Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Tite Kubo does.

The Guns of Karakura

Chapter 3: Not Just A Pretty Face

Rukia Kuchiki woke up to greet the dawn, and as she took in the slowly-spreading sunlight and the musical chirps of the birds fluttering through the trees, something very rare happened.

She smiled. Not one of those formal, 'Oh, yes, I'm so pleased to meet you that I have to control myself to keep from belting you in the gut' forced smiles she would get whenever her brother decided to treat her like a bargaining chip and introduced yet another suitor into her life. No, this was a real, unrestrained, shit-eating grin. Because Rukia Kuchiki wasn't waking up to the sight of the elegant, gilded cage she called her room. This was the great outdoors, where she truly belonged.

Where she could be free, if only for a fewhours.

Stretching out her tired limbs, Rukia's smile faded faster than smoke from a gun barrel when she felt a cool, metal object shift against the bare skin of her chest underneath her shirt. Biting back a sigh, the young woman reached down and pulled the object out into the sunlight. It was a golden ring, attached to a fine silver chain that hung around her neck. This rather small piece of jewelry was Rukia's most prized possession, even more precious to her than her pair of revolvers: it was her wedding ring.

Her husband had held one just like it, once, and he had been buried with it hidden in his pocket. Rukia hadn't dared to show her face at the service; she and Kaien had been married in secret. Even her brother was still ignorant of the whole affair, far as the young woman knew. They'd been happy together for a time, Kaien Shiba and Rukia Kuchiki. Until the night that a rowdy, drunken thug who fancied himself a gunfighter had swaggered up to Shiba, drawn his revolver and put a bullet right between Kaien's eyes before the young man had a chance to defend himself.

Rumor had it that the thug started bragging 'bout what he'd done, and shortly thereafter got a visit from a woman with long, dark black hair, one arm and death shining in her sea-green eyes. But the fact that her lover had been avenged didn't matter to Rukia Kuchiki. No amount of blood shed in vengeance or Kuchiki money spent on whiskey could heal her broken heart, which felt as cold as the ring Rukia now pressed to her lips reverently, blinking back a stray tear.

A second later, the young woman heard a twig snapping a few paces off. Rukia's nerves gripped her and she took the ring off of the chain, slipping it into her pocket. Reaching down to where she usually wore her revolvers when she decided to slip out from under her brother's prying eyes and go on one of these excursions, the young Kuchiki found herself gripping nothing but air. Looking over, she saw that they were lying on the ground, pearled grips gleaming in the sun almost as brightly as the snow-white bodies to which they were attached. As she moved to reach towards them, Rukia's horse whinnied sharply and started up onto its hindlegs. The sudden noise shocked Rukia into diving towards her pair of firearms, which wound up saving her life.

A pair of bullets whizzed right by where her head had been moments before, and another trio of rounds brought her horse tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately for the Kuchiki heiress, her faithful mount chose to fall right on top of her, just as her slender hands had closed around her revolvers' grips.

"God fucking damnit!" Rukia spat out as pain coursed through her and her head reeled from the impact, proudly shattering every image of the proper, cultured lady everyone probably thought her to be. One didn't hang around with Kaien Shiba and not pick up a few choice words, after all.

"Well, well, boys," a voice crowed out, "look what we have here. This fine piece of tail fancied herself a right frontierswoman! Ain't that so, lil 'un?"

Rukia looked up and glared daggers at the source of the voice, which belonged to a thin, wiry and slippery looking snake of a bastard, with sickly eyes the color of the devil's own piss.

"Go to hell, you cocksucker," she spat, and the man looked shocked for a moment before his eyes widened in mirth.

"This bitch's got a mouth on her, boys!" he called out, and his two partners cackled like jackals. "You as feisty between the sheets as you are right now, honey?" the man cooed, moving in close enough for Rukia to be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. As he inched closer and closer to her face, the young Kuchiki fought down her revulsion and waited for the right moment. Just when he was about to close the gap between them completely, the violet-eyed spitfire lunged forward and dug her teeth into his cheek. As the man leapt back in shock and howled in rage, Rukia noted with grim satisfaction that he attack had left two deep, bloody gashes in the thug's cheek that would most certainly scar over.

"You cunt!" the man seethed out, pressing the palm of one of his greasy hands to the wound to slow the bleeding. A few heartbeats later, though, the rage in his eyes had mingled with something in between lust and primal brutality.

