A/N: Hey guys. So I'm back with a new chapter way sooner than I thought I'd be. I'm just so hyped for this story, and your feedback and eagerness has only made me more hyped. Though, honestly, I have been writing this story much longer than I have been posting it, so this chapter actually has been mostly done for a while now. For people reading my other A.U, never fear, I'm almost done with that chapter also, I just have to edit it.

Anyway, after talking to my beta, I feel as if I should preface this with a sort of explanation, because I know some people are going to take issue with the way I characterize. So let me start by saying, Ichigo is not going to be all to much like his cannon self. I'm sure this isn't much of a surprise, considering the primes of this story. In some ways he will be and in some ways he will not. This will make more sense as you read. However, every personality change he has is do to a trauma induced mental issue that becomes a corner stone in this story. There are things he'll do in this story that you may not like, but as a writer, I firmly believe that morals make for bad art. What I mean by this is, characters don't exist to fit our personal moral standings, and if we try to make them such, it can make for really boring characters and a really boring story. I think people are scared to explore the darker parts of the human psyche or negative character development, but it's probably my favorite thing to write about. This world is beautiful, but alas, it's also a very dreary and savage place. I like writing stories where people grow from these dark places. I think it's much more interesting to see him start off in this adversity and for him to grow and develop into a more cannon version of himself as the story goes. I hope my readers feel the same as well.

Also, if you've read this far and you're honestly expecting Ichigo to be his "normal" cannon self, then I must I have failed as a writer. lol

If you're wondering about the title's name, heres a little bit about it: Wounded healer is a psychological termed coined by Carl Jung that refers to a person who is not born nor created, but through conquering adversity and extreme pain, they create themselves. Despite their wounds, they shine a light for others, protecting people ("Healing") becoming their new sense of purpose. Technically, to be considered a wounded healer, one must tend to their own wounds and cope with them. Ichigo has not, but I still consider his character on the path to being one, albeit a really long path full of tons of crazy shit.

Disclaimer: Okay, so I don't really know how to explain this without ruining something or making it sound weird, so bare with me. The last scene in this chapter mentions sexual assault in it, but even the assault in question isn't techinuqly assault. (I know, sounds weird, right? It'll make sense when you read) I feel obligated to put up disclaimers about anything trigger worthy even if it's mild, which I believe for this to be. However, I grew up in a crazy liberal family where little was off limits, so very few things really get to me. I'm mega desensitize. lol. Basically, just read at your own risk.

Tears to know(This is the order they show up in the chapter)

Fuzoku: someone who works in the sex industry, i.e. adult films, brothel

Gaki: A young punk

Tachi/Neko: Top/bottom

Shatei: What the Yakuza call little brothers. Basically the individual members of a gang.

Oyabun: What the Yakuza call their family head

Shateiagashira: regional bosses

Kustotiare: Literately means shit drip. This is an insult in Japan.

Shaba: Slang for the drugs the Yakuza sell.

Kyodai: What the Yakuza call big brothers. Basically the bosses of individual gangs.

Good Vibes ~ Ashes.

This ain't no place for no hero.

This ain't no place for no better man.

This ain't no place for no hero

to call home.

-The Heavy

xXx

The Wounded Healer

Nothing.

While looking into the glazed over eyes of a neatly disposed of mobster, his enlarged pupils staring off aimlessly, peacefully, Ichigo felt nothing. There was no sorrow or guilt, no joy or even accomplishment. It was only his self indoctrinated moral code that allowed him the knowledge that this was a life worth taking, that in some infinitesimal manner, Ichigo succeeded in saving someone.

This wasn't for the vengeance of all the lives these men had accumulatively stolen in their paths of depravity, but for all of the faceless victims that would have been. By taking these four lives, these could have been victims would remain hypothetical. Those faces that would remain unknown until they were canvassing missing person flyers or the local news would never have the chance to be recognized, lamented, to be another body in the syndicate's carnival corps, to haunt the streets of Tokyo with their last captured smiles hanging from a lamp post.

Ichigo had stopped these possible victims from being reduced to a mere memory, a blown up arrangement of pixels on a piece of printer paper as the proof of their existence. He didn't need the feeling of achievement when his own self awareness understood exactly what was at stake.

He needed no validation, not even from himself.

Even with the last bit of light and human emotion poached from the man's eyes, they were animated when compared to the barren eye's that met his. For only a completely extinct wasteland lied within those glossy mirrors. Galaxies grew within Ichigo, but not a single one habitable.

The only thing he felt were blisters on his feet from the tight squeeze of heels cutting off his circulation, sweat beads cascading down his brow from mounds of makeup, and a new reverence for the brave women who dressed as such. All he felt was a need to remove the insufferable torture device that women referred to as panty hose chafing at his skin and contorting his junk in unnatural ways.

Sudden heaving and gargling made Ichigo turn swiftly, his hand ghosting over one of the three perfectly concealed weapons he had on his person. That defensive stature mellowed at the sight of Fujimoto looking like a squeezed lemon in his chi chi yellow suit, his fatty bulges oozing from the disheveled fabric and two chins dripping with saliva.

Standing in front of the man while puffing on a filterless cigarette, Ichigo said, "I guess I should have used a little more, I didn't account for your weight." With no genuine sympathy, Ichigo gave a flippant apology before he said, "Time's are tough and poison isn't cheap." Inhaling and exhaling a mound of bitter smoke, Ichigo finished, "I gotta be economical."

In the midst of death, Fujimoto grunted humorously and gave an aslant glare across the room. "There's enough money to poison every member of the Inagawa-kai in that bag. Aren't you going to take it?"

"I don't want your blood money," Ichigo asserted flatly before perching his cigarette between his lips and throwing his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. The smoke rolled over his eyes as he inhaled, burning slightly.

Eyeing the sprawled out man dubiously, Ichigo inquired, "Should I worry about you trying to pull a weapon on me or something?" Though his tone was more than mocking, seeing that Fuji could barely keep his balance while sitting.

Fujimoto heaved gruffly once more, this time louder and much more death like. "Even bad men are men," he smirked, drool sliding from his curved lips. Ichigo cocked an eyebrow at the man as he continued to clarify with all of the strength he had left.

A time ago, Ichigo found it curious to know the words people would say when they knew they'd be their last. For most, a conversation that seemed to be the summation of their lives, a moment of complete honesty that could assess a person's true character in those final moments, was unattainable.

Now such rarely spoken lexeme didn't pique his interest one way or another. His apathy encompassed him like a sensory deprivation tank. All he could do was float in the lull of nothingness, taking in oblivion and feeling nothing other than the warm and comforting immersement of his ineludible alienation from the world around him.

He felt complacent within his dome of nihility. In what he lacked, he strived.

Still, he hadn't timed this as thoroughly as he had intended. Yet he doubted he had to worry about anyone coming down stairs, for he heard a lot of panicked movements through the ceiling. Footsteps scurrying around like cockroaches in the light was a sign that the owners knew of the deaths and we're readying their escape, just as Ichigo assumed they'd do. With approximately two minutes and forty five seconds before the power was cut, he indulged the man's last words.

"At the end of our lives, like any other man, we think of the mistakes we've made. We too have families, loved one, a lifetime of regrets. When our time comes and we're considering what we would have changed, what we would do differently, killing one last man seems silly in hindsight." Between heaves the man grinned, as if life was the tragedy and death was the comedic relief. "A man such as myself, what i'd like in these last moments is nothing more than this. You're this Ghost character that has the yakuza in shambles, correct?"

Putting the ember of his cigarette out within his pack, Ichigo dropped the butt in the cardboard box. "That's what people keep calling me these days, but If I had to pick a name, it wouldn't be so superstitious soundin'. I don't believe in ghost, but I guess i'm as close as they come."

"I hoped I'd get to talk to you once before the family head finally caught and disemboweled you, but I never thought it be a meeting such as this. Tell me, Ghost, is this suppose to be your divine wrath? Would you have me believe you're doing god's work?"

Ichigo smirked wryly at that notion before his features settled back into their chronic aloofness. "There's no god, and if there is, he doesn't give a shit about any of us. You and these men, you're murderers, kidnappers, you even have enslaved children making your drugs while manipulating homeless teens to work for you. Every breath you've taken has been at the expense of someone else. I'm not here to judge you or punish you to some make believe hell. No. I'm here to end you so your breaths can stop stifling others."

There was one minute left, for Ichigo had been counting the seconds in his head.

Fujimoto snorted at that. "What really makes you that different, what makes you so much better? In the end, you're just a murderer like the rest of us, boy."

