? He was untying his belt. It slipped off his waist to the floor.
"Not Ichigo's bed," she said.
"Ok," he said.
Orihime was afraid of losing another man she loved. "What happens now?" She asked.
Ishida-kun gave her a look that was as tender as it was resigned. "What now?" He un-zipped his pants. "You make me your bitch."
2.
In stories written by authors with eyes on satisfying conclusions, people end up married to the people they love. Both Kurosaki Orihime and Ishida Uryuu knew enough heart-warming stories to have hopes for their own, but Yhwach had frightened them with the truth about choices. Their own powers could deny reality or reverse events, but the threads of time were spun from choices. Ever since that day the universe had been saved from perfection, everything had seemed to slide into the unhappiest of timelines. Ishida had dared to ask his lover one day over milk-bread and tea if she would ever consider leaving her husband to be with the man she loved, and she had stopped chewing, her cheeks full of bread. It had been long moments later, after much consideration and a gulp of tea, she swallowed and said, "I don't know. The children. What about the children?"
Abarai-kun came to the Living World more often with his child, and Ichika and Kazui were playmates. Kuchiki-san rarely came; she claimed her captain duties kept her away. Kurosaki said the same about his work for the Unagiya shop, that it was terribly important for various overlooked and misunderstood members of the Karakura community for him to serve them, and no, he wasn't going to argue about it with Ishida because Ishida was a damn hypocrite who had circles under his eyes from the ridiculous hours he kept at the hospital. "Your wife misses you," Ishida had told him.
"Then you marry her," Kurosaki had said. "She likes you a lot."
In stories written by authors who love justice, when a man is betrayed by a good friend, there is yelling and accusation, the accused says "punch me," and sometimes there is forgiveness. Kurosaki and Ishida both knew this script when one day, Kurosaki showed up at Ishida's office in a rage, tears in his eyes and wearing bedroom slippers. It was past noon, and Ishida, long used to his friend being in depressed and volatile moods, paid most attention to the slippers. He waved away his receptionist who looked frightened and had followed Kurosaki into the office. "It's ok, Minami-san. My friend will only be here for a moment."
Kurosaki stood there for a while-for a count of five, maybe-unable to speak, his chest heaving, his eyes red and wild.
It was then Ishida became afraid.
"You back-stabbing lying degenerate…" Kurosaki had to pause to gasp for air. "You! You are diarrhea! All these years and no one knew what a sick bastard you really are!"
Ishida sat down in his chair. His chest felt cold.
The tears spurted fresh from Kurosaki's eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. "Look at you. All the way here I was hoping you would deny it. I was hoping that she was lying. Hallucinating. Something like that."
Ishida glanced at the clock. He had a meeting in fifteen minutes. It didn't matter. The world was coming to an end.
"What did she tell you?"
"All of it. That you two have been meeting in our house, my father's house, where me and my sisters grew up, where…." Kurosaki seemed to choke for a moment. "For months? Months?" Kurosaki's voice was more human now, the rage more formal. Sadness was allowing him to breathe and speak. "She told me… she told me she loves you."
It wouldn't help matters if he told Kurosaki that they all loved one another, would it? This wasn't about love; it was about sex.
"I'm sorry," Ishida said. "We knew it was wrong. We didn't want to hurt you."
"You smug cunt, what did you expect?"
"I'm sorry." Ishida's own voice cracked that time, and Kurosaki took notice. Ishida, who had never lost his instincts as a fighter, felt that Kurosaki's urge to knock out some teeth vanished in that one moment.
"You're a dick," Kurosaki said without much enthusiasm and sat on the floor. "You never even had a girlfriend before."
Ishida swiveled around in his chair, pressed a button on the speaker phone. "Give my regrets for the meeting and cancel my afternoon appointments. My father is on call in the event of an emergency." He swiveled to face Kurosaki. "What did she say she wants?"
"She doesn't know. To do what's right. To marry you. To save our marriage. One of the two—she hadn't decided." Kurosaki heaved a giant sigh. "I didn't hear much after that because I thought that the right thing to do was to punch you in the face."
They talked in the office for an hour about how Kuchiki-san and Abarai-kun had an intact marriage now, no matter what feelings between Kuchiki-san and Kurosaki had existed in the past. The topic had been broached before. Ishida had wrestled bits of history and regret from his depressed friend since the defeat of Yhwach. Always, the same conclusion. Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san-that was over; she had not visited for ten years. Kurosaki was married. Kuchiki-san was married. Byakuya had protested the Soul Society wedding but it had happened. Children had been born. Choices had been made.
"And then your wife and I had to mess everything up," Ishida said.
"No, I did it," Kurosaki said. "I've been a mess for years. Orihime's a beautiful, perfect wife and I've treated her like shit."
Ishida made Kurosaki call his wife and tell her that they were going back to Ishida's apartment, for mackerel soup and to try to talk things over. "Don't worry. Ishida is trying to make this work out for everyone." Kurosaki tried to sound reassuring over the phone, but it somehow came off as sarcastic. "He's a smart guy. I can see why you want him." Ishida could hear crying on the other end of the line. Couldn't Kurosaki hear the crying? He signed off without a goodbye.
"Maybe I want you for myself now." Kurosaki tried to joke. "If you're that great a lover. Maybe you can tell me all your secrets."