"You know," the man began as he advanced again, warier this time but still predatory, "I was real torn up when Renji decided to leave our band and go straight, but now I'm startin' to see the upside to his absence. 'Cause if he were here, he'd probably tell us to let you go, and look for marketable people elsewhere. But since that self-righteous punk Abarai ain't with us no more, that means I get to do whatever I want to ya. Y'all don't object, do ya, boys?"

"Go right ahead, Seth," one of them called out.

"As long's we get our turn, I don't give a damn what you do to 'er!" the other one joined in, and the ringleader's smile widened.

"Well, that takes care of that," he said lowly, stalking closer to his prey. "Let's get this horse offa you and see what you can do, bitch. You better make me satisfied, too, elsewise I'll give you a much meaner scar than the marks you gave me."

The thug heaved and shoved, eventually rolling the carcass off of his would-be screw for the afternoon. Rather than finding a meek, easily subdued young woman, though, the slaver found himself staring at two loaded, primed revolvers being aimed expertly by a pair of cold violet eyes. Pulling both of the triggers before Seth could move out of the way, Rukia hit him twice in the chest and sprung to her feet as the body fell to the ground. Spitting on it disdainfully when it landed, the young Kuchiki glared hatefully at the corpse of her attacker.

"Satisfied, you bastard?" she growled, before turning her eyes to the two frightened men in front of her.

"Who's next?" she hissed, and the men put up their guns in a gesture of surrender. Before she could act, however, Rukia was stopped cold by the feeling of a gun barrel being pressed up against the back of her head.

"Drop'em, bitch," a cold voice spoke. "No sudden moves, an' keep your hands where I can see 'em."

The young Kuchiki did as she was told, swallowing the bile forming in her mouth as she saw her precious firearms fall to the ground. They had been a wedding gift from Kaien, and he had taught her how to handle them; seeing them soiled by the blood seeping out of that bastard's chest was almost too much to bear.

"You two yellow-bellied fucks come over here and pick up those irons," the man ordered, and the two thugs who had shown up with the now dearly departed Seth suddenly found their second wind and scuttled forwards, grabbing one gun each like they were holding a live rattlesnake.

"That, gentlemen," the voice said as it shifted from behind Rukia to coming from her left, "is why you never play your full hand from the get-go. I offer you my thanks, woman," the man continued as he came into view, sliding his gun barrel over to rest on Rukia's forehead as he stepped in front of her eyes. "Seth was a rotten fucking piece of scum, and my band is better off without him."

"What's your name?" Rukia asked as calmly as she could, and the man raised a surprisingly elegant brown eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?"

Kuchiki's eyes narrowed murderously.

"So that when I kill you, I know what to carve into your fucking tombstone."

The man's dark eyes sparkled and he laughed, brushing a few strands of brown hair from his face with his free hand.

"I like you, woman," the man said, "you got some spunk in ya. Seth was right, Renji would've let you go. Always did have a soft spot for iron belles like yourself, he did. The name's Rikichi," he continued. "What's yours?"

"Rukia."

"Ain't got a last name, Rukia?"

"I have two," the young woman replied calmly, "but I could never decide which one to use, so I threw 'em both out for simplicity's sake."

"Fair enough," Rikichi sighed, before pistol-whipping Rukia in the temple and catching her as she crumpled, unconscious.

"Sorry to take you down like this, kid," Rikichi said softly as he slung the young woman over his horse, "but that's how it's gotta be. At least be thankful that I know how to do it without leaving any permanent scars: nobody wants to buy damaged goods."

Turning to his two comrades, Rikichi motioned for them to mount up.

"Karakura's a few hours from here," he said. "If we dig our spurs, we can make it a bit before the market opens up and get the prime spot."

"What'll we do if Renji shows up, boss?"

Rikichi's eyes darkened at the thought of his former friend-turned enemy.

"If that red-haired bastard shows his face, I'll deal with him the way I should'a done the moment he parted ways with us. The Silver Dragonflies are not to be trifled with, gentlemen, and I will personally reinforce that knowledge upon our former brother if need be. Now shut your fucking traps and ride."

"Yes, sir!" the pair chorused, and the trio of riders shot off towards Karakura, ignorant of just who it was they were carrying with them.

The first thing Ichigo was greeted with when he entered the gunsmith's shop was a string of profanity that would come to be characteristic of its female speaker.

"Damnit, Ganju, you good-for-nothing ass! I asked for hot water, did I not? Hot water. Does this feel like hot fucking water to you? Huh?!"