Cool headedly, Ichigo walked closer to the man, squatting down to the his eye level. "I never claimed to be a good man and I didn't say that was my purpose. I do very bad things for justifiable reasons, whatever kind of man that makes me really doesn't matter. I've felt the pain of watching people I know die at the hands of the Yakuza and the hopelessness that comes when you realize you're own government, the one that's suppose to help you, is behind it. I can't stop everyone from experiencing that, but I'll do what I can."

Wheezing and huffing, Fujimoto knew death had arrived and it was grasping him by the throat. "Indulge a dying man, Ghost. Tell me, what death caused you to become such the martyr? Who did we kill this time?"

Leaning in, Ichigo cupped his hands around his mouth to hide the movements of his lips before whispering just one name in the man's ear.

With the last bit of light and vigor this man had, in-between desperate dry retches and his heart close to palpitating out of his chest, his eyes widened with the look of recognition followed by an almost hysterical amusement. Laughing, he urged, "You're him! If anyone is justified in his sins, it is you." Grasping at his chest, he concluded, "Maybe it's about time someone gave us bad guys a run for our money, so keep giving them hell, kid. Fuck, maybe if you're wrong about hell, I'll see you there." Groaning one last time, his muscles began to go limp as he muttered, "Or maybe not..."

Passively watching the man's inert arms loosen and fall to his side, Ichigo reiterated, "Maybe."

After giving a mocking gesture to the camera, the power cut. Stepping out of the heels, Ichigo picked them up by the straps and began to walk up the stairs. He swaggered at a normal rate amongst the chaotic locomotion of patrons bumping and grinding amidst the tenebrosity.

Human's feared the darkness, they feared the unknown, which was apparent by the hysterical stampede of street dwellers knocking pass Ichigo as he walked silently to his pick up location. All so alarmed and dread filled because of a brief moment of darkness. People were so predictable and Ichigo realized this. Using their predictability for his personal motives, he moved swiftly as just another inconsequential part of the darkness towards his evasion.

After two blocks, he took an alleyway that intersected with another. The end of that delphic and spiderweb covered path met where the darkness stopped. As he reached the end, the illumination of the red light district gave way to his get a way driver straddling his motor bike eagerly. The leather covered hands gripping tightly to the handle bars.

As Ichigo came into view, the man's shit eating smirk was hidden by his helmet.

Mockingly, the man gave a cat-calling whistle. "You look like ya' belong in the Fuzoku, not walking the streets, sweetie."

Ichigo gave a very docile "Fuck off."

Hopping off his bike and taking the opportunity to stretch, the man continued in his taunts. "Oh come on, how much for an hour?"

"Couldn't afford me, shit face." Ichigo yawned, maneuvering around shards of broken beer bottles and crawling bugs. "Not even if I gave you a comradery discount."

"You're gonna' bust your feet up walking back here barefooted," he warned.

"Yeah, but I'd probably mess these up if I walk in them. I rather take my chances with the street over Rangiku." Ichigo jumped on the back, clumsily having to adjust his skirt as he did so.

The driver jumped back on in suit, baffling, "I still can't believe you guys wear the same size shoe."

"Tall women, big feet," Ichigo reasoned.

"Everything go alright?"

"I executed a little too early and had to wait around longer than I would have liked, but it went smoothly. Four eyes did a great job on his end," the man smirked.

"Never let's us down." Going to take off his helmet, the driver said, "Here, take this."

Grabbing the man's wrist, Ichigo shook his head back and forth. "Leave it on until we get to Headquarters. I don't want to risk you being seen by someone."

Resigning his hands back the the handlebars, the man smacked his gums. "This bike has my tags on it, kid."

"Plausible deniability."

Grousing a bit, the driver asked, "Well can I get a stog?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Ichigo brimmed with caustic comebacks and chafed legs. "Yeah, let's just sit here and smoke, chill for a bit. I only just killed six men three block away, no rush."

The man tinkered with the flap on the front of his helmet, showing it could come up. "I'll smoke while I drive."

"Like hell you will."

"Tch." The man started the ignition. "You're the mouthiest chick I've had on this thing. Still the prettiest though," the man teased.

"I think that's more of an insult towards yourself, since I'm a guy."

Revving up the bike, the man kicked his leather booth from the cement. "Shut it, ya' Gaki."

"You're really going to lord those two years over me forever, aren't ya?"

The man just smirked a smirk that couldn't be seen and drove off.

After a fifteen minute drive, the two arrived at a complex of lofts in a shadier part of town. Parking in the back, the two climbed up the fire escape of a shoddy building until they reached a window located on the third floor.

Shoving open the window, Ichigo jumped through with his companion following. Despite the ran down space looking more like the meeting place of heroin addicts than a base of operations, the loft was low key, management didn't ask questions, and not to mention, it was really big. It was only made bigger by the fact the loft next door was rented to them also, separated by a door they had installed.

"You're an assassin, not a barbarian. You could've knocked first." Rangiku loomed over a broad metal working table looking somewhat startled. Though it was more of the golden trimmed kunai the woman was spinning on her well manicured finger than her facial features that gave that away.

Taking no time to remove his jacket and blouse, he strew them across the room before allowing a pair of silicon bra fillers to hit the floor. "Who else would it have been?" Ichigo asked with a refreshed sigh while unhooking the bra that duge into his skin. "Does Urahara have other strange men coming in through his window?" Ichigo gave a hubristic smirk, sling shooting the bra into the zoned out face of Urahara as he walked pass.

The older man, who had been too enthralled in his frantic typing to pay the new arrivals any notice, looked up as the undergarment met his face. "Now Ichigo-san," the man mocked with his best parental impersonation. "What did I tell you about leaving your fake breast on the floor?"

"And your clothes." Nose deep in a book, sitting on a worn in sway couch located in the middle of the room, Uryu rolled his eyes.

Now standing behind a curtain in the corner of the loft, Ichigo changed. "Geez, I'll get em' in a second. I got more pressing matters, like my junk being held hostage by this damn sadistic piece of fabric."

Rangiku told him he dare not rip those panty hoes in case they needed them again as Chad sat on the edge of the momentarily empty work table sharpening a knife.

"Never again."

The driver, who had now removed his helmet, pulled out a smoke and lit it up. "He's been pissy all night, wouldn't even let me have a smoke."

Sauntering over to the man and throwing an arm around his shoulder, Rangiku snatched the cigarette from the man and pressed it to her upturned lips. "How did you ever survive?"

Growling, the man's lips twitched for the nicotine. "You better be glad I like ya'."

"Oh, I'm so flattered, Ikkaku." She exhaled her smoke through plumply pursed lips before continuing. "But you see, you're not my type."

"I didn't mean like that, woman!"

Garbed in a pair of jeans and a simple gray v neck, Ichigo flung himself in the middle of the couch beside Uryu. "Get this shit off my face, will ya?"

"It's not shit, it's a work of art," Rangiku retorted. "Attach a please to that and it may get you somewhere."

Orange tresses of hair leaned against the back of the couch as Ichigo closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. Please get this shit off my face."

Cotton balls and adhesive remover in hand, on the other side of Ichigo, Rangiku rested on her haunches. "Better. We'll work on it."

"That may be your biggest masterpiece yet," Uryu remarked. "Transforming that mess of bad manners into someone mildly civilized would be a sight to see."

"Why do you girls do this crap to yourself anyway? The heels, the hoes, what is that all about anyway?"

Pulling off chunks of adhesive, Rangiku discarded the mess on the coffee table beside her. "Beauty is pain, Ichigo, one you become use to." Winking at the man, she explained, "I'm sure there's something painful you do for a pleasurable outcome."

Uryu groaned in disgust and Ikkaku agreed, sitting down in an adjacent arm chair and popping open a beer. Ichigo smirked knowingly, but added nothing.

"Oh hush, this is the birds and the bees. There's nothing gross about it."

Now joining the conversation, Chad sympathized, "I understand what you mean, Rangiku-san. It's like how I get my core pounded at to build up the durability of my muscles. It's painful, but worth it. Though.. I don't really get what you mean about Ichigo."

"You don't want to know," Ikkaku rolled his eyes.

Unable to help himself, Ichigo responded lewdly, "It also involves pounding."

Ichigo's current charisma was all Rangiku had ever know, but for his older friends, like Chad and Uryu, they knew a man who use to be much more reserved about intimate things. Overall, Ichigo didn't change that much, at least it seemed that way from the way he presented himself. He was still a smart ass, cocky, yet intensely serious and dedicated at most times. However, his lack of emotions made him less prone to getting embarrassed, along with making him noticeably more blunt than usual. He'd always been a honest and straightforward type of man, but now he was audaciously so. For the people who knew him well, his personality now seemed forced, a spurious attitude he wielded as a coping mechanism. Smart allic retorts we're no stranger to the mouth of Ichigo, but now he used them like chain link armor, almost instinctively deflecting everything life threw at him.

