Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, because I'm not Kubo-sensei. The bleach I own keeps my whites white.
It was chaos. Absolute chaos. Dancers ran by, bejeweled and bedecked like glittering birds of paradise, desperate to get in one last bit of rehearsal time before the cameras started rolling. The celebrities, polished until they were sparkling, were either relaxing or rehearsing. Depending on the person, Yoruichi recommended one or the other. Sometimes one rehearsed all that they could and there was nothing left to do but sit back and let things flow. Other times, they needed every bit of time they could get their hands on.
A producer came to a skittering halt by her side, out of breath and panting. "Thank you so much for stepping in Ms. Shihouin," she gasped, clutching her clipboard to her chest. "It means so much that you could do this with Carrie Ann sick-"
"It's no problem…Mallory, right?" The purple-haired heiress replied with a smile. "It's my pleasure to be here. Besides, it's the same job. And call me Yoruichi."
The redhead flushed with pleasure. "Thank you Ms. – Yoruichi. You're needed with Len and Bruno. We're on soon."
She nodded sedately. "Of course." As she turned and made her way down the hallway, she could only wonder how she'd fallen back into judging – and on vacation, no less!
Back in Japan, she'd just finished filming the third season of Shall We Dance? The reality show had become frighteningly popular, and she wanted to take some well-earned vacation time in a place were she wasn't mobbed by fans of the show. As if she needed to be smothered by more people.
So, in a fit of the impulsiveness and wanderlust that fueled and defined her, she hopped on the plane to southern California to enjoy the low humidity, miles of wonderful beaches, and good old-fashioned American hospitality.
The first few days were wonderful. She booked a suite at Casa del Mar and used Los Angeles as her launching point. Most of the time, she kept to the exquisite beaches, alternately sunning, swimming, or surfing, depending on her mood. Other times, she took to the city to enjoy the shopping, or drove down Highway 101 to enjoy the beautiful sights. She rather enjoyed California. Life was slower and more relaxed than Tokyo.
But then her phone rang her first Saturday there. One of the judges of Dancing With the Stars had fallen ill and the producers were frantic, searching for a replacement for Monday's show. Somehow they'd found out she was in the States and wanted her to be a guest judge for the week.
And out of the goodness of her heart, Yoruichi thought sourly, she agreed. Sunday was spent looking over tapes from the previous shows of the season so that she could gauge the celebrity dancers as well as their partners. No one could accuse her of being unprepared.
Yoruichi was jerked rudely out of her thoughts when a solid weight crashed into her from behind. "Excuse me," she snapped, golden eyes flashing as she turned around.
"Yare, yare, you'll have to excuse me." The voice was a mid-range baritone, as rich and smooth as a single-malt whiskey. She glanced up into slate-grey eyes that danced with amusement and blonde hair that was threatening to escape from its perfectly gelled prison. He was a good half-head taller than her, his body lean and powerful.
She knew him. Urahara Kisuke was Nisei, son to Japanese immigrants who'd settled in the U.S. in the sixties. He was the first in his family to take up ballroom dancing and had taken to it with a vengeance. He had a World Title in Latin under his belt and was a four-time American Rhythm champion. His partner on the show was the comedienne Margaret Cho. The woman was not a great dancer, but made up for it in personality. The reason they stayed was because the audience got a kick out of the brash woman and her equally amusing partner.
Yoruichi had never met him – she'd seen him from a distance at several competitions, but somehow had never gotten around to meeting him. No, she didn't know him, but there was a sudden feeling of familiarity to him, though she couldn't say why. There was a certain quality to the man that made the world slow and shift around them. So far, his eyes had never left hers and there was just as much awareness of her reflected in those silvery depths.
"Shihouin Yoruichi, I presume?" he murmured finally in Japanese. His words flowed smoothly, and there was only a slight hint of an American accent. "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have wanted to meet you for some time."
The spell – or whatever it was – was broken. Not forgetting the manner in which he'd crashed into her, she raised a delicate eyebrow. "I'm sure you have, Urahara Kisuke, but I would have appreciated it if you'd chosen another manner to do so." Her tone was biting but tinged with enough humor to soften it slightly.
He caught it and grinned somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry. I was looking for my partner. Have you seen her? Short, stocky, and Asian, with a mouth that can flay the skin off a rhino?"
Despite herself, her lips quirked, and his grin grew even wider. "I'm afraid I can't help you there, Urahara-san."
"Please, call me Kisuke."
"I'll call you what I please. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed at the judging table." She stepped past him and began walking the opposite way, feeling his gaze on her the entire time. "Urahara-san."