If I'm that great a lover. Kurosaki's wife really had no filter when she got emotional; there was no telling what she had said. Ishida was prepared to deal with whatever Kurosaki brought up as rationally as possible. But how rational could one be in the face of this much pain?
When Ginjou had stolen Kurosaki's powers and the despairing human boy had wailed over his loss, Ishida had averted his eyes. When Yhwach broke Kurosaki's ban kai and the universe was about to shatter, Ishida again had turned away from despair. This time Ishida himself was the cause of his best friend's suffering and there was no turning away. Was this the price of saving Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, the Living World and all the other realms? This private, ridiculous grief? This sordid sex drama with the wife of the hero of the story?
"Fuck me," said Ishida Uryuu and downed a shot of sake, a gift from one of the nurses. It was sweet and expensive and he didn't really care for the taste, but the immediate effect was to dull pain. He had tried a cigarette once; cigarettes heightened senses that were dulled. The over-worked and disillusioned underclass abused cigarettes. One cigarette had smelled like pain and tasted like death.
There was the pack, stolen from his father's desk a month ago, lying right on Ishida's kitchen counter. Kurosaki would be too upset to notice the cigarettes, so Ishida didn't bother to put them away in a drawer.
"Fuck me also." Kurosaki raised his cup in acknowledgement and swallowed his sake. "Hey, Ishida, what's with the cigs? Don't tell me you've started smoking because Orihime would— "
"They're my father's."
Ishida Ryuuken's fondness for a stimulant that increased the risk of dying from cancer made sense only after Ishida Uryuu realized that pain wasn't what his father wanted to escape-it was life.
Maybe life was already over. Once upon a time, Ishida had been glad to have never had kissed the woman of his dreams because she would always stay a pure and perfect vision of adolescent fantasy. After kissing her, of course, fuck that dream, the real woman was a million times more satisfying, worth bleeding out his pride for, worth betraying a friend over, because she needed him and he would burn in hell to have her sit on his worthless face one more time, whispering his worthless name Ishida-kun, Ishida-kun, as his fingers clenched her soft bottom. Who was he to think he could hold onto her? He only loved her. Fate had chosen another path for him.
"Fuck me, I'm the biggest asshole on earth," Ishida said. "You're just a lazy guy who doesn't go around being the hero anymore, but I dicked around my best friend, the hero of the universe, and another best friend, the most wonderful woman in the world. Fuck me."
"How much of this stuff do you have?" Kurosaki asked when the bottle of sake was finished. The soup had been eaten, and Ishida went looking for another gift box. The nurses always gave him presents. Soaps, candies, oh yes—there was more sake. This brand was stronger.
They lay side by side in Ishida-kun's single bed passing the bottle and having a pity party.
"Dude, I didn't even feel Yhwach's reiatsu when it was near my own kid. What kind of captain do you think I would've made anyway? Shit-ass captain of the decade. Never deserved Rukia. Sure as hell never deserved Orihime."
"Didn't Urahara-san teach you it's all about attitude? Kurosaki, why the hell did you show up at a public institution at 1 pm wearing bedroom slippers?"
Kurosaki took another swig. "She started talking as soon as we got up. I never had the chance to get dressed. The more she talked… We were having a late breakfast because she'd called in sick and said she had something to tell me. I was expecting to get bitched at about something, but she never ever bitches, and then she just said it. Ishida-kun and I have been doing something very bad. I thought it was something like making costumes for hamsters. She started to cry. She talked forever and ever and I couldn't take it anymore and I figured it was important to beat you up."
Urahara-san had also said something about how only fools drown in the river of fate. At this point, the rivers had long peaked and the bodies were bloated and running with the currents. There was really nothing else that could make matters worse. Ishida loved his friends; how could he have failed them both so miserably?
Kurosaki wanted to know how Ishida did it, how he pleased Orihime so much. Ishida begged him not to ask. Kurosaki said it was something a man needed to know. Kurosaki said he kissed her, he said he ate her, he said she never complained.
"Did you ever talk to her? The way you talked to Rukia?"
Kurosaki was half-wasted (it took a lot to get either of their super-powered selves truly intoxicated), but Ishida believed the man's slurred words when he insisted he did try to talk to his wife. "Orihime's so smart, she's so kind, but … I don't always get her."
At some point Kurosaki demanded to see Ishida's dick, to verify if it wasn't tremendous or couldn't rotate like a vibrator or something, so Ishida rolled his eyes, whipped it out, said it wasn't anything special and put it away. "If you must know, my advantage is here." He held up his hands and waggled his long fingers. "The sewing and surgical skills didn't give you a clue? Hand jobs, Kurosaki. Any ass can do them if you just get the right spot; don't press too hard and keep on rubbing."
Kurosaki lay quiet for a while. "Oh my fucking god, the idea of you doing that to my wife is turning me on. I'm a total pervert."
"Don't sweat it, Kurosaki. Join the club."
"I have bear claws for hands. I could never—what else did you do?"
"I can't." Ishida was starting to feel drowsy. There were only so many betrayals a man could rack up before dawn.