Now he would laugh, but vacantly so, almost as if it was an automated response. All of his curiosity, smirks, good time's, they were all crafted temperaments that dressed up his apathy, disguising it. It sometimes felt like the personality of someone else had been dropped inside of him, the personality of who he use to be, only mutated slightly from the twisted days of his past.

Though such a song and dance may seem exacerbating, it was mounds easier than having to explain and justify his blatant indifference towards most everything and everyone. It was much easier than having eyes of concern and pity glued to him. Still, no matter how he tried to hide it, the one's who knew Ichigo could see it. Though this group of highly organized assassins weren't completely sane in their own right, so they did little to judge despite their concern.

The biggest change was the lengths Ichigo would go to, the things he'd do to achieve his mission. He'd never hurt an innocent, at least physically, and he was loyal to his comrades. Though, because of his callousness and lack of shame, there was little he wouldn't do for the cause. If it took manipulation, hurtful words, dressing like a girl, he'd do it without the normal humiliation or guilt that would cloud most people's ability to follow through. It was hard to feel guilt when he never breached the confines of his moral code, a code that was simple and flexible in it's nature. Protect the innocent at all cost, even himself. Especially himself.

Traded out for any verbal delicatesse and abashment were a logic and cool headed mind frame, surely the oddest of all his changes. Even while putting on a front, Ichigo never got angry. At least not truly angry, since the most he'd attempt was miffed. All of the hot headed rashness and affronted annoyance that had defined him before had been washed away by cool waves of apathy. In Ichigo's opinion, the evolution was for the better. What a feckless emotion anger was. It helped nothing. It didn't further his cause. It was a weakness, one the man was glad to shed.

"How did we get here?" Uryu groused, shutting his book.

"Anyway," Ichigo back peddled, "I hope you're not torturing yourself like that for guys."

"It's for myself, but the male attention doesn't hurt either." Rangiku removed another large chunk of adhesive, causing Ichigo to flinch. She grasped the man's face in her hands. "Ichigo-kun, it really is you under there."

Yanking away his chin, Ichigo sneered a bit, pretending to be slightly annoyed. "I got some male attention too, but I don't have to mutilate myself and risk a broken leg to get it."

"I don't think most guys are as into that done up look anyway, not like they pretend to be. We like it, but it's not realistic. Going after looks alone is shallow anyway." Chad threw in his two cent, which would probably be one out of a handful of things he said during the course of the evening. For the silent giant did mostly listening.

"Yeah, we don't give a shit about those things. Well, at least I don't," Ikkaku added.

"I agree. Never in the history of man has a guy wanted to take a women home only to change his mind when he looked down and saw she wasn't wearing Jimmy Choos."

"That's a little hasty coming from you, Uryu, seeing as the only woman who pays you attention is that computer you treat like your girlfriend," Ichigo bantered, earning him a fuck off scowl.

"Since we're speaking about picking up men, I was going to go out tonight. Men around here are too shy though. I wish they could be more like the foreign men I met in the states. You never know though, I could meet mister right or get a lot of free drinks trying. Are you in, Ichigo?" The women gave him a deliberately wry cock of the eyebrow as she peeled off the last of the adhesive.

He returned the look in spades as he sat up straight and massaged a kink from his shoulder. "Yeah. I could use a way to blow off some steam."

Picking his book back up, Uryu said, "You're gonna blow something alright."

Rangiku shooed Ichigo slightly before moving to throw away the dried up remains of Ichigo's costume. "Now go wash your face, it's all sticky. Oh, and put on moisturizer. Your face is all red and I refuse to go out with someone who looks like they've been exfoliating with poison ivy."

As Ichigo moved to the sink in the barren kitchenette, never to be utilized for things other than housing beer and take out boxes, Urahara finally seized his typing. "Sounds like a real interesting conversation you youngsters are having. I would think talking about the operation that just happened would be a tiny bit more important, but hey, that's just me."

At the bout of overt sarcasm, Ikkaku asked, "What's ta' talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know," Urahara offered playfully, "how it went?"

After patting his face dry with his t-shirt, seeing as Urahara's lair of madness had no room for paper towels, Ichigo moved to retrieve the clothes he'd left on the floor. "Yeah, I kill six guys and you don't even ask how It went. And you call me rude, Ishida."

"What do you mean how it went? You're here, alive, not in prison, so I think I know how it went."

"It doesn't matter anyway, old man. It went smoothly, there's nothing left to talk about. We should focus our energy on the next hit."

Urahara looked at Ichigo with a dubious concern, but said nothing about it as he walked back over to his desk. "Speaking of hits, I got that file for you."

The older man handed Ichigo a blue folder with the initials B. K written across the front, and Ichigo took no heed in sitting back down and looking through it. "He's scheduled to come at the beginning of next week, right?" he questioned Ikkaku.

"Yeah, but something tells me he'll be showing up sooner than expected," Ikkaku smirked.

Looking in the file as Rangiku peaked over his shoulder, Ichigo returned the smirk. "I guess I ruined his plans. I made sure to wave hello to the camera for him." In reality, it was more of a 'catch me if you can.'

Snatching the picture from the file, Rangiku gaped slightly. "This is the NPA agent sent to investigate us? He's beautiful."

Ikkaku rolled his eye's in a 'not you too' fashion as Ichigo looked at the information in front of him with the dullest, yet most shock he was capable of feeling. Though even that exaggerated the feeling, for it was more of a singular thought saying 'oh, that's not what I was expecting.'

"Apparently he had a lover who died five years ago. His name was Ren."

"Wha- he's gay?"

Ichigo cocked an eyebrow towards the picture. "Apparently."

Giving something between a scoff and chuckle, Uryu asked in half seriousness, "What, are you going to sleep with him or something to keep him off our trail?"

In a cursory manner, Ichigo spoke bluntly, "If it's necessary." With the way he responded so flippantly and without hesitation, Uryu knew he meant it. That length Ichigo would travel for his cause didn't just stop at sexual exploitation. The man worried about Ichigo's willingness to shed parts of himself as if they were just dead weight, only useful as a means of self preservation and an armory for the movement. He gave his heart, soul, and body to this mission. He was married to the cause, and what a masochistic union it was, Ichigo giving everything, graciously self deconstructing. Like a bundle of dead cells on the barber shop floor, his sheddable parts were apart of him, albeit inconsequential.

Uryu had to wonder, If Ichigo ever did want to return to the person he once was, tread the winding road back to the devastated wreckage that laid within the most terrifying days of his curriculum vitae, only to have to sift through the rubble for surviving pieces, would there even be anything left to find? Would there be a single pillar of his previous constitution not eradicated? More so, would he be able to make the trip back? If he ever wanted to change, he'd have to brave the path cluttered and blood drenched with the corpses and haunting memories he'd tried to dispose of along the way. Could he endure the same inevitable guilt his own father did that came along with the life he chose to live and the morally dubious tightrope he had to stratal? When baring the weight of one's own culpability, the remorse could drag you down like you're hauling every carcasse you created throughout the journey until you're just barely crawling in the sweltering heat of your own emotions. Could Ichigo be the murderer and the man, or could he only move forward by continuing to dissociate with the parts of him that made him human?

It wasn't so transparent, but Uryu understood it was a path that only Ichigo could walk alone. For he'd stand beside him, but the direction Ichigo aimed his attention towards was something he could never change.

Uryu silently nodded, souring slightly.

Ikkaku had know Ichigo the least amount of time in comparison to all the other members, and though he found himself good at reading people, he passed no judgment nor asked no questions about Ichigo's methods. They revered and trusted one another. They understood each other and what it meant to carry a burden. It wasn't Ikkaku's job to castigate the man for the means of which he tried to lighten the load.

"Yeah, it's not a widely known thing. Pretty much, only a few people knew within the division, but no one ever talked about it. Kuchiki's revered like a god among men in the homicide unit, so everyone kept their opinions to themselves, or at least tried not to think about it."

Ichigo rolled his eyes heavy at the ridiculous notion. "Yeah, it would be life shattering to find out their being lead by a big old homo."

Slinging her arm around her orange haired friend, Rangiku gave a pondering hum. "So Ichigo," she asked with a sultry tonality, "do you think he likes to be the tachi more or the neko?"

An impish smirk creased the man's face as he continued to investigate the inner idiosyncrasy of the distinguished agent. "I think a man like this doesn't know the meaning of submission."

"Anyway," Uryu cut in, "you were the Keibu-ho of the drug unit for about a year, you never met him?"