The routine here was exactly the same as in Japan. She fell back into the rhythm easily, lending her practiced eye to the judge's panel.
When it came time for Urahara Kisuke and his partner to dance the mambo, Yoruichi perked up. As an International Latin dancer, she'd never danced the mambo on the competition floor, which was a shame, in her opinion. It was one of her favorite dances, a fusion of swing and Cuban that was complex and energetic. The complexity came from the duality of free-flowing movements that came from the hips and arms and the sharp staccato steps of the feet. The hip movement was true to its Cuban roots: flirtatious, raunchy, and down and dirty at times. She loved it.
Unfortunately, the complexity of the dance was a little too much for his partner, the comedienne. She had the energy, to be sure, and she was enthusiastic with the hip movement. But some movements were sloppy and unfinished, her staccato steps a little more legato than they should have been. Her partner, however – Yoruichi could have watched him all day. He moved effortlessly, his feet flying across the dance floor as though he'd been born dancing. Every line was perfect, every movement exquisite.
But most of all, he enjoyed the dance. He laughed out loud as he spun his partner, matching his steps to hers and not even blinking if she made a mistake. His eyes sparkled and he grinned cheerily at the audience, encouraging them to enjoy the dance as much as he did. And they did, cheering on top of their lungs and roaring to their feet when the dance finished.
But of course, it was the judges who had to have their say.
"Margaret, darling, you know I love you, but you must work on your footwork more!" Bruno begged. "You were a little sloppy tonight, dear, and I want to see your technique become as good as your emotion." She nodded, too out of breath to let out a wry statement.
Now it was Yoruichi's turn. "I have to agree with Bruno, Margaret," she said. "Your energy tonight was absolutely wonderful, but there were times when you didn't complete a line or you missed a step. You are, however, spectacular to watch." She too received a nod and a polite thank you.
Yoruichi chose that moment to glance at her partner, only to see Urahara looking her way as well. He was smiling as though they were sharing a naughty secret and she got the feeling he was laughing at her, though she had no idea why. She stiffened, her eyes narrowing in his direction, tuning out Len as he gave his critique. When Margaret and her partner were dismissed backstage, he executed a slightly mocking bow that was most certainly meant for her.
"That Kisuke's a cheeky one, isn't he?" Len remarked, noticing how Yoruichi ground her teeth as the couple exited.
"Indeed," she muttered.
"Ah, but he's an excellent dancer and teacher," Bruno said from Len's other side. "Did you know, Yoruichi, that he runs a studio for L.A.'s underprivileged children? He's a brave and admirable man, I must say."
"He's been churning out damned good dancers," Len added. "They've managed to win a few medals at the junior regional competitions."
Somehow she wasn't surprised. "Interesting," she muttered.
Yoruichi stared up at the Second Life Dance Studio building. Certainly, it wasn't in the most savory of neighborhoods, but the whole point of it was that it was for the children who lived here. It was a comforting sort of building, painted in warm, bright colors that just begged people to come inside and see what it offered.
It and its owner offered quite a lot. She'd done her research the night before – it was an incredible gamble that Urahara Kisuke took, opening a ballroom dance studio here. According to her sources, the neighborhood had been much rougher when he first moved in, enduring a lot of derision and disdain from its drug dealers, prostitutes, and gangs.
But there were also curious people, parents and children who didn't want what those streets offered. They wanted a different kind of escape and Second Life provided that. It was not only a place to dance, but also a place to be safe. Urahara Kisuke opened his doors and left them open, and the community had changed because of him. She found out that he'd only accepted the offer to do the show because the money went back to the studio and the people he cared for. He rehearsed with his partners here because he wanted to show them and the viewers his work. She had to admire that.
However, it wasn't just interest in the owner and his work that prompted her out here. Though this was technically a vacation for her, that hadn't stopped Yoruichi from popping into other dance studios to see how they were run. It was always interesting to glean what she could so that she could take her ideas back to Shunsui and Jyuushiro to see what could work at 8/13. She'd started at the scion of ballroom schools, Arthur Murray, and worked her way around from there.
Yoruichi stepped through the doors and blinked. The place was a shock to the senses. It was just as loud and colorful here as it was outside, but there was such an energetic and welcoming quality to them that she didn't mind. The music was loud and blaring and the large space was echoing with the squeals of excited children.
She grinned. She was going to like this place much better than Arthur Murray, of that she was certain. While it was the most qualified place to learn ballroom, she'd found that it wasn't the best. The atmosphere was stuffy at points and downright snobbish at others. She couldn't understand how any beginner would feel comfortable learning there. But here – well, one felt like they were home just by walking in the doors.