"You love her, don't you? It's not about her pussy." Kurosaki threw half his weight on Ishida now; both men lay in bed wearing what they had been wearing in the office—Ishida, a dress-shirt and slacks, and Kurosaki, a t-shirt and pajama-bottoms. Shoes, bedroom slippers and socks had long been cast away. Kurosaki put his arm across Ishida's chest—it was a narrow bed, and lying side by side had been precarious. "You love me too. If I asked you how to suck on a woman's nipple, you'd show me, wouldn't you? Hell, you would even demonstrate on my own fucking nipple. It wouldn't make us gay. You'd teach me how to sew a doll and cook a fish …." Kurosaki's voice was trailing off. "You've already fucked me over, so you may as well bend me over and do it for real and make me love it." He laughed in a way that sounded somewhere between a genuine laugh and a pitiful sob. "No one ever annoyed the crap out of me more than you, there's no one I worried more about-except for Rukia—her, yeah. Rukia."
He fell asleep with an erection against Ishida's leg and the last name spoken being one he hadn't brought up for hours. Ishida stared at the ceiling for a while and wondered if Kurosaki dreamed about her. Were dreams part of the other time-lines Yhwach had spoken about? Were nightmares? Did what we wish for, did what we plan for and what we feared always co-exist in all timelines? To what extent do the authors of our destiny mock us and what powers do we have against that destiny?
Ishida looked again at his own hand in the dim light of the bedroom lamp. What sacrifices would we be willing to make to change the flow of time?
3.
Not much changed, of course. Ishida plotted for weeks about how he and Orihime could possibly use their respective powers to reverse timelines, reset the path so that Kurosaki did not take the fucked up route and part ways with Kuchiki-san, so that what should have been Kurosaki's genius influence on Soul Society years ago could begin its true seismic changes in all levels of existence, but every time Kazui ran past the window, laughing in his little school uniform, Ishida remembered how much the boy's mother loved him and how the child would not exist without Kurosaki Dumbass Ichigo's having made every mistake he ever made from who knows when to this current state of fucked-up-ness.
"For all we know, Kazui is the new hero of the story," Ishida said aloud on the Kurosaki doorstep one afternoon. He was fond of the boy, caught in the thought problem of how to save everyone even if it meant readjusting families into different spaces, different timelines.
"She's right. The children matter more than anything." Ishida rang the doorbell and walked into his cursed life.
Kurosaki was pet-sitting a Pomeranian at the moment for all Ishida knew, and fully aware that Ishida was still banging his wife during lunch hour.
They always had tea and dessert first, like civilized people. Conversation came naturally. "Do you really think Ichigo would have had sex with you If he got drunk enough that night?"
"Maybe." Ishida was already in the process of putting the china plates and utensils in the sink. "I think he may still, dead sober. He's alone. It's like … there are no limits anymore. What we're doing now is already depraved."
Orihime put her handkerchief to her mouth. Her brown eyes were huge. "Are you saying you want him to join us?"
Ishida walked over to her, lifted her by the waist onto the kitchen table and hiked up her skirt. "I want you all to myself." He flung her panties over his shoulder. "But whatever you say goes. You have the last word." He kissed her neck. Her bra and blouse went flying in separate directions.
She unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers moved in human time so he sucked softly on her ear as her hands traveled down his chest, palming bare flesh as she found it, unbuckling his belt and removing the rest of his clothes. When her hand covered the warmth of his crotch, she pushed her face into his chest and murmured, "I want you."
She didn't need to guide him because he was nothing if not precise about hitting a familiar target, but she held him at her opening which was always so ready—she became wet at the sound of his voice; her pulse raced if he mentioned anything vulgar. "I know it hurts Ichigo, and I don't want him anymore. I only want you." She teased Ishida's tip over her clit. "Fuck me."
He pushed inside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her tightly against him. She wants me, not him. He stood, rocking her on the table for as long as it took to lull himself into contentment over victory over Kurosaki, and then, chiding himself for his selfishness, remembered that what gave him the most pleasure in the world was giving her pleasure. He gave her a deep kiss. He swept his hand over her belly, past soaked hairs and began to rub his thumb over her clit with every thrust. He couldn't quiet his pride, though; he was so happy that he possessed the delicate timing to drive her to perfect gratification. Let Kurosaki match this, eh?
Ishida knew that pride was his worst sin, but rationalization of selfishness was new to him. It burned him with its wrongness even as he measured his breathing, swimming in sex. She was everything he had once desired, and he had always been ready to give up the world for her happiness, but now? Was she telling him that he, Ishida Uryuu, was her happiness? What about the rest of the world? The needs of the helpless, the innocent, the hurt, the fallen—who could save Kurosaki now? Who could save them all?
When she was flat on her back on the kitchen table, covering her mouth with both hands, still in the first throes, Ishida left off rubbing; he lifted her legs and placed them high on either of his shoulders. As he thrust in deeper and drew closer to her, he made his proposal. Was it selfish and calculated timing? Of course.
"Marry me."
Orihime pulled her hands away from her mouth and could only pant.
"We belong together. This way. Marry me."
He was pounding her, hitting swollen parts he instinctively understood were aroused. Her cervix was the center of his life and his insistence was pushing towards the only answer.
She arched her back and said "yes." As if to clarify that that the word was not just about the pleasure, she added, "yes, I'll marry you."
The moment required a romantic kiss, but their positions didn't accommodate for one, and Ishida told himself he would tend to that later.