Ichigo shook his head back and forth at torpid rates. "Yeah, once at a case that involved both of our units. He didn't pay attention to me really."

Uryu was going to ask how well his dad had know Byakuya, but bit his tongue. Ichigo never brought him up and everyone followed his lead on that, not wanting to breach such a sensitive subject.

Ikkaku swigged some beer and swallowed it down. "Sound's like em'. He's the self important type. "

Ichigo huffed to the contrary. "Nah, it's more like… I don't know, the guy was just intensely focused. It was as if nothing else mattered in that moment. I can respect that."

"Why are we looking into him anyway? I know you would never consider an innocent for a hit," Chad assured.

"He's going to be looking into this case really hard," Ichigo explained, flickering his eyes up from the paper for the shortest of moments. "I'm not saying it will come to it, but if he starts to suspect me, I need to know him in order to keep one step ahead of him. Know your enemy. He's not an enemy that we're going to kill, but an enemy none the less."

Straightening up in his seat, Ikkaku leaned forward, resting his elbows. "Look, Ichigo-san, watch your step. This guy, my personal feelings for him aside, is a fucking shark. He earned every bit of his nickname. Once he's got your scent, he won't stop until he catches you. Fuck, he's never even had an unsolved case, not in ten whole years."

Ichigo smirked slightly, nodding and flipping through the file. "Yeah, I saw he went to school for criminology. He probably knows the psychology behind how a criminal thinks better than the back of his hand. I'm not too worried, though. I also got my degree in criminology with a minor in psychology, so I know a thing or two about getting inside someone's head. Also, I'm not your average criminal."

Urahara, who was looking a little less buoyant than usual, blond hair splaying out over his softly aged eyes, put a hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "Still, Ichigo, he was a Keibu for ten years. You were a Keibuho for one year, a good one, but barely more than a rookie. You're really talented and you've trained intensely, but we can't be reckless with how we handle this."

Somewhat vaguely, Ichigo simply stated, "Yeah, but there are things I have that he doesn't too." More so, it was what Ichigo didn't have that Byakuya did. A lack of feckless, stymie emotions clouding his mind caused Ichigo to always go one step further than anyone else would dare. Without feelings shackling him down, without care, Ichigo wasn't one who could be emotionally manipulated.

"Anyway, if something happens and we're found out, I'm taking the fall. None of you have anything to worry about."

"Ichigo, that's impo-" Urahara disapproval was cut off.

"I won't debate about that. It's non negotiable." His stern authoritative voice settled into something more lighthearted as Ichigo turned and smirked. "Besides, if you guys get thrown in there with me, who going to break me out?"

Grinning widely, the older man shoved his head playfully. "I think I'll let you stay in there for a good year, just to learn a lesson."

Ichigo continued to read over the meticulously put together file that Urahara had presented. It was filled with personal and professional information, from his family pedigree to his medical history. There was a lot of useful information, but one thing stood out from the rest.

One piece of information made Ichigo flinch slightly, his thoughts and tongue lagging. Under the medical history section was a psychological report followed by a handful of personal information, such as year of birth, address, and all other basic specs that a doctor would have on file. There was a lengthy section on Byakuya and the sessions where he was psychoanalyzed, in which Ichigo planned to go over thoroughly, followed by a conclusion.

2.5 Prognoses: Patient suffers from vivd nightmares, anxiety, avoidance, and vacillates between emotional numbness and bouts of anger as a result of his PTSD. Prazosin and Paxil were prescribed. The combination of chemicals interacted negatively, increasing their emotional imbalance. Since, Paxil has been switched out with Zoloft, seeming to balance out the patience emotional state and anxiety. The Prazosin has negated most nightmares. Patient refuses cognitive therapy as a symptom of his avoidance, leaving me concerned with a life long dependency on these medications.

Wrinkles formed on the paper from the tight grasp of Ichigo's hesitant hands. Something, perhaps his consciousness, was telling him to keep his mouth shut, that no one needed to know. This was something he understood in unexplainable ways, something so close to home, something so personal.

Something he could use.

Ichigo never swayed from the magnetic pull of his moral compass, not until tonight anyway. This was a war and there was no room for playing nicely, not when Byakuya was already sharpening his hunting knives. He only felt sympathetic briefly because of his own battle with trauma induced nightmares, but it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. He was right in doing this. He was justified, or so he told himself.

Rolling up the folder into a cylinder like tube, he tapped it repeatedly on the wooden coffee table with tongue in cheek. "He has PTSD." Ichigo's eyes addressed Ikkaku, who looked with a mildly surprised lift of the eyebrow. "Do you know anything about that?"

For a moment, he thought he felt an inkling of guilt bergon within his stomach, but his coldness frosted it over, killing it before it could spread.

"Oh shit, really?" the man scratched his head and turned his eyes up in contemplation. "Well yeah, actually, I do. A year ago about, Renji and Kuchiki retired from the squad and moved up the latter. Kuchiki said he felt like he could better serve Tokyo by trying to change the laws on government corruption. Now, that might be true and all, but there's more ta' the story. Kuchiki and Renji were out on a call when something came in through their radio." Brawny and slightly uncomfortable, Ikkaku shifted in his seat awkwardly before he continued, leaning deeper into his knees. "There was a warehouse explosion on the' outskirts of the city, so they went to check it out, since they were the closest at that point. For whatever reason, the whole investigation was dropped and handled by the NPA. I don't know exactly what they saw there, no one really does, but I know it was bad. It fucked Renji up, that's for sure. He's better, but…" he shook his head of the trailing thought as he felt it sober him. "But he sure ain't what I call okay, not like he use to be. Before he got help, he'd have all of these emotional outburst, not to mention he's glued to Kuchiki's ass more than ever. A lot of people thought he left the unit because he couldn't deal with being there after that. I guess there's some truth ta' that after all."

"It's no surprise he told no one." Uryu added, "Mental illness is extremely stigmatized in our country, even among medical professionals. The majority of the population still think mental illness stems from character flaws. Even Aspergers, which isn't even a mental illness mind you, is considered to be caused by character flaws. It's preposterous if you ask me."

"It's not like the guy asked to see a bunch of horrible stuff. Even I saw some stuff in the military that made it hard for me to sleep at night." Chad made a confused, if not affronted face.

"It's our country's love for conformity. I mean, our old governor said that tsunamis were god's divine justice on otaku's...among other horrible things..and people still kept voting for him..However, I don't think anyone in this room really values conformity all too much, "

Whitened knuckles and pin point pupils shined through his brick house of a face. Like a balloon on the verge of bursting, Ichigo felt merely a stretched thin layer of apathy holding back a tynomi of dumbstruck hysteria. It was the pieces of the past that had been strewn and forgotten now twisting and turning, trying to connect in a gory reality Ichigo's psyche could not handle. The connection of these pieces would be the needle to burst such a meager barrier. Some things are better never to be remembered.

Ichigo didn't move a muscle, only his eyebrow flickering reflexively. "When did this happen?"

Urahara was giving him a long and deliberate glare, one Ichigo took no notice too.

"About a year and three months ago, back in July. Apparently it was Yakuza related, a fucking blood bath."

It was just the briefest of moments, but the sensation of destruction rattled his insides. Like a cluster of underwater volcanos erupting in tandem, only slightly vibrating the surface with their raw and cataclysmic power. There was no emotion to label the sensation with, but more so, the flood of overwhelming emotions crumbling his foundation, bringing back flashes of memories that made no sense. Flashes, like random and out of order mini clips of a horror film trying to string themselves into something coherent. They practically begged to be released, stifling his breathing, piercing his eardrums with the uproar of static noise. Yet, as it always did at moments like these, moments where he was so close to remembering, it stopped. It felt like that contradicting chaotic calm after a storm hits.

Clutching tighter to the file, a palpable sensation of leaving his own body washed over him. He disjoined himself from the memories of the cursed body that housed such, feeling ethereal as he existed above the reality of such a bloody and brutal cognizance. Ichigo felt as if he was floating above, a voyeur to a pain of someone else, someone with his face and body, but not him. Even as he spoke and stood, consciously used his motor skills and felt the thumping of a heart in his chest, it wasn't him. He was floating, watching, feeling a euphoric nothingness that came with disconnecting from everyone, even himself.