"What brings you here, princess?"
She didn't shriek, but it was a very close thing. And damn the man, he noticed, chuckling as he sidled around into her field of vision. He was dressed far more casually today than last night, in simple black jogging pants and a white wife-beater, a ridiculous green and white striped hat perched on his head. "Curiosity," she said tartly.
His eyes twinkled at her and she fought the absurd urge to smile back. "You know what they say about curiosity," he laughed.
"It killed the cat?" She hated that phrase.
"Nope." He leaned close. "It empowers." He tipped his hat at her. "I'm glad you chose to be more interested than afraid."
"About you or your studio?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Perhaps about both." He gestured for her to follow him. "Curiosity has saved these kids," he said, nodding towards the enthusiastically dancing children. "They chose to be interested in what this place had to offer, and that interest has served them well. It's kept them off the streets and shown them that there is more out there, if only they have the will to reach out and take it."
Yoruichi nodded. "You're a good man for showing them the way."
He laughed. "Good has nothing to do with it, princess!"
Any sort of warm feeling she'd begun to develop vanished. "Why do you call me that?" she asked warily.
"That's what you are, right? Shihouin Yoruichi, heiress to one of Japan's oldest and most noble of families. If that's not what you are, then what are you?"
"A ballroom dancer," she snapped, stung by his shallow appraisal. For some reason, it disappointed her that a man so giving and perceptive would choose to look at her by her name alone. In Japan, it was to be expected. But here, where the public really didn't give a damn about nobility unless it had to do with the British monarchy, she had hoped for something different.
Kisuke caught every thought as they flashed across her eyes and felt uncomfortable. He really hadn't meant to antagonize her, but she really did resemble a princess – high and unreachable. How could he tell her that he'd followed her career for as long as he could remember and that he had always wanted to meet her? Circumstances had never gone his way, until fate somehow pushed him on her, literally, two days before.
How could he tell her that seeing her in person was absolutely nothing compared to seeing her pictures in ballroom dance magazines or on television? How he just seemed to know her? How he'd been struck by the absolute certainty that here was someone he'd been waiting for, but it came along with the knowledge that she was most definitely beyond him.
But then she'd turned up here and it astounded him at how well she fit in. She was an heiress in a run-down studio in the L.A. ghetto. He knew the reputation of 8/13 and knew Second Life was far humbler in comparison. But now...
"I apologize," he said finally. "I did not mean to offend you."
Yoruichi shook her head sharply, her golden eyes snapping. "I don't even know why I bothered coming," she muttered, turning on her heel.
He couldn't just let her leave like that. "You came to dance, didn't you?"
She turned. "What?"
"It's a dance studio. Therefore, you came to dance." His lips curved slowly. He knew exactly how to keep her there. "Unless you've forgotten after judging for three years."
"Excuse me?" Her voice was low and deadly.
"Would you like to prove me wrong?" He turned to the room. "Children, how about a demonstration? You're in for a treat today – this lady is Yoruichi Shihouin, who's won the championship three times at Blackpool." He glanced over to the side. "Strawberry-kun, how about changing the music? Some…mambo, perhaps?"
The children ran off to the sides, darting excited looks at Yoruichi. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an orange-haired young man scowl at Kisuke before he turned to fiddle with the sound system. "Mambo?" she queried.
"I'm the only non-Latin American to have been crowned the Mambo King," was his reply. "I know you've never danced mambo competitively." He winked. "I'll go easy on you."
The hell he would, she snarled inwardly. She shrugged off her orange hooded sweater, leaving her in a black tank top and black sweatpants. "I'll be disappointed if you do," she purred, her smile sweet and sharp.
Kisuke felt sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. However, he certainly wasn't going to back down from the challenge he'd issued. "Shall we?"
She put her hand in his and started. There it was again, that jolting familiarity; that sense of simply knowing who this man was. How else could she explain the way that their hands seemed to fit together so perfectly?
"Are you ready?" he murmured.
"I think the better question is, are you?" she retorted as they settled into the basic position.
He smiled, and they were off. This was the mambo she'd been waiting for. It was high-energy and exhilarating, a blurry mess of controlled movement. She was constantly moving around him in a series of cross-body leads, underarm turns, and side breaks.
And the entire time, their eyes never left each other. His eyes never lost their amused, challenging sparkle, and that spurred Yoruichi on, answering his unspoken demands with every move of her body.
