Despite my best efforts, my muse has decided to go haring off after shinys.
This fic is set in an alternate universe. It's my take on what might happen near the end of the Winter War. This fic assumes that Ichigo and co managed to GTFO of Hueco Mundo after the events of episode 167 it also assumes a certain scene in episode 204 does, in fact, imply what it appears to imply.
As usual, if it's recognizable, I don't own it. I own only my fickle, semi-psychotic muse, and I'm not entirely sure I want to claim her.
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The faith in which we stand,
The laws we made and guard,
Our honour, lives, and land
Are given for reward
To murder done by night
To treason taught by day,
To folly, sloth, and spite,
And we are thrust away.
Rudyard Kipling
Ulster
Betrayal
Chapter 1
It'd been three months since our wholly unauthorized trip to Hueco Mundo, and I still wasn't sure how we'd managed to survive, much less kill off three of Aizen(hereafter referred to as 'That Rat-Bastard,' 'The Asshat,' or 'That Kami-Damned Sonuvabitch' depending on how pissed off I am at the moment)'s Espada.
Three months in which Chad and Rukia had recovered from their wounds and gone right back to training, Chad working on learning how to fully control the destructive power of his left arm, Rukia starting out on the long and frustrating road to learning Bankai and trying to learn how to wield Kaien Shiba's Nejibana. Three months in which Ishida sparred with Renji for hours each day, with amazed sixth and seventh seat Shinigami looking on, an unlikely friendship growing out of their team effort to kill the freakazoid eighth Espada.
Three months. Not a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but it was the largest chunk of mostly uninterrupted training time we'd had since the whole mess with the Asshat started. Even Hitsugaya and Matsumoto seemed to have been 'corrupted' by our 'infernal human hastiness,' the Captain of the Tenth Squad training his Lieutenant (though most of us thought he was actually working out some of his anger issues: something about sake and charred paperwork) as well as helping Yoruichi, Urahara, and Tessai with the new arrivals.
On the other hand, all of us knew that Aizen would be using the three months Soul Society's inaction had granted him to similar effect. So wasting time? Not something any of us were willing to do.
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"No, no, no! For the last time, the medical supplies go to the Kurosaki Clinic, not the Urahara Shoten!" Ichigo yelled into the interdimensional cell phone, apparently hoping decibels would succeed where logic, asking nicely, and speaking to the original dolt's superior had failed. It wasn't a bad idea, but even Ichigo's generally effective temper didn't seem to be influencing the Soul Society bureaucrats that had absolutely insisted on screwing up a perfectly understandable delivery order. Said bureaucrat's defense only seemed to make him yell louder. "No, I don't particularly care that the clinic isn't an authorized arrival point! You're making a hash of our training patterns dumping this shit here!" Ichigo, seemingly listening to the pencil pusher on the other end of the line began turning an alarming shade of purple-red, and Yoruichi felt her lips trying to turn up into a grin. It wasn't really funny; no one considered anything that ate up valuable training time humorous. On the other hand . . .
I can just picture Ichigo charging through Soul Society strangling supply clerks one after another with both hands. The purple-haired former Captain permitted herself to enjoy that thought for a moment before clamping down on any visible signs of humor as Ichigo stopped ranting. She wondered how the clerk on the other end of the line would look if she could see the smile on Ichigo's face as he spoke calmly and deliberately.
"Fine. I have some excellent people here, and we will make the time to transport the materials to the clinic. This time." He spoke calmly and deliberately, absolutely no bite to his tone, though he seemed to be developing a twitch from restraining his temper. "However," he continued tone as mild as milk, "you will secure permission to transfer medical supplies directly to the Clinic without using Urahara's shop as a go-between, and you will do it before we need the next shipment." Listening carefully, Yoruichi could faintly hear the person on the other end of the line try to interject, but Ichigo rolled right over whatever the supervisor tried to say. "If I am forced to take any more time away from training in order to inquire as to why my laboriously scheduled execises have been interrupted by Senkai Mon spewing cargo all over the place in person, you will not enjoy the experience. Assuming you survive it!" He yelled the last bit as he slammed the phone closed. For a moment, she couldn't help but wonder if he was going to crush, stomp on, or otherwise obliterate the spirit phone he was clutching. Instead of any further dramatics, however, he simply slipped the phone into the inside of his Shihakusho and stalked toward her an even deeper scowl than usual firmly in place.
"You heard that, I presume?" he asked as he leaned up against the wall beside her.