They were not even finished, many moments later, when she sensed the strong reiatsu, and halted, the rapture in her face changing to fear, the exhaustion of her last orgasm making her chest heave and words falter: "Ishida-kun, do… you … what? Someone?"
He hadn't felt a thing, even though he was the sensitive one, but the panic in her face was warning enough. He bowed his head and emptied himself into her body, without the usual spasms of accomplishment. He coughed, his upper arms shook, his senses cleared.
Ishida lifted his head and in amazement identified the new reiatsu he sensed in Karakura Town: "Kuchiki-san…. Kurotsutchi…. Yhwach?"
4.
Ishida had managed to put on his trousers and belt and had thrown on his shirt, but Orihime was still fully naked, searching for wherever the blazes her lover had tossed her clothes—that's when the front door to the Kurosaki residence flew open.
Captain Kuchiki Rukia stood there.
Orihime screamed. Ishida tossed her a bra and blouse, and Orihime used the bra to cover one breast and the blouse to cover her bottom parts.
Rukia surveyed the scene with a reddening face. "There's no time," she said. "Where's Ichigo? I can't find his reiatsu anywhere."
"In the old Visored warehouse." Orihime managed to say. "Hacchi's barrier is still in place. Hiyori lives there and Ichigo— "
"What's going on?" asked Ishida. He stepped in front of Orihime and handed her the rest of her clothes so she could dress herself.
"Kurotsutchi was trying to build a time machine with whatever goo he salvaged from Yhwach's death scene. Nothing was approved by Soul Society. His first model did not go as planned."
"Yhwach is back?" Ishida's shirt was buttoned to the neck now. He was wiping the sweat of sex from his brow with a kitchen towel and reassessing the end of the world all over again.
"Not exactly," Rukia said. She cast a glance at Orihime who now sat on the sofa and was weeping soundlessly, her skirt zipper-side forward and the buttons on her blouse misaligned. "Someone like Yhwach is back but he's not the Yhwach we faced. I'm not sure how dangerous he is. According to Kurotsuchi, this man doesn't have all his senses or powers, just some of his memories. According to Kurotsuchi, he's looking for Ichigo."
"No!" Orihime stood up.
"He's looking for Ishida too," Rukia said. She looked from Orihime to Ishida back to Orihime again. "This man said something about how Ishida would be at his happiest in this timeline."
"He has foresight," Ishida rubbed his chin. "Call back-up. The whole Gotei needs to be here. This is Yhwach we're talking about." It was the end of the word again. Did he really want to watch people die one by one? But somebody might have the solution. That somebody probably wasn't Kurosaki, not in his current state.
"I told you," Rukia went on, "he isn't the Yhwach we faced. I came as soon as I could when I found Kurotsuchi chasing the man in one of his secret passageways. We can handle this. Kurotsuchi and this—this thing that wants to confront Ichigo."
A tiny shadow fell behind Rukia's in the doorway. "Captain Rukia?" Rukia turned to see the small Shinigami with orange hair standing there. "Is it very important? I can take you to Hiyori-san's house right now."
"Kazui!" Orihime ran to the threshold. "You're supposed to be in school!"
"I DO go to school, but sometimes I need to check up on Dad. I don't even need to hide my reiatsu." A laugh. "He's very bad at sensing me."
Rukia ignored the kid. "Ishida, where do you sense Kurotsuchi and this Yhwach thing? I lost them moments before I arrived. The captain may have reiatsu-concealment capacity, but this thing—I saw him—he's not quite that evolved. Trust me. He's … a specific threat. He's not going to destroy the world."
Ishida walked to the door and scanned the town. "I've lost them." He knelt to Kazui's height and put his hand on the boy's head. "How long have you been outside the house?"
"Followed Captain Rukia." A smile. "Sensed her when I was following Dad. Just got here." Bigger smile. "I'm super-fast."
"Do you sense the other strange reiatsu?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where they are now?"
"I think so. I'm not sure."
"Where?"
"Near Dad."
Ishida stood up. "The Visored Hide-Out," he said to Kuchiki-san. "My hirenkyaku is the fastest way there."
"Stay here," Orihime told her son. "I can make a portal. We don't need you to make a portal at Hiyori-san's place. We need you to watch the house, ok?"
In the air, as the Shinigami captain and the woman with her skirt on backwards held onto him speeding towards the old mysterious warehouse, Ishida had time enough to say, "Kazui won't listen. He takes after his father."
5.
When everyone showed up, Hiyori was standing several feet from the warehouse entrance. Hands on hips, tapping one of her sandaled feet. "Who hired out my place for the freak convention?" She cocked her head towards the door. "Captain Freakshow made the portal. The Goth kid followed him, and they're having some kind of showdown with Ichigo right now."
"Showdown?" Rukia transformed at the word. Her robes were white; her hair was silver with a lilac light shining through strands that fell past her tiny waist. "Dance five. Winter Buries the Lily." She had not drawn her sword, but its immaculate ribbons wafted in cold air behind her. Petals of snow were falling from the sky, almost imperceptibly, in twos and threes.
"They ain't fightin," Hiyori said. "If any of my merchandise gets ruined, Ichigo gets it—whap!—in his useless Shinigami balls."
"Make the portal, Inoue-san," Rukia said. The impatience in her voice could have been interpreted as anger, but her transformation into an ice queen made the command sound cold.