This ability in which Ichigo thought to be a blessing in disguise was no more than the complex psychological coping mechanisms of being reminded. When faced with that, his mind would drag him to the edge of reality and push him off. It was like looking at life through a foggy funhouse mirror, all the moving pieces were blurry and surreal as he watched himself like a movie, feeling nothing good nor bad at the production. Whenever something started to remind him, his body and consciousness split, awareness spilling out of him like an apparition, as if he was truly the ghost they deemed him to be. His body was no longer his, but held hostage in this abstracted existence as he was forced to watch in frigid indifference. There was nothing voluntary about it and it certainly was not some skill that could be refined. Though he held that belief, and that resolution was an exemplary testimony of how far Ichigo had gone down this rabbit hole, at how perfectly fucked up he was. He wanted this, to turn his mental psychosis, his biggest weakness, into his greatest weapon.

Ichigo knew what happened to his family. He understood the fact that it had been because of the combined forces of the Yakuza and the Japanese government, but the how was something he long ago blocked out. The unthinkable atrocity that played out that night, exactly in what way his family was killed, he didn't know. Now it only resurfaced in the form of adrenaline fueled night terrors, terrors that he got rid of in more intimate and sybaritic manners. Flashes of that night were like waking up one morning and seeing a completely different person in the reflection, in an instant, everything you thought you knew about life became a lie and your foundation would crumble into ash. His depersonalization and dissociation was a mental malfunction that steamed from the extreme trauma and kept him from reliving the horrors over and over. Ichigo had no time to crumble, therefore, he took it all in stride.

Standing quickly, Ichigo asked, "Are you ready, Rangiku-san?"

She netted her brow, but hopped up in suit. "Are you okay, honey?" the woman asked, lightly touching the pad of Ichigo's shoulder.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Ichigo smirked heavily. "Just need a drink is all." Ichigo grabbed his coat before stepping aside to usher Rangiku towards the door. Urahara was shaking his head slightly towards his work with dissatisfaction, sealing his lips.

Being led out of the room, Rangiku shrugged her shoulders in a puzzled fashion yet walked silently beside Ichigo.

After the two left, it didn't take Ikkaku long to feel the air. There was some kind of tension that deemed a conversation and he knew he neither was wanted there nor wanted to be there for the words the three were about to exchange. Standing up, he muttered something about needing to take out some stress on a punching bag and left into the adjacent room.

It took no time at all for Uryu to give Urahara an aslant glare and ask, "What was that about? Kurosaki got all weird when he was talking about the NPA agent."

Urahara stood and took the still warm seat of Ikkaku. "That warehouse explosion last year, that's where all that stuff went down with Ichigo-san's family." When he said 'that stuff', it wasn't because of a need to be discreet, more so, because he actually didn't know. He only knew what Ichigo remembered, which was very little.

Uryu and Chad exchanged weary looks. "He still doesn't remember much from that night?"

Urahara shook his head no, a deep rooted concern shining in his eyes. "Only everything that happened leading up to it, some flashes here or there, a few things at the end. He remembers waking up in some nearby field."

Making a considering noise, Uryu adjusted his glasses. "Well, perhaps that's for the best then. Who would want to remember something like that?"

"I don't agree. I worry about him," Urahara rebutted. "We've all known Ichigo-san for a long time, long enough to know he's changed drastically."

"And?" Uryu affronted, "Of course he's changed, we all have in our own ways. Do you think this life we live won't have an affect?" Chad just sat introspectively, listening to their back and forth.

"It's not the killing and you know it," Urahara sharpened his eyes. "There's hardening yourself and then there's completely cutting yourself off from everything."

"Kurosaki's never been a very expressive person, not with his words any way," Uryu dismissed with a flippant flick of the wrist.

Shaking his head in a frustrated dumbstruck at the younger man's perspective, he gritted, "It's different."

The edge in Urahara's tone caught Uryu's attention, making his glare soften at the man's seriousness.

"He's right, Ishida," Chad spoke up. "It is different now."

Running a hand over his face, Urahara said, "When he showed up on my doorstep and told me about his family and his plan, I believed in his mission. I still do. But my main reason for agreeing was because Ichigo-san's like a son to me. I've known him his whole life and...Isshin was my best friend." He sighed heavily, the breath coming out as jagged as he felt. "He wouldn't have liked the path Ichigo's chosen."

"How can you say that?" Uryu snapped, "Part of the reason he does this is for his father, to continue what he started."

"I told you, it's not about the mission itself. Isshin, everyone he killed stayed with him. Even though he and myself believed the cause just, he carried a heavy burden for the path he chose, and yeah, it was hard, but he had a family. Three kids, friends, and no matter how heavy the burden was, he took it all in stride. He never closed himself off to make it easier on himself, because he was more than his duty to protect." Urahara leaned in on his knees, his age and experience showing in his drooping and drained eyes. "Ichigo doesn't deal with his emotions or controls them, he just doesn't feel them. I'll stand with him through this thing, but I can't just sit by while this becomes all he is. Just a murderer who's disconnected from everyone around him."

Sharing heavy glares that were equally staunch in their emotions, the two said more with those gestures than words could. "As a doctor, Ishida-san, do you really believe that repressed memories, night terrors, and a complete personality change is something to flick your wrist at?"

"Night terrors?" Chad inquired.

"He fell asleep here one evening and woke in a fit. If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't even have known."

"What would you have me do?" Uryu sneered. "I see it. I don't like it, but what's the alternative? Spiking his drinks with pills or forcing him into exposure therapy so he can remember that horrible night?" Clinching his fist, Uryu pushed himself from the couch, pacing away some of his heated energy. "He will do whatever he likes, and if we try to push it, he'll just distance himself more. All we can do is be there for him, so when he does finally need help, he won't have to pick up all the pieces by himself."

Urahara blinked at the man, seeing that his concern was just as real only expressed differently. It was easy to see the sense of urgency building to fretfulness, only alleviated by the man's logical way of thinking about things.

"I believe in him. I think he'll get to a better place, but pushing him into it when he's not ready will do more damage than good. And saying 'he's turning into just a murderer', as if he's no better than the Yakuza members we take out, that just undermines all the good we do, that he does..it just.." Uryu calmed his fanatical pacing to take a deep and composing sigh. "...Just have a little trust in him, will you Urahara? He's Ichigo fucking Kurosaki, for kami sake. He will always stand back up."

There was a thoughtful silence, a sort of calm that resonated within every one for a moment. Of course, Uryu had always believed in his friend and long time rival, and he'd continue in this belief despite the fact Kurosaki had became someone lost to himself.

Hand's placed on his knees, Urahara started deliberately down at his clenched fist relaxing slightly. When he finally spoke, a smirk could be heard in his voice. "You're being oddly idealistic, aren't you, Ishida-san?"

"I think I'm being quite logical, actually. The past has a way of catching up to all of us. One day, he won't be able to avoid his demons anymore. One day, something will give."

"You do realize that, for him to build himself back up, he'll first have to fall apart, right? That could be dangerous for all of us. This is a risky game we're playing."

There was a long enduring silence that seemed to somber with its looming presence. "I know," Ishida finally spoke up, "but let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yeah," Urahara sighed, "let's hope."

xXx

A feeling of maniacal adrenaline rushed the blue haired man as his knuckles collided with a fleshy gut, barring deep until he felt the satisfaction of meeting durable, tough muscles.

He lived for such a sensation. The gust of wind that worked against his catapulting fist and the tepid feeling of blood being heaved up as a result, it was a spiritual sensation. The smell of iron, the almost animalistic terror brightening up his victim's face like the most beautiful light show he'd ever seen, the euphony of bones shattering like glass, it was a symphony for the senses. It was a symphony that he conducted.

Yes. Bringing other's pain flooded him with such a pleasurable plethora of emotions that vibrated every cell in his body. It was akin to the canid onslaught of rapture that brought someone to tears when they saw a beautiful piece of art for the first time. It just evoked emotion from a latent incomprehensible place within.

Fighting others, hurting them, that was his Michelangelo's 'The Creation Of Adam'. There were no hands that could create something as beautiful as the chaotic destruction he could create with his own.

"What I tell ya about stepping onto my territory, huh?" Grimmjow sent another flying fist into the man who was bent over, grasping onto his shaking knees as he tried to take back some of the wind that was just punched out of him.

"Maybe you're deaf or something and I need to knock you around more until whatever's blocking your ears comes out." His twisted smirk mild slightly has he took in the exhausted, near collapsed state of the man in front of him. "You're lucky I hate beating up on people who can't even fight back." He spit on the man. "It takes the fun out of it. Kicking a dog when it's already down is just pathetic."

Some sort of terrified grin grew on the blanched and bloody face of the other man as he leaned his weight against the brick of the alleyway. "Oh come on, Grimmy-Shatei-san, we're all one big family. We're all Inagawa-Kai, brother."

Clenching a fisht full of the man's shirt, which had brown red stains smeared into the fabric, Grimmjow lifted the man till the tips of his toes were just barely hovering against the concrete. "Exactly, and everyone in the family has their place. How do you think Aizen-Oyabun would like it if he knew your shateigashira was gettin' stingy and stepping on our gangs toes. That messes with the flow of things."