"There might be a deaf man in Tokyo that didn't overhear, but I doubt it. So, oh fearless leader, what are we going to do about this particularly spectacular fuck-up?" Ichigo turned his scowl on her, but she just grinned unrepentantly up at him, arms crossed over her chest, and his expression remained almost as severe as before. Yoruichi, however, was well versed at reading Ichigo's expressions and body language by this point, so the slight lightening of his expression and equally subtle relaxation of his tense shoulder muscles told her she'd accomplished her objective. Explosion averted, lets get back to work.
"We un-fuck it, of course. Don't you have a group of the Advance Force running through Shun Po drills in twenty minutes or so?" he asked and she took a moment to consult her internal clock before nodding. Ichigo nodded back before tilting his head to the side, obviously considering something and it was all Yoruichi could do not to marvel at him. A year ago he had no idea that Shinigami or Hollows existed, and now here he is. He'd changed so much from the childish boy she'd occasionally looked in on since before he'd been able to walk. The last three months most of all.
Training to invade Soul Society had started the process, and working with Shinji and the other Visored had helped it along considerably. But being one of only a dozen Shinigami ever to invade Hueco Mundo and survive had begun to put a true polish on him. He knew that he'd gone off half-cocked and almost gotten two of his comrades killed. He was determined not to make that particular mistake again.
So now he not only knows his own schedule, but mine and Urahara's and Toshiro's and Rangiku's and, and, and. Half the time I can barely keep Urahara's and my own straight. He wasn't just training as a Shinigami.
He was forcing himself to become a commander of Shinigami, which was at least as hard as commanding a similar number of humans, and arguably worse given some Soul Reaper's . . . interesting personalities. Someone had made a certain uncharitable statement about herding cats before he tripped over his own feet and fell down a flight of stairs. She was pretty sure that particular incident had thus far escaped notice, but . . .
Yoruichi forced her mind back on task when she saw Ichigo nod to himself, apparently having reached a decision. "How solid is this particular group on technique?"
Yoruichi found her own head tilting to the right as she dredged up the faces of the group in question before matching each face to a squad ranking and then assigning each a level of competence. A frown marred her features for a moment before she shrugged, "Generally satisfactory. They aren't going to be winning any games of chase-the-devil against even Matsumoto anytime in the near future, but they've all got the basics down. Some better than others, of course, but they've all got a good start."
Ichigo nodded in acknowledgement of her assessment, "Alright then," he said with a grin forming on his lips. "I think we've been remiss in our training, Yoruichi."
Oh, this is gonna be good. "How so, Ichigo?" she asked, eyebrows raised in her patented Look of Absolute Innocence. "Please tell me in what way we've failed our oh-so-dutiful students."
Ichigo tossed her a quelling look that just yelled, 'Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?' before he continued laying out the changes to the day's training schedule. "Well, it occurs to me that we haven't run any Medivac drills with any of the new arrivals. A horrible oversight, don't you think?"
"Oh, undoubtedly," Yoruichi agreed airily, though at the heart of the matter . . . We really should have been doing something before this. Granted, Hanataro can take care of just about any single injury we're likely to have to deal with, but what if a half-dozen Arrancar got loose when there wasn't anyone around with the power level to deal with them? And wasn't that a pleasant thought. Forcibly shifting her mental focus, Yoruichi shot a look around the packed courtyard of Urahara's shop taking in general shape of crates and boxes, a half-formed idea starting to fit together for how to set the drills up. It'd take some doing, but . . . "Mind helping me set this up, Ichigo?" Yoruichi asked as she started sorting the packages by weight and awkwardness.
"Yeah, well, mountain high, valley low," Ichigo said as he watched her get started.
Yoruichi got most of his popular culture references, but this one was obscure enough to puzzle even her. "And that means?"
Ichigo grinned at her, "Your idea, you lead."
Somehow, that didn't seem quite fair to the former captain of the second squad since the overall plan was his, but . . . a smile tried to slip over her features as she remembered what day it was, what time it was, and arrived at a conclusion. "No problem, Ichigo."
In the end, it took the better part of fifteen minutes to get everything moved into clearly marked out areas, starting with roughly torso-sized parcels for those with the least ability, and continuing all the way up to oddly shaped pallets that, in a couple of cases, were nearly the size of a small car. As Shinigami started to filter into the Shoten's courtyard, Yoruichi shot a pretend-casual glance at her watch and let an equally pretend frown slide over her features. "Hey, Ichigo, don't you have an orientation session with Nel today?"
Ah, she thought as the blond's eyes shot open and he cursed, sweet, sweet revenge.
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Well, that's chapter one of my newest fic. Hopefully my muse won't be quite so distracted as she has been.
I've actually taken the time to get several chapters (and bits of others) written before posting the first chapter this time. I'm hoping to get a chapter up twice a month on this fic, maybe a little quicker depending on how my inspiration holds up and how soon I can finish the last few chapters.
And that's it; I'm going back to bed.