She was all but throwing off sparks, Kisuke mused as he pulled her into a dizzying array of whip turns. She was absolutely magnificent, matching him step for step, gesture for gesture. It was as though she knew what step to do the moment it came into his mind – and she executed them perfectly. He expected no less from her.
But then they both pulled a body roll towards each other and the tone of the dance changed entirely. The challenge exploded into pure molten heat as hands lingered and caressed, bodies moving closer than necessary, the hip movement becoming more pronounced and overtly sexual. This was the mambo returning to its earthy Cuban roots. The two forgot all about their audience and simply danced.
It was still fast, but now it was furious. Hands traced over skin that had become dewy with sweat. Hearts raced to a rhythm only they could hear. Bodies touched, speaking of a longing and a connection that was more than skin-deep. And never once did they take their eyes off each other, a titan clash of silver and gold that sizzled through both of them like the sun.
Yoruichi was pulled into a low spin, pivoting on one bent knee as the other swept around her before collapsing back on the floor. Kisuke went into a controlled fall on top of her, the muscles in his arms bulging as he braced himself above her.
They stared at each other, panting slightly, their breaths mingling with each puff of air. So close…
The children mobbed the two, enthusiastically babbling about how great the dance was and could they please teach them how to dance like that?
"All right kids, let's give Hat-and-Clogs and the lady some breathing room." The same orange haired man who changed the music came wading through the pile of bodies. "I'm sure we'll be teaching you the mambo soon."
"Come on, come on!" Another voice pierced Yoruichi's awareness. "Adam, Jamie, go with Ichigo." A hand closed around her wrist and hauled her up. "Sorry about that. The kids got really excited. They never get to see Kisuke dance with someone on his own level."
"It's fine," Yoruichi muttered, deliberately ignoring Kisuke as he was pulled to his own feet. She turned. "Thank you-" She froze.
It had to be an illusion. The girl in front of her was a ghost, long dead.
"I'm Rukia. Rukia O'Shaughnessy." The girl – no, woman, she had to be in her early twenties at least - in front of her offered a hand, a friendly, familiar smile on her face. The smile faded as she took in Yoruichi's stricken look. "Are you all right?"
She was the spitting image of Hisana. She had the same bobbed black hair, spiky on the bottom, though hers was cut shorter. The smile, though familiar, was more open and outgoing. But she had the same small stature, delicate face, and wide, grey-violet eyes.
"Yoruichi-san?" Kisuke looked at her curiously.
Yoruichi blinked. The girl – Rukia – looked suspicious and somewhat wary. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "Forgive me. It's just that you remind me of…a very dear friend of mine. I was thrown off balance. You look exactly like her."
Rukia managed a small smile. "It's all right." She shrugged. "Maybe we're related. I'm adopted, you know."
Adopted? Her mind was racing. Perhaps Rukia was the sister Byakuya was so desperately searching for. Hisana had never been able to forgive herself for allowing her sister to be separated from her when they were children. It was her dying wish that Byakuya find her. The trail had gone cold, but with the help of a private detective, he found out that an American couple had adopted Hisana's sister. The detective was still trying to track down the couple. "Are you?"
"Yep. I've been trying to teach her Japanese, but she's a little bit of a knucklehead." This came from the man who'd herded the kids away. "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo." He bowed slightly in Yoruichi's direction.
Rukia hit him. "I'll show you a knucklehead, baka."
Yoruichi seized that lifeline. "Kurosaki? Are you Karin's…"
"Older brother. Yeah." He grinned. "I'm a med student over at UCLA."
"I didn't know you danced."
"Karin got our whole family into it after she was on the show. I started volunteering here about a year ago."
"And you…Rukia?"
The petite girl stopped glaring at Ichigo. "I'm a dance major at UCLA. I started volunteering here about a year ago, too."
"And I have no idea what I'd do without them!" Kisuke said cheerfully. "They're excellent with the children."
"Speaking of children…" Ichigo jerked his head towards the group that was patiently waiting for their teacher.
Kisuke coughed. "Of course." He eyed Yoruichi. "You're welcome to stay and watch if you like, Yoruichi-san."
"Why not?" she murmured, eyeing Rukia in turn. It would do her some good to have something else to focus on besides Urahara Kisuke's disturbing effect on her. She was going to call Byakuya tonight…
"So, where are we going?" Yoruichi yelled over the whipping of the wind, trying to keep her hair out of her face.
Kisuke grinned cheekily at her from the driver's seat. "Now really, Yoruichi-san, that would be ruining the surprise!" He accelerated, sending his pearl-grey 1967 Ford Mustang roaring down the 101.