"I can see them," Orihime was holding her head to one side with a sad, dazed look. She was watching things in the warehouse wall no one else could see. Then plainly, without malice or any sense of having been annoyed, she made the correction: "My name is Kurosaki now, Kuchiki-san."
"What's happening in there?" Ishida knew that with Orihime, if you wanted a direct answer, ask a direct question.
"I can see them inside standing and talking. No one has a weapon drawn."
"If I know Ichigo, there's going to be fightin sooner or later," Hiyori said. "What you guys here to do? Rescue his sorry ass? Isn't that his pop's job? Where his pop been lately? Ain't seen him in forever. Did he die or something?"
"Kurosaki's father works at our hospital now," Ishida said. "He became head of the pediatric wing this year." He turned to Orihime. "Kuchiki-san is right. Open the portal. He can't handle this by himself."
"Can we give him the chance?"
"Orihime! You still believe in him?"
Everyone startled at Ishida's words. Orihime waved her hand and before them appeared a window into the warehouse; there was audio too. Those being observed apparently did not know they were being subject to one of Orihime's barrier tricks.
"You made no sense the first time around and you're even more boring now," Ichigo spoke in the most casual voice ever, as if talking to an annoying teenager trying to hand him a promotional pamphlet at a bus stop. "And stop calling yourself my father. You look twelve."
"I'm thousands and thousands of years old," said the young man with wavy black hair in a black cloak.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ichigo crossed his arms. He was wearing the Unagiya logo on his cap. "I saw your face on Tensa Zangetsu in my inner world one time."
"What my creation appears to be incapable of explaining is that the power of time travel affords you the opportunity to reset your life, Kurosaki Ichigo." Captain Kurotsuchi waved his long-nailed, white fingers across the air. "Where are you now? On the verge of destruction once again. Unable to protect those you love."
"I'm not your creation," said the young Yhwach. "I am the son of the Soul King."
"Whatever, whatever," Kurotsuchi said. "I'll adjust that false memory. Right now it's important for both you and Ichigo to realize that neither one of you has the power to change anything right now. That knowledge is mine."
"Blah, blah, blah." Ichigo turned his cap around on his head so that the visor didn't shade his eyes. He looked genuinely tired, like a man who had not slept well for weeks. "You two need to get out of here. I've got work to do."
Orihime gave a little gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh Ichigo," she whispered. Snow was falling faster around the observers outside the warehouse. Ishida's black hair was speckled white.
"Not worth killing him in this state," the young Yhwach said to Kurotsuchi. "It might be a better fate to leave him here, among the other lost and impotent humans, his suffering worse because he walked away from heaven."
"He is like you," Kurotsuchi said, "not fully awake. What I am offering you both is the power over time itself, a power that the Quincy god at his greatest did not even understand, something Ichigo with his courage and strength could never break. There are so many worlds beyond the ones you wanted to rebuild, Yhwach. There are so many worlds beyond the ones you could even imagine defending, Ichigo. Aren't you even curious? The wonders in my lab, such glories designed for only the two of you, only the two of you…."
Hiyori muttered under her breath, "What hella drugs is he on. Anyone can tell he's bullshitting."
The young Yhwach wasn't listening to Kurotsuchi; his eyes were on Ichigo. "He was the most foolish of my sons, not worth my pity. Why I remembered him first is no matter. I will forget him for another thousand years."
"Unagiya always pitches a fit if I'm late for a job." Ichigo didn't sound concerned. His voice was a sing-song. "I don't think anyone wants to see her pitch a fit."
Ishida blew a huff of smoke into the cold air as he spoke. "This is like watching three children in a sandbox. They're pretending to be playing with one another, but each one is in his own world. Kuchiki-san, can't you arrest this crazy captain of yours?"
"Wait," Rukia said. "Ichigo can still take them both."
But would he if he had to? Kuchiki-san had not been to the Living World for years; she had not witnessed a single of Kurosaki's break-downs; no one had her told about the weeks he'd refused to leave the bed, how he didn't train his own son, how friends never knew if any given day would be an ordinary one with Kurosaki returning smiles and making wry jokes or if this gruff remark or that faraway look meant another descent into depression. Over the years, Ishida had grabbed Kurosaki by the collar so many times and tried to yell some sense into him, coax his heart back by reminding him of how much there was to live for—a beautiful wife, a beautiful son, the scent of a chocolate bar, anything, a new song from a favorite band- but it had been like shooting words made of light at a mind that could only comprehend darkness.
"Ichigo isn't going to walk away from a person who is part Yhwach," Orihime said.
"So he's really not Yhwach?" Rukia asked.
"I'm sure. I was there. This reiatsu is …altered."
Orihime had seen the worst of Kurosaki, and still, she expected him to protect Karakura Town from one of Kurotsuchi's creepy dolls. Kurosaki, who for over a decade had not lifted his sword against a Hollow or so much as stomped in the direction of a dog-fight to stop the noise and send the animals running away.
"Hiyori!" Ichigo shouted the name. "Who's out there with you? I told you to wait outside until I was done talking business with these guys."
Kurotsuchi was unfazed. "Yhwach, imagine your strength aligned with that of the man who killed you. The marriage of monstrosity and monstrosity. One look at my plans. Come back to my lab and take just one look."
