Chapter: The Best is Yet to Come

Author's Note: HA! It only took me two days to finish this chapter… maybe I'll finish a few more tomorrow! The glossary is just for those of you who don't do ballet.

Glossary:

Fouetté en tournant: a move where it is the working leg, not the torso, that does the whipping movement. Each fouetté involves the dancer standing momentarily on flat foot with the supporting knee bent as the other ('working') leg is extended in front then whipped round to the side, creating the impetus to spin one turn as the working foot is then pulled in to touch the supporting knee and the dancer executes a relevé, jumping onto pointe. Done 32 times in sequence without touching the working leg to the ground (or falling over, 'travelling' off the stage, etc.) is a bravura performance designed to express the strength, triumph and indomitability of the character.

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"So you've got a new housemate?" The busty blonde leaned forward and Rukia frowned at her. They sat in a busy and bustling Starbuck's Café, Rukia drinking a Dolce Latte and the blonde sipping on an espresso

"Yeah I heard about it from Renji," the lavender haired woman next to her leaned forward with interest. The petite artist averted her eyes from the other two.

"He's a pain in the ass," she hissed from behind her coffee cup. Isane Kotetsu and Rangiku Matsumoto exchanged looks. Isane leaned on her elbow, her fashionable tan corduroy jacket was unbuttoned, exposing her lavender halter top as she leaned forward. Rangiku wore a baby blue long sleeved cowl neck sweater with a black pea coat, the coat however was hanging on the chair behind him.

"What do you mean? He's the star forward for Oxford University," Isane nearly knocked over her cup. "You should be wetting your pants with excitement," the purple haired girl seemed to be rather informed on the carrot-top.

"I'm not going to go pessy legs for that jerk. He's a self righteous fool… and he thinks he's all that," the artist took another drink from her cup.

"You've been like this ever since you came back from America," Rangiku folded her arms around her bust. "What happened to you over there?" Rukia looked down as the other two scrutinized her.

"Nothing!" Rukia nearly threw her cup at the two. She frowned again, this guy was going to cause her more trouble than he was worth… and she knew it all to well.

"Are you sure she's alright?" Isane looked at Rangiku. The blonde scoffed and took another sip of her espresso. Isane leaned forward a little more. "C'mon daaaahling," she drawled and Rukia picked up her Louis Vuitton backpack, shoving her sketchbook into the bag and she stormed out, taking her latte with her.

"I think we pushed her a little far." Rangiku smiled. Isane looked over at her.

"I think we shouldn't have pushed so hard." Isane told her solemnly. The blonde nodded. "She'll tell us in time all about him… and besides… we have to remember that she isn't all that into sports." Isane leaned back slightly, drinking her coffee slowly. "She'll come around." Rangiku nodded.

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"So you're saying you've got a babe living next door to you?" Toshiro questioned as he walked next to his orange haired friend.

"Yeah…if you like grumpy old women," Ichigo grinned. Toshiro rolled his eyes. "She's hot stuff I'm not kidding. She's got an attitude problem though. I've been living next door to her for two months now and she's not spoken to me but three times. Once was the first time we met. The second to tell me to shut up my friends during the Manchester vs. Arsenal game and the third to tell me to shut my music off," the taller man rolled his eyes and his white haired friend chuckled.

As he spoke a girl passed them and he smelt her familiar perfume, that Calvin Klein IN2U. The smell of sweet vanilla, ginger and citrus tingled in his senses. "That was her," he frowned again. Toshiro turned his head and looked at the retreating behind. She was walking beside another girl, her head turned to the side.

"She's cute." Toshiro nodded and Ichigo looked over at him.

"Glad you think so." The orange-head frowned and stepped out of line with his teammate. Toshiro coughed uncomfortably.

"So how's Uryu?" Hitsugaya changed the subject. The footballer stood slightly shorter than Ichigo but just as muscular if not more, his tanned skin was pulled tightly across strong arm muscles. His white hair stood on end as usual but his eyes had perhaps gotten more iridescent.

"Uryu? Oh… he's the same old Ishida, as grumpy as ever," he replied as they walked into the Anatomy room. They had to finish up a lab there. "Let's get at this sucker!" Ichigo nearly cheered, feeling that the cold dead corpse was going to be more friendly than his housemate.

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Ichigo and Toshiro were surprised as halfway through the "autopsy" they were doing Ichigo's cell phone rang making them both scowl. Ichigo picked it up, careful not to get any of what was left of the man's bodily fluids ont hecell phone. "Hello?"

"I've got something for you," Izuru spoke over the line from his "office".

"What is it?"

"Where are you and I'll come bring it to you," Izuru grinned and Ichigo scoffed.

"I'm in hell... where do you think I am during Anatomy class Kira?"

"Sorry... I didn't know where you were..." The ever sly journalist commented.

"That's a load of bull," Ichigo was getting impatient.

"I'll be there in five seconds..." The door to the Anatomy lab swung open and Izuru stepped through the door, mesenger bag and all. Ichigo and Toshiro eyed him. The journalist was usually screwing around... and he was never found where there were dead bodies lying around.

"So?" Ichigo raised an eyebrow as the blonde pulled a folder out of his messenger bag.

"Well… I got some information on your midget housemate," the ever prompt Izuru handed Ichigo a manila folder. "That's all there is but there's plenty of stuff in there," he spoke as Ichigo examined the thick portfolio. "I even got most of her personal records… medical and things like that, thought you might be interested," the blonde grinned, his messenger bag was shifted as he moved away. "Text me if you need anything else," the future journalist disappeared out the door.

"This should suffice," Ichigo grinned as he flipped through the folder.