The sound of a bucket of water being dumped on someone's head sounded throughout the room, and the young Kurosaki flinched in sympathy for whoever that poor sonofabitch was.

"N—No, sis," a man's timid voice replied.

"That's what I thought," the woman shot back. "Great," she continued, grousing, "now you made me empty the whole fucking bucket. Go and get another one, and it better be hot enough to scald the hide off of a bull, or I swear to fucking God I'll throw you out on your ass by sundown!"

"Who's that?" Ichigo asked, his voice already cowed even though he hadn't even laid eyes on the speaker yet.

"That would be Kuukaku Shiba," Kisuke said, sparks of amusement dancing behind his gray eyes. "She's Karakura's resident gunsmith. Go on, Ichigo. She won't bite… much."

The young Kurosaki walked forward into the dim, smoky light of the smithy and stood apprehensively in front of Kuukaku, who was currently bent over a glowing-hot anvil and pounding a slab of red-hot, malleable iron with a hammer. After a few awkward moments, the woman stopped pounding and looked up, locking her fierce gaze on Ichigo.

"You gonna stand there all day, soldier," she spoke gruffly, "or are you gonna stop wasting my precious time an' say something?"

The orange-haired gunslinger cleared his throat and set his feet, meeting the sharp pair of green eyes with a smoldering glare of his own.

"I need a pair of guns," he said evenly, "and I hear you're the one that makes 'em."

Kuukaku's eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to take the measure of Ichigo's very soul.

"And why should I do something like that?" she asked. "I can tell you'd use 'em for nothing but killing, kid, and I'm done having blood on my hands."

"You don't understand, ma'am," Ichigo parried, his voice a barely-restrained growl. "Something very precious was snatched from me, and I need to get it back. To do that," he repeated, his voice growing harsher by the word, "I need a pair of guns, and I hear you're the one that makes 'em."

Despite the strength of his words, Shiba was unfazed.

"And what did a young colt like you lose already," she cynically replied, "that's stoked the fire of revenge in your heart?"

Ichigo's amber eyes blazed hotter than the red coals crackling in the forge as he replied.

"My family."

The words were spoken with such conviction, such bitterness, that even Kuukaku was taken back with shock for a moment before righting herself.

"What's your name, boy?" the gunsmith asked, her gaze softening ever so slightly as she regarded the young man in front of her.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, ma'am."

A heartbeat later, Kuukaku's demeanor changed entirely: it was as if a big boulder that had been keeping a lid on her emotions rolled away, and a smile spread slowly across her face.

"Ah, I see it now," she spoke, stepping forward and looking keenly at Ichigo's face. "You don't have his hair or his eyes, but you got your old man's thunder in your veins, that much is certain. I take it you're out to avenge his death, Ichigo?"

The young Kurosaki shook his head.

"No," he replied, "I'm not."

Kuukaku raised a skeptical eyebrow at that.

"No? Then what do you need iron for, if not to fill up empty graves?"

"My father made me swear not to shed blood on his account," Ichigo explained, "but those motherfuckers that shot my family down took my little sisters away from me on the day they put two slugs in my chest. I don't care who or what gets in my way, but I'm gonna find my kin and I'm gonna save 'em. Then I'm gonna find the ones that took 'em, and I'm going to put those bastards in the ground sure as I draw breath right now."

The gunsmith gazed at Ichigo for another long moment, before sighing and closing her eyes.

"All right," she said, "I'll make your fucking guns. But promise me somethin' in return, Ichigo."

"Name it."

"When your job is done, promise me you'll take these irons and put 'em down for good."

Kurosaki smiled grimly, extending his hand.

"I believe we have an accord, ma'am."

Kuukaku grasped his hand in kind, mirroring his smile. Then, once she had relaxed her grip, she swung her fist forward and punched Ichigo right in the jaw.

"What the fuck!?" Ichigo shouted as he gripped his bruising face. "What was that for?"

Rather than reply, Kuukaku struck again and again, each time attacking from a different direction. After the orange-haired young man had barely succeeded in blocking what felt like the twentieth strike, the gunsmith suddenly stopped. Gasping, Ichigo gathered what was left of his wits and spoke.

"Why the hell'd you do that, woman?" he snarled. "I thought you were supposed to make guns, not beat me to a pulp!"

The sea green-eyed Shiba just chuckled, walking over to her forge.