"I just got out of there," the young Yhwach said. "I saw nothing but the toys of a crazy Shinigami scientist."
"You rose out of your bed like a sleepwalker. You didn't see a thing. I promise you will have no choice but to follow this path, for a greatness beyond any creator's imagination. I can show you. Your own desire willing any form into existence. Everything, anything can change."
Ichigo snorted. "Change? Everything's perfect as it is—right, Yhwach?"
"You're a perfect fool," the young man in black said. "I remember clearly now. You cut me in half." He drew his sword from under his cloak.
At the same moment, a whir of black and orange sped into the scene. "Nooooooooo!" When the whir paused, Kazui stood, sword over his head. "Don't you dare hurt my dad!"
"Brat!" Kurotsuchi grabbed Kazui with his fingernails and held him high over the broad Baphomet horns that shaped the scientist's current head-dress of choice. Ichigo had already flashed into Shinigami form and with two hands was holding the same weapon that had once cleaved Yhwach in half. Kazui dangled over the heart-shape made by the top of Kurotsuchi's head-horns, and the scientist smiled, showing his many golden teeth. "I see I wasn't wrong to believe in your will to protect, Ichigo. You still want a better world, no matter how much you despise your part in it."
"Put my son down."
The young Yhwach had lowered his sword. "Your son is a Shinigami? He seems … strong." The last word was uttered with approval.
"What if," began Kurotsuchi, "what if I use my accelerated tendon adjustment? I could toss this child across to room to test just how stro—"
"TSUBAKI!"
A black bullet shot out of nowhere, hit Kurotsuchi in the head and knocked him off his feet. Orihime came running first through the portal. "Kazui, darling," The boy had landed on his butt on the floor, and she lifted him up by the armpits. "Are you ok?" She picked up his sword and handed it to him.
The cold and the snow preceded the next entrance. Ichigo took one step back.
"Rukia."
The name, after Ichigo said it, seemed to take its own shape in the new weather. The warehouse walls reverberated as if invisible barriers were shifting everywhere, and an ancient gear had fallen into slow motion.
"I'm here to take Kurotsuchi's illegal creation into custody," Rukia said with a formality reminiscent of her brother's speech. Her sparkling robes were dazzling in the dull room, and young Yhwach's attention was now focused completely on this vision in white. He didn't seem concerned at all about the prospect of arrest. "Ichigo," Rukia pursed her lips the smallest bit. "Your wife just killed a Gotei captain, but I believe I can resolve that issue when the report is made."
"Killed?" Kurotsuchi sat up. His left eye was dangling over his cheek, but the left horn of the head-dress was already growing back over the cracked lower part. That wide crack exposed a blue hairline over a pale forehead; in the center of a singed black eyebrow was an apple-sized hole that went clean through to the other side. One could see the stacked boxes of warehouse merchandise through the hole. "What did you expect, woman? That I hadn't prepared myself for far, far worse ambushes than yours? Did you really think your little bird projectile could kill someone like me?"
A flash of white light this time, much larger than the black bullet that had pierced Kurotsuchi's head moments before. This time this scientist's head simply vanished. The torso fell backwards, ribbons of smoke rising from blackened meat and vertebrae where once there had been a neck.
"You have to aim for the whole head," Ishida said. He lowered his bow which was melting the snow around him. His shoulders of his dress shirt, once pillowed with snow, were wet. His hair dripped water. He tossed his head back to shake it off. "The only way to kill a Shinigami is to cut off the head."
"Fuck, Ishida." Ichigo said. He pooched his lips forward and seemed about to whistle through them like an overjoyed kid but stopped himself. "That one was a long time coming. Rukia, you know that one was a done deal. This shouldn't be covered up in Soul Society. Ishida should get a goddamn motherfucking trophy for offing that freaking son-of-a-bitch."
Orihime put her arm around Kazui. "This was a very bad man. A very bad man."
"Clean kill," said Hiyori from where she stood behind Ishida. "No blood to mop up. I'll get rid of what's left of the body, no prob." She scratched her ear, considering ways to humiliate the remains. "Never could stand that captain."
Because in horror stories, the monster always rises up again, almost everyone's focus was on the smoldering neck of Captain Kurotsuchi. Rukia, her wide eyes wider and her mouth gaping. Orihime, fearful, not even trying to shield her son's eyes from the scene, and Kazui, straining his own neck to get a better look at the wound. Ichigo eyed the dead scientist warily. In his experience, the guys always popped up again. Because young Yhwach himself was the monster re-risen and had never bothered with any horror stories but the ones he created himself, his gaze was now on the man who had decapitated the Shinigami scientist with a Quincy weapon.
"Ishida Uryuu, my chosen heir. I should thank you for ridding me of such an annoyance but look you at you, all grown up, nowhere near my power. And what is this arrogance I see? Stealing men's wives, murdering scientists of renown genius without hesitation—it is precisely this triumph of pride I came here to destroy."
Orihime threw her shield in front of Ishida before he could protest.
"Orihime, don't worry," said Ichigo. He was standing at ease but still held his sword forward, prepared to strike. "He's a wet paper cut-out of the guy we faced. He's been here talking forever-all words, no reiatsu."