Throwing the man down, he fiddled around in his pocket before fishing out a little plastic bag filled with some white powder. Opening the bag, he eyed it suspiciously, letting that questioning glare waffle between the man and the bag. "Are you guys cutting this shit?"

Immediately, the man shook his head no, his gaping eyes of fear making Grimmjow question the validity of his honesty. Though, he wouldn't trust a street rat like this anyway, nor much of anyone at all.

Grimmjow licked the inside of the bag, running his tongue slowly and thoroughly over his upper gum, knitting his eyebrows in appraisal. Shaking his head in a mocking disappointment, he threw the bag down at the beaten body staring up at him through floaty eyes, begging whatever god he believed in that Grimmjow's assessment was not followed up by a fierce kick to the head.

Crouching down in front of the man, Grimmjow leaned his elbows on his knees and smirked in amusement. "Ya know, the only thing I hate more than liars are little kusottare's who try and sling some half baked shabu he cut up in a kitchen sink somewhere. I ain't no snitch, but the next one of my guys who finds out you've been tampering with our product might not be as nice as me. And if Aizen Oyabun finds out what you're doing," he shook his head back and forth humorously, "you'll be lucky if you have any fingers to take after that."

The young man looked down at his quivering mutilated fingers, two of which had be cut down to the second knuckle and one of which was missing just the tip. For every wrongdoing, no matter how ephemeral the effects may be, the consequences of such offense would stay with them forever. The young man had participated in the yubitsume, the finger cutting ritual, many times now as a way to atone for the mistakes he had made, but Grimmjow's words made him wonder, what happened when a person had no more fingers to give. More so, would he be losing more today after his own boss found out of his failure.

Taking the young man's index finger in his hand, he said, "If I catch you doing this again, I'll cut you up and send you back to your boss. Let's see if you're still worth as much to him after I've tampered with you."

A beautiful snapping sound filled Grimmjow's ear followed by a guttural scream being muffled by the man's free and non injured hand. He shoved the man's backpack into his chest before telling him to scram, watching the man scurry about in pain before he ran off frantically.

"Tch." Grimmjow watched as he ran off and scoffed at the pitiful display before beating his pants of some grime and entering through a door at the back of the ally.

He entered into one of the many establishment's that the Inagawa-Kai considered its territory. It was no secret that this was a hot spot for gangs, because there was no actual law against being affiliated with the Yakuza. As long as they went about their illicit dealings with a lowered head, the police and government gave them a get out of jail free card, a golden key to the city to exist as they please.

He passed by the barkeep, a long time affiliate of the Inagawa-Kai with salt and pepper hair and etches in his face sitting as deep as a crater. He enter through a door that lead to a separate room situated in the back of the bar.

Rambunctiously, Grimmjow enter, paying no care to anyone else as he cracked his knuckles, going on about the ass he just kicked and how unstimulating and unchallenging it had inevitably been.

Coyote Starrk sighed deeply at the clamorous and quite agitating entrance. "We're doing something and you're being quite disturbing."

Looking around the room, Grimmjow noticed a few young kids holding pencil to paper. Going up to one of them, he snatched up the paper right from under one of their noses. The kid momentarily grew chafed before Grimmjow gave him a look that made him think better.

He turned the stack of stapled papers every which kind of way with an almost offended look. "What is this shit?"

"Some would call that paper, Grimm shatei-san."

"I mean, what's this shit on it, ass hole." As the man looked as if he was about to rip the paper to shreds, Starrk leaped from the chair, saving it from the fate of Grimmjow's hands which knew only destruction.

"Geeze, I don't care if you're loud, but if you rip that up I'll have to take the effort of making a new one." Sighing, he handed the stack of papers to the rattled teen. "And I honestly don't feel like it." Sitting back in his chair, he kicked his feet up on a small desk and let his cheek rest on his coiled fingers. "Their test for the new recruits. It's a thing we're doing now…" he rolled his eyes and yawned, sinking deeper into his seat. "..apparently.."

Flopping down on the desk, he shoved Starrk's feet over. "A test for criminals?" he mocked with a smirk. "On what? How to properly beat up someone for stepping on our turf?"

Starrk gave a throaty scoff. "No. I'll leave that part to you. It's this thing that the Yakuza has been doing for a while, but it's just now trickling down to us. It's a test on the laws."

"Where a bunch of criminals. Why the hell do our new recruits have to take exams on laws?"

Starrk huffed, obviously miffed he even had to explain. "The Yakuza is considered one of the most organized and least violent syndicates in the world. It's that organization that keeps us out of hot water with the police and government. So, to ensure the safety of their members and, mostly, themselves, they make sure all new members are up to date on laws so they don't get the family in trouble with unnecessary crime." At Grimmjow's face contorted as if that was the dumbest shit he'd ever heard, Starrk said, "You've heard the phrase criminal empire, yah? An empire is a business. You don't hire new employees without ensuring they won't damage your business."

"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard," Grimmjow snorted. "Good thing I joined before you guy's started this shit, cuz like hell you'd have me in here taking a test."

"They'd take one look at you and know better." Starrk dropped his feet and leisurely put his elbows on the desk. "I don't want to sit here for half the day either. I thought being a Kyodai would be less work."

"Not less, just more boring," Grimmjow pushed himself up from the desk and ambled towards the entrance of which he came. "I ain't sticking around for it. See ya'."

Starrk yelled as he walked away, "We have a meeting later. You better show up. If I have to be there than so do you."

xXx

One groggy Ichigo woke from his slumber to first be met by the blinding rays of sun shining through his open window and then, perhaps a more disturbing sight, the naked back side of some guy who's name he couldn't remember. It was a nice backside, but one he'd already had.

He shook his head at the sight. He could have swore he told that guy to leave last night after their activities, or at least he meant to. The inconvenience of waking up and dealing with some random was the last thing he wanted to deal with first thing in the morning.

So he didn't. First, he splashed some frigid water over his drowsy features, then he began his morning workout routine. Five reps of sit up, twenty each, pull ups till failure, pushups till failure, five reps for squat jumps, twenty each, five reps of jumping jacks, twenty each, he sweated through it all in an almost robotic fashion, his mind clear of most thoughts as he pushed his body towards a single goal.

Today he'd run five miles before he went to Urahara's to put in some time on the punching bag and spared with Chad. Though, before he did any of that, he needed to kick the no name, snoring bundle of muscles and chestnut waves out of his bed and flat.

Bottle of water in hand, Ichigo stood pensively in front of his window overlooking a bustling street, alive with the hum of early morning shoppers and salary men. For some, casual sex was had in an attempt to fill a void. Ironically, for the people looking for the act to fill more than a hole in their body, it usually just left them unsatisfied, only cementing the true depths of their emptiness. However, for Ichigo, he held no concern for filling a void. On the contrary, the stimulus was in hope to further that void until he was left with a gapping chasm of nothing.

Giving his body away as if it was all meaningless only disconnected him from whom he once was a little more with each thrust. It distanced him from himself and drove him further away from a past he didn't want to remember. It only made him more aware of the spaces within, empty and dust varnished like barren bookshelves that once held pictures of better times, but it also made him more acceptant. A moment of pure pleasure with no emotions attached was like Novocain in the form of flesh and blood, it numbed him, kept the nightmares at bay, and reminded him that there was nothing to return home too. There was no family, no real future, and the man who once had those things, who would never do such intimate things in such callous ways, seemed to depart when his family did. Maybe, just maybe, if he could give away all of these parts of himself, he would forget the old him completely, so he didn't have to think about all of the lifeless spaces that use to be filled with family, friends, and hope.

The old him would hate how he is, mock him, be sickly ashamed even, but that Ichigo didn't know what this one does. He had not experienced the same life altering horrors. More so, that Ichigo had no place in this world. On some level, a part of him knew the guilt he'd feel if he ever became more like the old Ichigo Kurosaki, self reproach he didn't want to feel. Being concerned about things he'd never have again would only get in the way of the last thing he did have: This mission. It was better this way. This was the way he wanted things.

Some rustling behind him met by the gentle pressure of icy fingers pressing into his hips bones pulled Ichigo from his thoughts. A pair of lips pressed on his shoulder blades, overwhelming him with the scent of liquor and morning breath.

Ichigo shrugged the man off. "You gotta go. I need to head out soon."

Another press of the lips met Ichigo's sweat drenched skin, the affection feeling almost blood curdling. "Mh," the stranger hummed, "you sure you don't want to have another go before I leave?"