"I ain't making just any guns, Ichigo," she called out. "I'm making your guns. I had to figure out how you reacted, how you moved, what your rhythm was. Otherwise the guns won't fit right, and I'll be fucked if I make anything other'n a damn masterpiece."

The woman's tone told him not to argue under any circumstances, so Ichigo shut up and sat down, still dazed and nursing his bruised jaw.

"If it's any consolation, Ichigo," Urahara's voice called out as he walked over, "every person Kuukaku's ever forged a gun for has gone through that exact same thing. Even your dad."

"Really?" the young Kurosaki asked with a small chuckle, and Kuukaku spoke up from her position by the forge.

"How d'you think he got that scar on his chin, kid? That was the patented Shiba right cross!"

The orange-haired gunslinger frowned in confusion.

"He said he got that in a barfight."

Both Kisuke and Kuukaku broke into laughter at the claim.

"Of course Isshin would say that," Shiba replied. "He'd have preferred facing a chargin' bull head-on with his bare hands to admittin' he let a woman wail on him for his guns. Oi, Ganju," she shouted, turning her gaze to the backdoor, "get'cher lazy ass over here!"

Over the next few hours, Urahara saw to Ichigo's bruises while Kuukaku saw to forging Ichigo's guns. After what felt like an eternity to the young Kurosaki, Kuukaku put down her hammer and sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Just gimme about a half-hour to put on the finishing touches and we should be in business," the gunsmith said as she lowered the guns into the cold water to cool them, the barrels emerging midnight-black in color. Ichigo's eyes widened in awe even as he saw the incomplete weapon, and something in his blood seemed to respond instinctively to the metal.

When a half an hour had come and gone Kuukaku stood in front of Ichigo, holding the matching weapons by the barrels and presenting the dark silver grips to the young gunslinger. Ichigo felt a tingle shoot up his arm when he took hold of the guns, marveling silently at how well they fit into his hands.

"The barrels came out a bit long, so these're heavier than your normal revolver," Kuukaku explained as Ichigo looked over every inch of his new irons, "but you'll get great stopping power out of these vicious little bastards, that's for sure. This is only the second time the gun's body has come out a color other than silver," Shiba added, "and that other pair was something else, so I know this one'll be special, too."

"What color were they?" Ichigo asked. "The other revolvers, I mean. The other pair you fashioned."

"White," Kuukaku answered, her voice getting unusually sentimental. "A pure white, whiter than the snow. My brother asked me to make 'em for someone special to him, about a month before he passed. Sode no Shirayuki, their name is, or so Kaien told me after he heard their owner name 'em. To this day, though," she finished, her voice returning to normal, "I have no idea who Kaien gave those guns to."

"So, what're mine named?" Ichigo asked, and the gunsmith shrugged.

"Fuck if I know, kid," she said. "They're your guns; you tell me."

Ichigo looked down at one of the revolvers now resting on his outstretched palm, quietly watching the way the light glinted off of its surface and listening to the subtle hum it seemed to give off as it rested, thrumming in time with his heartbeat.

"Zangetsu," the young Kurosaki said suddenly but with conviction, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. "Their name is Zangetsu."

"That's a strong name," Urahara commented, before clapping Ichigo on the shoulder and motioning with his head towards the door.

"C'mon, kid," he said, "it's been a long morning, and Yoruichi wanted us to scope out the markets before goin' back to the Black Cat. They're just about to open, so let's get there soon as we can. The quicker we finish that up, the quicker I can start gettin' hammered."

Ichigo raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be staying off the bottle, bein' an expecting father an' all?"

Kisuke chuckled as he answered.

"Where'd you get that nuts idea, Ichigo?" the gray-eyed man said. "Yoruichi's the one who has to stay sober, so I'm drinkin' for the both of us. Now hurry up," he finished,

"We have some sightseeing to go do downtown."

A/N: Next chapter, things start getting real interesting as a certain orange-haired gunfighter and a violet-eyed spitfire of an heiress meet for the first time. That, and Renji meets up with some old friends of his, causing everything to decide to pack up and go straight to hell. Should be fun.

Also, I noticed while editing this that the concept of Zangetsu being a (more or less) purely black gun and Sode no Shirayuki being a (more or less) purely white gun shows up as well in the story "Lock and Load" by Scarlett Letter. This similarity is purely coincidental (and plot-necessitated besides), but I thought I'd mention it to both give that story a shout-out and to prevent people from thinking I stole from it.