Yhwach raised his sword and, with no effort but slow deliberation for show, cut through Orihime's shield. "Don't under-estimate me," he said in his young voice. He kept the tip raised, pointed at Ishida Uryuu's heart. Ishida didn't flinch a muscle; he anticipated a speech from Kurotsuchi's creation but not much of a battle.
"Mother-fucker," muttered Ichigo. Rukia drew her sword; concentric circles of reiatsu pulsed in visible whiteness around the blade.
"Goddamn it, they're gonna rumble," Hiyori said. "Don't make me put on my mask."
"No killing of civilians," came a familiar voice, and everyone turned to see the slain monster sitting up where he had fallen. The elaborately painted and modified head was a man's now, a long and handsome face covered in green slime. "I told you, Yhwach. This is a secret project. When the world is ready for us, the world as we know it will have changed."
"Your project is over," Rukia spat. "Bringing something that could threaten the worlds again? What were you thinking?"
"Thinking?" The slimy green head smiled with ordinary whitish teeth this time. "There's the difference between myself and the rest of you. Thinking is why I exist and will outlive you all."
Ishida and Kurosaki exchanged glances; they had noticed that Kurotsuchi had still not stood up. The scientist was taking his time to restore himself.
"You're broken, Captain Kurotsuchi." Rukia said aloud what everyone knew. "I'll freeze you and carry you myself back to Soul Society for execution."
"Yhwach," Kurotsuchi's chest heaved as if some effort was required to breathe. He took one more breath and spoke again, naturally, with a tinge of gentleness, as if telling a child what to do. "Kill Captain Kuchiki. Her. The woman in white."
Those were the last words spoken by the captain of the 12th division, Shinigami Research and Development Institute. His green head fell into two clean halves like a chopped watermelon and the rest of his sitting body collapsed as well. The blow from Ichigo's sword had landed so fast that when he raised his weapon, there was no blood on the blade.
Kurotsuchi became a green liquid that stained his captain's robes and emitted a faint chemical odor.
"I've seen this before." Ishida's voice was urgent. "This is how he escapes."
"Not this time." The Shinigami standing over the green goo wore a look Ishida had not seen in a long, long time. Was that a hint of a smile at the corner of Kurosaki's mouth? "He's gone. Watch."
And everyone watched, even Yhwach with his sword held casually over his shoulder now, because who knew what would happen next with this scientist? Stories about him had reached so far as to have inspired a few ghosts in the young Yhwach's amnestic, tampered-with mind.
The drenched captain robes on the floor burned up as if consumed by acid; the odor in the room grew stronger for a moment as the green goo became green gas, and then, too quickly for the process to resemble an ordinary organic chemical change, the gas and the green and the odor were gone—not a trace of even dissipating into the air.
Rukia's eyes met Ichigo's.
"You tell them I did it," Ichigo said. "I told you I couldn't live in Soul Society with that monster running around."
"Ichigo," Rukia began. Her voice was low and awed. "Ichigo, I—"
"No worries for you. It was all perfectly legal. I killed the bastard in defense of one of their captains."
Orihime was holding her son by the shoulders. "Is Dad in trouble?" Kazui whispered, and she hushed him, hugging the boy to her chest.
"Tsk, tsk." It was the chiding noise an old man makes by spitting against brittle teeth, so when young Yhwach made the sound, the effect was eerie, as if he were speaking another language, one uttered by threatened snakes. "I've seen Kuchiki Rukia in so many timelines. It came back to me the moment she appeared with her fancy dress and that little blizzard for show. Always fighting for you, Ichigo. Always besting you, fleeing you, finding you again. Did you cry when she forgot you in this timeline?"
Young Yhwach held the hilt of his weapon loosely, the blade still resting on his shoulder. "It's amusing how often you've needed her to carry you like a kitten in her mouth."
Orihime buried her face in her son's hair.
"It always comes to nothing, Ichigo," Yhwach went on. "Sometimes you are on the verge of grasping that truth. You fight for illusions and everything you build and struggle to protect dies—you die; she dies— "
"Shut up," Ichigo said.
Young Yhwach's body split down the middle and fell. Again, no blood on Ichigo's blade, only two distinct halves of a body on the floor—black goo swarming where ruptured organs and arteries should be.
"Your turn to die today," Ichigo said. "Rukia, freeze this shit and run it to Urahara. He'll make sure no one in Soul Society gets a crumb of whatever Kurotsuchi created."
6.
It was an unusually warm fall day; bright sunlight had dried melted snow on Orihime's blouse as she walked to Kazui's school. She had made sure to accompany her son and apologize in person to his teacher for the absence; Ishida-kun had walked with her in his considerate way, alert to the emotional aftermath of the day. On the way back to the Kurosaki house, the phone in his pocket rang.
Ishida made a face at the screen. "It's my father."
It was broad daylight. Anyone could be watching them on the sidewalk. Orihime slipped her hand into Ishida-kun's.
"Yes, yes. Shinigami trouble. It's all been taken care of." Ishida-kun cast a look of surprise into Orihime's eyes because she was holding his hand in public. "I have a few more things to look after. I've already called Minami-san."
I love you, Orihime mouthed.
"I, uh, I have to go." Was Ishida-kun blushing? His face reminded Orihime of the boy she had known years ago, the one who tried not to be caught helping other students in sewing club. "I'll tell you about it later."