She pouted slightly. She wanted to know, damn it! When he asked her on a date (so slyly that she almost missed it, in fact), she'd accepted with a feeling of interest and trepidation. Most men took her to the best restaurants for dinner, followed by box or front-row seats to an opera or symphony orchestra. If they thought they were being really creative, they took her to the most exclusive clubs, where a famous name was one's only ticket in.
The only problem was she found them deathly boring. There were only so many snooty waiters, overblown arias, mediocre interpretations, and wannabe celebrities she could take before she screamed. What made it worse was that those nice, well-meaning (read: boring) men enjoyed those things and thought she did too, because she was an heiress and didn't heiresses love those kinds of things?
So was it any wonder that she wanted to know if this man, who had so far proven himself to be completely different from any other she'd ever known, could come up with the perfect date? It had already started off differently – when she met him at the entrance of Casa del Mar, he was dressed in jeans and a simple green button-down shirt, causing her to make a quick change from her little black dress to skinny black jeans and her favorite orange sweatshirt.
"How about a hint?" she cajoled. So far, he'd driven north out of L.A. and all she could see was the beautiful coast.
"So impatient!" he scolded lightly, his eyes dancing as she scowled. "There, see, we're exiting. You'll see soon enough." He wound his way through a quaint little town and then turned down a side road that meandered through the hills. "We're here!" he declared.
Yoruichi squinted out the window. "Is that your house?" she asked, incredulous.
"When I want to get away." He hopped out of the car and jogged over to her side, opening the door. "I bought it after my first season on the show. I go here to escape the city and just think." At her questioning look, he added, "I have an apartment that's midway between Second Life and the studio for the show."
"Ah." She had to admit, it was a beautiful house. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture, all glass and concrete and dark wood, with sleek clean lines. It stood perched on a hilltop, the south side completely walled with glass so as to enjoy the sunlight to its fullest.
Kisuke took her hand. "Come inside." He towed her gently towards the front door.
Yoruichi stared with surprise at their joined hands. She'd never been one for holding hands – she felt like it was more intimate than an arm slung around the waist or hips. There was something about the way one's palm met another's face to face and their fingers entwined…to her, it spoke of a much deeper connection. But with him, it was so natural and comfortable (just like every other interaction she had with this strange man) that she had to wonder what it meant.
"There's the kitchen, dining room, living room, and the bedrooms and bathrooms are that way," he was saying. "But we're not staying here."
"We're not?"
"Nope." He picked up a gym bag that was lying on the floor and handed it to her. Crossing to the kitchen, he picked up two medium-sized coolers. "We go out this way, Yoruichi-san." They walked out the kitchen door to a wraparound porch and wooden stairs that led all the way down the hill to the beach. Yoruichi followed him, knowing better than to ask.
At the bottom of the stairs, nestled in a pool of sand between scrubby green grass and bush, was a giant stack of firewood surrounded by logs. "A bonfire?" she asked, surprised.
"But of course!" he said, digging a firestarter out of the pocket of the gym bag. After a few good minutes of stoking, the bonfire was roaring away.
"Now…" he opened one of the coolers. "Let's get to roasting."
She peered inside. "Hotdogs? We're roasting hotdogs?" she asked with delight.
"Have you not roasted hotdogs, Yoruichi-san?"
"Yoruichi," she corrected absent-mindedly. "And no, I haven't. I was a Girl Scout, but my family never let me go on the camping trips." She opened the cooler, missing his intent stare.
"Well that," he declared finally, "is something that must be remedied. Allow me to show you the fine art of charbroiling a hotdog…"
The next hour was spent roasting hotdogs in the fire, with Yoruichi overcooking then undercooking her food before she got it just right. The finished hotdogs were eaten plain, on white buns, accompanied by a bag of potato chips and washed down by cold beer.
It was the best meal of her life.
Afterwards they strolled along the beach, talking about everything and nothing. Words came easily to them as the topics shifted from politics to books to ballroom gossip. They bantered good-naturedly, like old friends.
But his feelings were far from friendly, Kisuke thought as he watched the way the waning light turned her hair into a riot of plums and mauves. He'd never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. Few women knew how to deal with him, but Shihouin Yoruichi did more than just deal with him – she challenged and provoked him. She stood with him as an equal.
Or stood slightly over him, since she was noble. Even though he was ridiculously attracted to her, he never forgot that she had obligations in Japan, to her family and studio. Just has he had his obligations here, to Second Life and Dancing With the Stars.
He shrugged inwardly. He'd never been a fatalist, or a drama queen (as fun as it was to pretend). If something happened, fine. If it didn't work out, that was fine, too. He resolved to simply enjoy her company as long as she was here.