"What the hell are you planning Kurosaki?" The white haired man blinked over at him. When the carrot-top didn't reply he frowned. There was something going on here. "Ichigo!" The orange-head simply tucked the folder into his messenger bag and looked over at the other med student.

"I'm just doing some research."

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Rukia took in a deep breath as she handed her portfolio over to her teacher. She held her breath as she waited for the teacher to slip the piece that she had worked so hard on out. Then she heard something that made her heart stop. The teacher let out a small gasp. She opened her eyes as her teacher slipped the picture all the way out of the leather portfolio.

"Miss Kuchiki. This is…" The teacher seemed lost for words as she stared at the brilliant amber eye. The iris of the pastel drawing was a flame with reds and oranges, yellow brimming around the pupil. "This is your best work yet." She looked over at the raven-haired girl. "How long did you work on it?"

"Two days," she looked down. The teacher put a hand to her heart.

"It makes me feel like I just stepped into temptation. Is that what you were thinking about when you drew this?" Her teacher seemed more enthusiastic about this particular painting. She frowned, she had thought it was rather horrible.

"I was actually thinking about someone that I really hate while I was drawing it," she said truthfully. The teacher blinked at her.

"Were you really? Then perhaps the passion of hate that you felt about him or her translated itself to sexual passion in this work," the teacher looked up again and Rukia was gone. "Well I never…"

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Ichigo sat back on his bed, drinking the beer in his hand. He sighed a little, flipping through the channels. His eyes would flit from time to time to the manila folder on his desk. He was tempted to go over and read it but he kept himself from it. He had been putting it off for a few days now. But it was starting to get to him. The carrot-top needed to look at the folder. He stood up, turning off the television and walked over to the folder. He flipped it open along his forearm as he walked into the kitchen, crumpling the beer can as he went. His eyes scanned the papers quickly as he opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water. As he took a drink from the bottle something caught his eye. "Julliard?"

She stretched, touching her palms to the ground completely. Her black long sleeved shrug sweater covered the top of her basic baby blue tank leotard, her black thigh high leg warmers were pulled down over her pink pointe shoes. She lifted back up, rising up into an eleve. Her long muscular legs held her there for a second before she lifted one of her feet into an arabesque. Her body stayed straight as she balanced, her leg coming up to almost 120 degrees, her body aligning to support the elevated angle. She swung her leg back down and immediately swung the other up and allowed herself to followed through with the force of the kick, spinning on her toe as she kept herself moving.

"Wait… what did it say about Julliard?" He nearly dropped the folio as he searched the page. "Transferred from Julliard this year? Why would she transfer from a school like that to here?" He furrowed his brow.

She spun, easily gliding into fifth position, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. "A series of 32 fouetté en tournant… if you can do that then you will be good enough." She heard the voice again. She lifted up on her toe. 'I will do this… I am determined… I will show them.'

Ichigo walked over to her front door and reached up his hand to knock on it, as he did he noticed the crack in the door. He pushed it open with his finger tips and looked around. The house was modestly furnished with a worn chocolate brown couch and matching loveseat. The rest of the house was done in rich golds and browns, the walls were left to their original wood and pictures were hung in artful places. A fresh bouquet of marigolds were sitting in a vase on the square dining table. The antique chest of drawers that held her book bag was what caught his attention however for beside it was a set of wooden doors. He silently padded towards the door, caught somewhere between curiosity and fear. He pushed one of the doors open a few inches and snuck into the room. He looked around in awe as he did. Photographs were everywhere of beautiful dancers and cityscapes. He walked over to a drawing table and ran his hand across one of the charcoal drawings that were in the sketchbook.

'Fifteen.' She panted for breath as she spun, never getting dizzy she continued on. 'Seventeen.'

One of them, near the right hand corner was one that looked a little like himself, it must have been from a while ago for the charcoal had not budged when he touched it. She was an amazing artist. He then turned to where he heard a soft thunk every once in a while. He stepped slowly towards a back door which was slightly ajar and thought about how apparently lazy she was for never shutting any of her doors.

'Twenty.' She whispered mentally. 'Twenty-two.' "A series of 32…" She set her thoughts again.

Ichigo crawled on all hands and knees, peering in through the crack in the door and what he saw before him was amazing. It looked like a dance studio that he had seen in a movie once, however, the woman in the middle of the floor was nothing like the actress he had seen, she was much more focused and serious looking as she concentrated on spinning. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a few tendrils stuck to her sweat stained face. He could almost see her crying, and for some reason her determination made him want to cheer.

'Twenty-eight.' Then suddenly her stomach sunk as she felt the familiar pain of a sprained ankle. Her ankle gave out and she crumpled to the floor in a heap of flesh and woven fabric. "Twenty-eight…" She pressed her face into her hands as sobs of pain over took her and Ichigo backed up so that she wouldn't see him, only to back up into a table which gave off a loud thunk as it hit the wall. He flinched. There was only one thing to do. He stood and sprinted as fast as he could out of her house and into his own.

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"Damn it." She buried her face into her hands as the doctor wrapped up her ankle.

"You'll need to stay off this ankle for a while. I have a prescription for her," the doctor spoke directly to Renji who nodded. When his best friend had called him in tears he had rushed immediately to her side. "Stay off it do you hear? Take these once every four hours and use the crutches where ever you go Rukia." The doctor had dealt with injuries like this from the petite dancer before. He knew she pushed herself too hard sometimes.

"Yeah… I know the drill." She stood up on her good foot and pulled the crutches under her arms. "This is going to be the end of me Renji." She crutched out the door.

"You're just overreacting again." The redhead followed her out.