A pause while Ishida-kun listened to some last words on the phone. The fingers around hers loosened, and Ishida-kun's eyes took on that far-away look. He was a man again, the one that scared her a little, like the vast unknown future. "Yes, Father," he said in a solemn tone. "Kurotsuchi Mayuri is dead."
He slid the phone back into his pocket. He looked away, to the sky. His shirt was wrinkled where snow had melted on it and dried.
"We're going to get married," she said. "It's going to be a huge mess, but I don't care."
The fingers around hers tightened again and held fast.
They walked hand in hand in silence, and although she was supposed to be the one to express emotion first, he was the one who, at the gate of her house, paused and said, "It hurts so much."
"It always has," Orihime said. "Being alive is knowing pain. But I don't want to keep on living a lie … I don't want to…" She searched for the phrase. "Prolong needless suffering?"
He looked at her for comfort; she was the source of his guilt and the salve to it at the same time.
"I made a mistake thinking that Ichigo was the perfect man for me, and now I know that there's no such thing as a perfect man or a perfect life. I only know that it's better when we're together."
"It's still going to be a mess."
"We'll get through it."
He waited until they were inside to give her the romantic kiss he had promised himself he'd give her. The wrongness of kissing his bride at the threshold of the Kurosaki home did not escape him, but it seemed to frame the moment with sadness as well as joy. He ran his hands through her long hair and after the most tender of kisses, pressed his cheek against hers. "I will be so honored to be your husband for the rest of this life."
She hugged him, and her tears fell for so long that his shirt was wet again.
7.
In stories of destiny, there are sad partings and triumphant reunions. An inescapable fate is usually underscored by deep irony. Urahara Kisuke had learned about the cruelty of irony after his betrayal by Aizen and believed that destiny was a shell game; all that really mattered was who was the player and who was being played. Upon retrieving the frozen remains of Kurotsuchi's creation, the shopkeeper had mentioned a little this and a little that about the predictability of payback that Ichigo didn't understand at all. Urahara said he would deliver a phony carcass back to Soul Society and cross his heart, hope to die, never experiment with what he had been given. "Never! Have I ever gone back on my word?"
"I'm sure I could think of a time or two," Ichigo had said as he walked out, the bells on the door jingling in that way that always annoyed him. "I'll send Hiyori back later today to collect some deliveries for boss lady Unagiya."
Outside, the sun was bright, the wind was strong, and an occasional fall leaf blew by.
"A fifth dance, eh?" Ichigo said as he and Rukia walked away from the Urahara shouten. "I didn't even get to see what it does."
Ichigo was back in his jeans and cap, and Rukia was wearing her captain clothes.
"Well, I got to see your part. I missed everything the first time you killed Yhwach."
Either because the sun was so blaring or because the back of his head was itching that badly, Ichigo took off his cap to scratch his scalp.
"You'll have to return," Rukia said in that voice that was unmistakably her brother's tone. "The trial should be short. The case against Captain Kurotsuchi is irrefutable, and you have significant allies."
"I can't get out of this one, can I?"
"Ichigo." Rukia stopped walking so she could raise her head and look into her old companion's face. "They're going to ask you again to assume a position in the Gotei—you have to know that."
He stared at into her eyes, and the anger over the issue was different now. Her violet eyes could not hide a deep pain.
"Can we not fight about this again?" Ichigo looked away.
"I don't want to fight," Rukia said. "I just want to know if …" Her voice sounded girlish now. "Are you ok? You look terrible. Your eyes— "
"Look," Ichigo raised both hands and held them apart as if he were holding an invisible soccer ball he wanted to toss. "Don't be mad at Orihime."
Rukia waited for the rest while Ichigo huffed a few breaths.
"She told me she's in love with him," he went on. "We're heading straight for divorce by the looks of it all. Ishida is the one who pays attention to her and treats her right."
"Oh." Rukia lowered her eyes. "That's how it is."
"I was on my way to a job when I sensed you on the way to my house. I can only guess what you came across. Don't be mad at them. It's not their fault. I'm the fuck-up here. I've always been the fuck-up."
Rukia looked up again. A gust of wind caught her hair at that very moment and sent waves of it billowing. She brushed strands off her face, and when revealed, her expression was even more raw than before.
"Don't hate yourself," she said. "Everyone makes mistakes."
It was a cliché in which neither of them took solace, and they began walking again, in silence, towards another inevitable farewell.
When the gates of the Senkaimon appeared, Ichigo opened his mouth as if to say one more thing then closed it again.
"What?" Rukia shut the doors behind her.
"Just tell me one thing." He crossed his arms. "That thing Kurotsuchi created that wouldn't stop talking. Was it right when it said you forgot all about me in this timeline?"
"Of course not." Rukia looked past Ichigo's face, to a clearing in the thicket where they'd arrived, sunlight brightening the fallen leaves in patches on the ground. Red leaves, golden leaves, a dense warmth in the familiar town and the faint scent of a season dying.
"I missed you," Rukia said.
"I missed you too," Ichigo said.
She re-opened the Senkaimon gate. "I'll see you again. Things change."
"Yeah."
And as the gates closed behind her, Ichigo felt a place in his heart open again. Maybe it was a wound, but the future streamed forth from it.
End
P.S. Somewhere, Chad, not hurting anyone. Because he wouldn't.