"Kisuke?"
He smiled apologetically. "Gomen, Yoruichi. I was woolgathering."
She shot him a suspicious look, but didn't ask. "What else did you bring in the duffel bag? Surely there's more."
"Why, games of course. What's your pleasure? Frisbee? Volleyball? Football?"
"Football? I trust you mean American football."
"Of course."
She looked thoughtful. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand it."
Kisuke laughed, trotting over to the duffel bag to retrieve a football. "No explanations are needed here, really." He drew lines in the sand. "Basically, whoever has the ball needs to get over this line to score a point, and the other person has to try and tackle them down."
"Tackle?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"
"I can handle it if you can," was the teasing reply.
Yoruichi barely suppressed the thrill that danced down her spine. So he wanted to play, did he? she mused. She could handle that. She took the football from him, allowing her fingers to linger over his longer than necessary. "Oh, I do believe I can."
The game commenced. Yoruichi was fast, but she soon discovered that Kisuke had speed hidden in his large frame. She was tackled as often as he was, and they both enjoyed the contact – but it never went beyond an intense meeting of eyes before they were up and running once more. They enjoyed the game too much.
By the time they returned to the bonfire, they were both sandy, sweaty, and the air between them was positively humming with tension.
Kisuke busied himself with the contents of the second cooler. It was either that or tackle her to the ground for a different reason than getting a football. "S'more time!" he said cheerfully.
Golden eyes brightened as she took in the packages of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows. "Yum," she murmured, thinking that she'd much rather sink her teeth into him than the dessert, but she'd take what she could get.
Though who's to say I can't get him? she wondered. They were both mature adults and could do as they please. But she accepted the skewer and marshmallow anyway. They ate in silence, enjoying the traditional campfire treats.
Kisuke thought he was doing a good job ignoring the issue at hand – until he looked up to see Yoruichi casually licking chocolate and marshmallow goo from her fingers, a happy hum escaping her lips. In that moment, with the firelight flickering over her face, he thought he'd die if he didn't have her. Slowly, he put his skewer down, standing slowly and making his way over to her.
Yoruichi caught his gaze – one that seemed to say that he was moments away from sweeping her into his bedroom and locking the door for a week. She smiled slightly. She wasn't averse to that idea, not at all. So she simply tilted her head back as he approached, keeping her eyes locked on his. He didn't say anything, just grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
The kiss was heady, flavored with rich chocolate, sweet marshmallow, and spicy cinnamon. It was no wonder, Yoruichi thought distantly, that his kiss should feel just as familiar as the rest of him. She buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer and demanding more, his own hands making long, dizzying sweeps up and down her back. They might as well have been standing inside the bonfire, because she was going up in flames.
No one had ever, ever been able to excite this depth of emotion from her – not with a word, a kiss, or a dance. No one but him.
So when he mumbled against her lips, "Upstairs – put out fire first – " she shook her head.
"No," she said, refusing to let go. "Here. Now."
They sank to the sand.
She woke in his arms, sunlight streaming around them as they lay sprawled on his bed. She stretched, a satisfied grin making its way across her face. She had no idea how they managed to get back up to his house, for most of the night was a blur of hands and lips. She propped her chin on her hand, gazing at his face pensively.
"You would make a liar out of me, Urahara Kisuke," she said softly, taking in the way the early morning sunlight turned his hair to spun gold and deepened the planes and shadows of his face. She knew that she could wake up to this every morning for the rest of her life and not be tired of it. In that, she was a liar, when she'd said that there would be no ties.
Yes, she thought ruefully, she was an adult. She could handle casual relationships, but there was nothing casual about what was between the two of them. Even going to bed hadn't changed that – she should have realized from the moment that she looked into those smoky eyes that there would be no such thing as casual between them.
But what could she do about it? She wasn't going to be a petulant child and demand that he somehow come to Japan with her. Nor was she going to be a sacrificial maiden and give up everything for him.
"And so we meet at an impasse, Kisuke," she sighed, laying her head on his chest. "What do we do about it?"
A hand stroked through her hair. "We let things continue," he rumbled sleepily. "And we see what happens."
Yoruichi drummed her fingers on the counter in an uncharacteristic show of trepidation as Rukia sat nearby, doing her homework. Byakuya had called the night before, confirming what she'd suspected the moment she laid eyes on the girl. He was currently making his way to the States to meet her himself, and she couldn't just throw them together with no knowledge on Rukia's part. She finally shrugged. It was best to be direct.