Turning away even more in a blatant show of disinterest, Ichigo shook his head no. "I don't really do repeat performances. Sorry." It had became easier and easier for him to apologize for those things he felt nothing for, the least of all contriteness.

A smirk could be heard in the wryness of the stranger, ones whom's face was already a distant memory in the making. He didn't even turn to look at man as he prepared to leave. "Too bad," he said before moving away. Ichigo could hear the labor of dressing, some slight pillaging for personal things, the clatter of clumsily tripping into a pair of shoes. The man was walking towards the door, but stopped momentarily, the jangle of keys in his pocket filling the silent space. "It is really too bad. You were a really good lay. No surprise though, the quiet and messed up guys always are."

Ichigo was unmoved, as the words did not phase him. Not only could he not argue against them, but he had no urge to. Like most things, those words were vacuous.

Later that evening, Ichigo was working on quick and evasive footwork, throwing combination punches at the bag. He often did a reflex drill in which pouches of sand would be dropped from the celling at different times and in random places about the room. It kept him sharp, precise, and agile, for he always needed to be on his toes. However, today was just the basics.

The room was murky and deathly silent, the only sounds being the reverberation of Ichigo's fist meeting durable material and just a whisper of his feet floating across the padded floors at amazing speeds. He'd been at it for a while and the wraps around his hands did nothing to help his aching tendons. Still, he kept at it until he heard the sound of someone entering the room.

Ichigo, through rigorous training, had become in tuned with all of his senses, learning to take in what was around him at almost all times. So without even turning around, he knew just by the way the man entered the room and the way the ambience seemed to shift as he did just who it was.

Ichigo straightened his spine and threw an uppercut, pivoting on the balls of his feet as if to avoid an oncoming strike. "Grimmjow," he said, never seizing his assault, "how'd everything go today?"

"Heh, it's always business with you. Why won't you give that bag a break and come fight me."

"I wouldn't want to hurt you," Ichigo smirked. "The only way to end a fight with you is to knock you out."

"You're just scared you couldn't end it," Grimmjow goaded.

"No." Ichigo did a swift combination, his breathing still steady despite the exertion. "I'm scared of injuring a valuable member of our team." He stop for a moment and looked over his shoulder, "Were you able to get the pen in the guy's bag?"

"Pfh, don't ask me dumb questions. Of course I did." Grimmjow stretched, walking closer to the man with each word. "I don't get how I'm suppose to get it back for you though."

"You won't have to," Ichigo grunted, "The pen was just a basic voice activated audio recorder, but Urahara installed a wireless voice transmitter that has no range, so we'll be able to plug in tonight and listen to their meeting."

"Leave the tech stuff to the crazy doc, I just need to know If I got to beat up that weakling again."

Ichigo just gave a noncommittal grunt and returned his full attention back to his task.

"I did want to ask though, who's doing that hit in a couple of days?" Grimmjow asked.

"What do you mean? I always do the hits." Ichigo stated flatly.

"Yeah," Grimmjow affronted, "but I thought this one involve long range shooting. Last time I checked, you're a pretty lousy shot."

"I can shoot," Ichigo reasoned, not even caring to give the impression that this conversation annoyed him. Mostly, it was just distracting. "Long range isn't my best, but I'm good enough to make the shot."

"Don't be fucking stupid," Grimmjow, in one leap of a step, shoved Ichigo's shoulder roughly, earning his direct attention. "Get Chad to do it, you know he would. He's the best shot."

Ichigo scowled only minutely before turning his attention back to his combination, speaking in between each thrust of the arm. "I've already told you this before, I don't want anyone else to be at risk of being caught, by the cops or the Yakuza."

Grimmjow's condescending grin could be seen from Ichigo's peripheral, only amplified by a low chuckle. "Maybe, but I think it's just because you enjoy taking those life's yourself."

Mid punch, Ichigo pulled back and looked at the man seriously. "I'm not like you, I don't get my kicks from causing people pain. I don't like it, but it also doesn't bother me. It's just what I have to do."

Even as he said it, Ichigo knew this was only the half truth. Though, Grimmjow's assumption certainly wasn't the missing piece to why Ichigo executed all the hits himself.

With Ichigo now back to his punches, Grimmjow laughed, "You've changed since high school, Kurosaki. You lost that fire in your eyes. If they catch you, they'll do anything if it means making you give up your accomplices."

Ichigo almost found the idea humorous. He was a man with no family, no life, nothing to lose. The possibility of getting caught or death had never been lost to him, in fact, he couldn't see this ending any other way, eventually. He'd already came to terms with it, though it wasn't something he ever found hard to swallow. After this was done, he'd have no other reason to live at all. So, in reality, nothing they did to him could ever make him talk. Till his body was lifeless in the dirt, he'd protect those around him, be everyone's martyr.

"I'm not one to squeal under pressure," his lips curved ominously as he gave the man an aslant glare. "You should know that, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow hummed impishly before moving out of the man's sight, only to reappear with his chest pushed up against Ichigo's back, pressing his clammy cheek against the man's neck as a humid breath tickled at Ichigo's ear. "You're talking about the time we fucked, miss it already?"

A not so gentle bite bared into the fleshly semi flushed patch of skin under Ichigo's jaw. The man blinked and sighed, and though he didn't move at first, he was in no mood to be indulging Grimmjow's twisted hedonic tendencies. "If you could call what you did sex," Ichigo huffed.

"Oh come on," Grimmjow rasped, licking the chafed skin he'd just sunk his teeth into almost in apology. It was comparable to the way husbands beat their wives, only to placate them with meaningless manipulative regret. "You let me do it. If you didn't like it, you could have said no."

"Funny," Ichigo smirked, the calmness of his temperament could be felt through the steady rise and fall of his lungs and the thumping of his pulse vibrating through his neck. "I recall saying no plenty of times. You just kept pestering me and touching me until I let you."

"Ha," Grimmjow laughed, "The Ichigo I know wouldn't just let anybody take him without his permission. You were strong enough to stop me if you wanted to. Admit it," he licked the shell of Ichigo's ear, letting one hand cascade Ichigo's back a little with each syllable, finding his way to the man's ass. "You liked it and you want it again."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like you think you own me." When Grimmjow just growled and continued his violation, Ichigo gave an almost non existent nasally scoff before he said, "Sure, Grimmjow, whatever you want."

Those words were met by Grimmjow's face being shoved into the punching bag and his arms pent back, the whirlwind of Ichigo's aggression leaving him thrown, albeit fugacious.

"If you want it, fine, but I think It's your turn to enjoy all of the fun you showed me," Ichigo whispered in such a controlled fashion that it was bone chilling. The air around them seemed to drop ten degrees despite the scorching body pushed against his.

Grimmjow squirmed and cursed, but undoubtedly, Ichigo was stronger. The man's whole existence spun on an axil of hardcore training. Still, despite being futile, he never stopped his twisting.

"Maybe I should put it in you dry and tear you up, we'll see how much you like it," Ichigo offered, smirking against the man's nape, imitating Grimmjow's creeping trek with his hand as it went down the man's back.

"Stop fucking around, Kurosaki. I know you ain't going to do shit, you don't have it in you," Grimmjow spat, looking over his shoulder as much as he could.

When Ichigo's hand did not stop, adrenaline coursed through his veins, a panic electrifying his whole body. He started to flail like a spooked horse. "Fuck, you didn't stop me, so don't blame me, god damnit. Alright? I wish you were how you use to be, it was no fun taking it when you gave it up so easily." A laugh erupted from his lungs, but it was out of place and filled with a nerve racking fright he couldn't shake. "So if you wanna fight, do it like a fucking man, don't pull this shit."

Hand now inert, Ichigo moved it to place more pressure on Grimmjow's arms being contorted behind his back, twisting one ever so slightly. "You said the Ichigo you knew would never let anyone take him if he didn't want it. There's just one problem with that," he leaned his weight in deeper, sending a scourge of pain running through the other's spine. "I'm not the Ichigo you knew. I don't know why you have this obsession with overpowering me, but I do know that when you did that, you were hoping I'd rather fight you or beg you to stop. If I fought you, it give you some kind of chance to prove yourself, to overpower me, but if I told you to stop, begged when you inevitably didn't, you'd also feel as if you overpowered me."

There was a grit in the man's delivery, yet what really shook Grimmjow in ineffable ways was the utter dearth of anger behind Ichigo's every lexeme. The abiding repose of his heartbeat, the composed and deliberate distribution of his speech, the calculated tactics for holding Grimmjow down, none were driven by rage or any other illogical, irrational emotion. This was a logical, cool-blooded contrivance, employed through the limpid eye's of a tactician, not eye's blinded by seething red. In some ways, that clarity and coldness was dangerously thrilling, surrounding the man in a tempest of skin prickling Icy winds exuding from Ichigo. These cold gust were more perilous than the most torrid volcanic eruption ever could hope to be.