"Rukia-chan, may I speak with you?"
Rukia glanced up from her notebook. "Of course, Yoruichi-san."
The older woman glanced over to where Ichigo and Kisuke were leading the children with warm-ups. "There is a park nearby. Let's go there." Rukia nodded, her brow crinkling in confusion.
Yoruichi didn't say anything on the short walk, waiting until they were well situated on a park bench. "I'm afraid I haven't been quite honest with you, Rukia-chan. I'm sure you noticed that I was quite disconcerted when I met you."
Rukia nodded. "I did."
"I told you that you remind me of a friend of mine, and while that's true, it's not the whole truth. You could be Hisana's twin. When you said you were adopted…well, a lot of things fell into place."
"I'm sorry?"
She sighed and pulled a photograph out of her pocket, handing it to the younger woman. "Kuchiki Hisana – née Nagayama, was orphaned at a young age with her younger sister. They were sent to separate orphanages despite Hisana's efforts to keep them together. By the time she was able to get out of the orphanage to look for her sister, she found out that she was long gone, adopted. She never forgave herself for losing the only family she had left."
Rukia had gone ashen, her fingers trailing over Hisana's face. "I look exactly like her," she murmured, shocked. It was like looking in a mirror.
"The resemblance was too much for me to ignore," she continued. "This is where you must forgive me, Rukia-chan, for I overstepped my boundaries. I contacted several people in Japan, and through your name, it was confirmed that you are in fact, Hisana's sister. Nagayama Rukia."
Rukia was silent for a long time. Finally, she shook her head. "No, it's all right," she whispered. She looked up, and her eyes were full of hope. "I have family. I had always wondered. The people you contacted – Hisana was one of them, wasn't she? I'll get to meet my sister."
She had been dreading this part. "I'm sorry, Rukia-chan." How could she tell her that she was getting her hopes up? She took a deep breath, pushing down her own pain. "Hisana died six years ago of cancer."
Rukia looked like she'd been punched in the gut, and Yoruichi couldn't blame her. To find out that she did indeed have family back in Japan, only to have it taken away…she couldn't imagine the sorrow and grief. "Oh," she whispered, looking away to disguise the fact that her eyes had gone red. "It's not fair." Her voice wobbled.
"No, it's not. But you should know, Rukia-chan, that Hisana never stopped looking for you. It was her greatest shame that she couldn't stay with you. When she died…her last wish was that you be found."
"By who? By you?"
"No. By him." She pointed at the photo. It was one from happier times – Byakuya and Hisana's first competition, where they took second place. "That's your brother-in-law, Kuchiki Byakuya. He's been looking for you all of these years, Rukia-chan."
"He must have loved her very much."
"He did and still does. Don't let the picture fool you." Yoruichi laughed softly. In the photo, Hisana's smile was dazzling, while her husband simply stared straight at the camera. "He may seem cold, but with Hisana…"
"No, there's kindness in his eyes," Rukia said confidently. "You told him that you found me?"
"Byakuya was the first person I called the day I met you. He told his private investigator, and it went on from there." A pause. "He would like to meet you. I think…you're the only family he really cares about anymore."
Rukia was silent once more. Ichigo, in an attempt to familiarize her with her home country, often told her random tidbits and factoids. The social system and the noble families had been a part of it. From the little he'd told her, the Kuchiki family was a formidable one indeed. "I would like to meet him," she said eventually.
"I'll tell him." Yoruichi put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry I had to put all of this upon you, Rukia-chan."
She shook her head. "No. I'm grateful, Yoruichi-san. I wanted to find my real family, but I didn't know where to start. Thank you." She stared down at the picture, absorbing her sister's features. "Hisana…was she your friend?"
"She was one of my best friends."
"Could you please tell me about her?"
Yoruichi smiled. "Of course. Hisana was one of the kindest and most gentle souls I'd ever met. She was graceful and elegant, a princess in spirit if not blood…"
By the time the women returned to the studio, the children were gone and Ichigo and Kisuke were waiting for them. Ichigo took in Rukia's red-rimmed eyes and turned an accusing stare at Yoruichi. "Na, Yoruichi-san," he began.
Rukia touched his hand. "No, it's all right, Ichigo. Let's go." She picked up her bag and smiled at Yoruichi. "Thank you, Yoruichi-san. This means a lot to me."
"It means a lot to me too, Rukia-chan." She watched as the two left.
Kisuke came to stand beside her. "So, I gather it went well."
"It did. She took everything in stride." She exhaled slowly. "And she wants to meet Byakuya, too."