A cold sweat excreted from Grimmjow at the next words. "I know you, Grimmjow. I knew what would hurt your pride more than anything was letting you take it and not stopping you, even when we both knew I could have." Right next to Grimmjow's ear, his controlled voice was spiked with a subtle, almost amused derision, bitter to the senses. "I bet it felt like I was mocking you. Well, guess what? I was."

In one movement, Ichigo released and shoved Grimmjow off to the side. Lifting his hands, he returned to his training as if nothing's had just occurred. "Get your shit together, Grimmjow. There's no reason for you to be trying to prove something, just like I have nothing to prove to you. Whatever problem you have with me, drop it."

Running off of pure hate, boiling his blood to the point of mindless animus, Grimmjow had to stop himself from charging the man like he so desperately desired. Yet, some nagging question pushed through that blinding outrage, and perhaps he even understood that his pride would only suffer more if did.

Quaking and oxidizing like a boiler on the fritz, Grimmjow's words were like spat embers. "Why? Why am I in the group?"

Some what taken by the question, Ichigo netted his eyebrows in question. "Why?"

"Yeah, why the fuck did you let me be apart of your little posse of super heroes? You know why I joined up, but I still can't figure why you let me. You can't trust me, you sure as fuck don't have a reason too. So why?"

"Because, the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he grunted, throwing everything he had into an upper cut. "I know how you feel about the Yakuza, especially the Inagawa-Kai. I know you hate them for what they did to Nel and you want your chance at the family head. Our purposes are different, but we can still help each other."

"You're wrong," Grimmjow rebutted lowly, "that's not the main reason I'm helping you."

Ichigo tilted his head slightly, only briefly stopping his assault. "Why then?"

"I asked you first, because don't think for a moment I believe that bull shit," Grimmjow seethed. "If I wanted too, If you pissed me off enough, I could ruin you and your little operation. I have no allegiance to you and I wouldn't think twice of dragging your fucking name through the dirt and handing it right on over to Aizen or the cops if I wanted." The man sneered while stepping a little closer. His voice was a low rumble, backed by a pungent anger. "So, you know what I think? I think you trust me because you think you can control me. You only asked for my help, someone you don't trust at all, because you think I'm easily handled if I get out of control, like a fucking dog they put down when it get's too aggressive. That shit you pulled right there is proof. It shows you have no fear when it comes to me. You trust me not to fuck you over in the same way a prison guard trust an inmate not to run away while there's a gun to their back." He let out something between a chuckle and a scoff before he said, "I don't like that shit. You don't own me."

Hand tightened in a fist, Ichigo let his knuckles rest against the bag as he hung his head, listening thoughtfully. Turning to the man, Ichigo reasoned, "I don't think nor do I want to own you. Honestly, I don't give a shit what you do, Grimmjow, as long as you don't start killing people, which you agreed to." Ichigo crossed his arms across his well built chest, putting on a more authoritative stance, his glare austere. "You're not stupid. You know if you went blabbering to the family head or the cops, it come right back to you. I trust you because we have mutual interest. We both have secrets worth dying for." His voice gravely like a freight train, Ichigo said, "My funeral is your funeral."

Something in Ichigo's words caused Grimmjow the slightest of comical smirks. "What? If I told the police you'd give them my name? I didn't think you did anything out of anger and spite. You only do something if it's beneficial to you."

Ichigo gave him a look so pointed and earnest in its cautionary message that it could wake the dead just to kill them again. "I don't need to be angry to threaten you, and following through on my threats is always beneficial to me. Though, if you get my friends any more caught up in this than they already are, you'll be surprised at how spiteful I can be."

Without a shadow of a doubt, Grimmjow knew Ichigo meant every word. Not out of malice, but simply for the fact that, if he didn't, his threat would be empty and therefore would not work. He blanched slightly, but showed none of his concern. "Friends, huh? I didn't think you had friends, just comrades or people you use."

Ichigo shook his head and began striking the punching bag once more. "They're people who help me and that I'd prefer nothing bad happen to. Maybe none of us are really friends, but it's the closest thing you'll get living the life we do."

"You sound so fucking cold. Ishida, Chad, Urahara, those guys love you," Grimmjow scoffed. "Maybe they don't say it as blatantly as that, but they consider you family. But hey, at least you prefer nothing bad happen to them. How fucking sweet."

Ignoring the man, Ichigo gave one last savage pounding before he stopped, slowly unwrapping his hands and pulsing his fingers open and closed to work out the pain. "I don't have family," Ichigo reasoned, kneading his sore tendons. "So," he looked up at man with a cock of the eyebrow, "are you going to tell me your real reason for joining us?"

Snickering, Grimmjow said, "One day. I'm not in the mood right now." Strolling towards the door, he talked as he walked, sounding almost smug as he did so. "You know, I may miss those fiery eyes of yours, but man, those deathly cold eyes, I don't think I've seen anything more piss your pants worthy. Not giving a shit about anyone is a good look on you, Kurosaki."

xXx

A/N Take Two: So there was something else I wanted to mention, but I didn't want to ruin any plot for you guy. I feel like this should be clarified, because some people may be confused and it's never going to be something I really bring up throughout the story. When I originally had the idea for this story and I knew I wanted to make a criminal/psychological fic, I wanted to figure out what could happen to Ichigo to make his character seem like he believably changed so drastically. I wanted his new personality to seem as if it could be derived from his more cannon personality if put in the right situation. After I got a lot of the plot situated, I realized I wanted him to have clinical apathy, which I did mention in the last chapter. I also mentioned that it's highly associated with types of dissociative disorders. So I started building from this. Dissociative disorders are usually related to unresolved trauma and can also involve repressed memories. The most well known example of this would probably be someone who was molested as a child and repressed the memory, only to later develop Dissociative personality disorder( Multiple personality.) So what Ichigo has is depersonalization disorder.(I'm not sure how well known this is, seeing as it's fairly new since it was misdiagnosed for years. Though it's also really common) The part where I describe Ichigo feeling out side of his body and not in control, that's what depersonalization disorder is. You actually feel like your body and consciousness split even though you're completely functioning. My friend who has this says it feels a lot like looking through life in a fog and you just have no control or really even care over what you do. It causes extreme apathy and just a disconnection from everything around you. It also can effect your memories and is know to repress them. Though, just to clarify, these are usually spells that can last from minuets to weeks. So Ichigo and most people who have this are not walking around like this 24/7. As it did for Ichigo, it can happen when a persons mind just can't deal with the information or if you're like my friend, for no reason at all. Though the apathy and stress that such an illness causes still sticks with the person out side of their spells. This, beautiful readers, is what a lot of Ichigo's character was formed from. I hope this helps!

xXx

clarit: I'm glad you enjoyed the psychological aspects of this story because that's a big part of the plot! I really wanted to build up the tension for Ichigo's character, but more so, I wanted people to kind of know what they were getting into. I know, I'm absolutely evil. Mwahaha, I had to leave you on a hook so you'd come back. lol. Of course Im not mad! I'm just happy you take the time to read my other A.U even when theres so much Yumi/Ikkaku stuff at first. Thank you for your reviews, there always so nice and encouraging. Good vibes~ Ashes

Tee: You're absolutely right, this is a mix of western and eastern law and justice. I did a lot of research on the way Japan's policing works and there were a lot of holes that I had to fill in. You're right about them taking things at face value. They have a 99% conviction rate because they don't need any cause to arrest a person for questioning, and once they do, they can hold you for anywhere between 2 days - 23 days of nonstop interrogation until they basically drive you insane, making people give false confessions. Don't be sorry for a soap box! A fan fic author lives for this stuff. :) Good vibes, love. ~ Ashes.

siwon611: Hey doll! Thanks for the review as always. That sounds interesting, I've never heard of it, but I'll have to check it out. I'm glad you like the way I characterize Byakuya. I've always thought he'd have such a dry wit and be the biggest smart ass. He's so smexy and I love writing for him. hehe ;) Good vibes ~ Ashes.

Mai Kurosaki: I'm so glad you like this and my research is paying off! Actually, reading your story was what gave me this idea in the first place, so it makes me happy you like it. :) I agree that I may be giving a little to much information at one time. I've been trying to work on that because I want to keep a good tension throughout my story. My reasoning for it though, is because this is a really detailed story and will have tons of information that I'll have to go through, so while it seems like a lot, its really only scratching the surface. I hope you enjoy, love! Good vibes ~ Ashes.