"That's good." He glanced at her. "You're leaving soon."
She nodded. "I am." She didn't like the thought of leaving, but she had to nonetheless.
"I'll miss you on the show."
She suppressed a laugh. She'd had to stay on another week because of Carrie Ann's illness, but she couldn't complain because it gave her more time with Kisuke, Rukia, and Ichigo. "I'll miss being on the show. Margaret's improving; you must be proud of her."
"Of course I am. I really think she has a chance. She reminds me of your first winner – Shiba Kuukaku."
This time, she laughed outright, remembering that first crazy season and the improbable winner, her equally improbably partner, and their crazy fireworks. "In that they're both underdogs with impossible personalities, yes."
"That they are." He was silent for a second. There were so many issues left unsaid, but neither of them was willing to address them. He just had to keep the faith that they could work something out.
"So-" Yoruichi began.
"I've had an offer from one of my old friends, Tsukabishi Tessai," he said hurriedly. "He would like to come work with me here at Second Life. He has a teenage couple that shows great promise and wants me to train them, and thinks they can help me here at the studio. I was wondering what your opinion is, since 8/13 tends to do the same thing with young dancers…"
Yoruichi sat with Byakuya in her suite – it provided a bit of neutral ground for this first meeting. "Are you nervous?" she queried.
He shot her an impassive look. "No."
"Liar," she teased softly, resisting the urge to poke his cheek as she had when they were children. "Your hands are shaking."
Byakuya looked at his hands, and indeed they were. He shot her a glare, his fingers twitching slightly before they went still. His self-control was excellent as usual, she thought wryly.
"It's all right, you know. Rukia-chan is excited to meet you. She told me that she's always wanted a big brother."
"And I…" He hesitated. "I look forward to having a younger sister. But…"
"You're afraid meeting her means letting go of Hisana," Yoruichi guessed. "Don't be an idiot, Byakuya-bo. By meeting Rukia-chan, you're keeping Hisana's memory alive, do you understand? You're giving her a little bit of the sister she lost, and she in turn is giving you a little bit of the wife you lost." She grinned. "Though I warn you, she's nothing like her."
Byakuya looked at the floor for a good long time. "Thank you, Yoruichi-san," he said finally.
A knock sounded on the door. "Ah, perfect timing. Come in!" she called.
The door swung open to reveal Rukia, Ichigo, and Kisuke. Byakuya's eyes widened. She was the mirror image of his wife, just as Yoruichi said.
"Come in, come in," Yoruichi was saying. She darted a glance at her longtime friend, who was still frozen to the spot. She squeezed his hand briefly, which seemed to help him regain his senses.
Rukia smiled hesitantly as she stopped in front of the nobleman. She executed a neat little bow befitting his station – Ichigo must have taught her. "Hello…Byakuya-nii-san." She stepped forward then, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. "It's nice to meet you."
Yoruichi wished she had a camera – Byakuya's shocked look was priceless. But inch by inch, he relaxed, a corner of his mouth going up slightly as he returned the gesture. "It is nice to meet you too, Rukia."
"Isn't that a lovely scene?" Urahara asked, taking Yoruichi's arm and steering her out towards the balcony.
"It is. Hisana would be very happy." She watched over her shoulder as Rukia introduced Ichigo to Byakuya. "Things are going to be very interesting from here on out."
"Indeed." He sent her an opaque look. "I hear Japan's nice in the winter. I've never been there before…I'm thinking of taking a vacation – just a short one, though. Second Life needs me." He scratched his head. "Who knows…it may become a yearly thing." The implication was left hanging in the air.
She grinned mischievously. "Really? Because I've discovered that the weather here is pretty nice all year 'round. I'm thinking of spending my summers here after we're done filming."
An answering grin spread across his face. "Well, that's a very nice prospect indeed." His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her against him. "Yoruichi-san, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
She rolled her eyes and planted a swift kiss on his lips.
A/N: All right, so I know I said the OC/OC installment was up next in the series, but I've had so many requests for UraYoru and IchiRuki, so I decided to go this way first. It helped that I actually had some confidence that I could write those two pairings, because before I didn't. This story transitions nicely into IchiRuki, as well as bringing the storyline over to America. Who knows, an IshiHime might be in the works as well before I get to the OC/OC installment! Also, I didn't want to have to leapfrog all over my series timeline and confuse people. This way, it's somewhat chronological.
Major hugs and big cookies go out to poptate and MatsuMama - especially MatsuMama for being my second beta! I definitely wouldn't have had the confidence to finish this story if it wasn't for your enthusiasm and encouragement!