-Alright, another set of drabbles out of the way. I probably should stop this, considering I have final exams in a week, but I can't help myself! And I should update Reign of Blue fire… and try to stomach my way through the extended last chapter of Gilded Silver… but I'll procrastinate just a bit longer to give you guys this set of drabbles. Enjoy!

1: Painting

"What on earth is that face for?" Ichigo asked from his position leaning against their kitchen counter, watching the rice-cooker do its magical work. Toshiro had walked in with a very strange expression indeed, one that demanded explanation from his spouse.

Toshiro sat himself down at their table, shaking his head and rubbing at his forehead. "Apparently Lieutenant Kusajishi has taken up painting," he said, his voice rather shaky.

For the life of him, Ichigo could not imagine why.

Upon receiving another demanding glance from Ichigo, Toshiro elaborated. "Nude paintings, in particular."

Ichigo spluttered with laughter. "You must be kidding!" Toshiro shook his head, denying the fact that he was kidding. "How did you find out about it?"

"Because," Toshiro said, burying his face in his hands, "she asked me to be one of her models."

2: Serenity

Serenity was something that Toshiro rarely was gifted with. He'd like to think that he himself was usually quite tranquil, but the fact that he was coerced into not being tranquil by the outstanding factors in his life. Paperwork, subordinates, battle, his own husband, all of it drove him from that quiet place within himself to another louder one that bustled as much as he did.

But, with that knowledge in mind, he made a habit of finding tranquility and serenity wherever he could find it. Whether it was by meditating, reading, or doing something else, he always returned himself to that quiet place where he could hear Hyorinmaru's breathing and let his tension settle out.

Strangely enough, he often found that tranquility within the confines of his own home, especially when Ichigo was at home with them. They didn't need to be doing anything, or even be speaking to one another. They could just be in each other's presence, and all of his daily tensions would wind away, leaving his pliable mellowness at the disposal of Ichigo's mood.

But, thankfully, the majority of the time Ichigo didn't abuse that pliability, and just took the time to enjoy the silence himself, letting Toshiro's serenity ebb off onto him to get him to relax into that same mellow state.

3: Obstruction

"Toshiro," the other begged quietly, knocking a knuckle against the bathroom door, "please let me in."

"I would prefer it if you didn't come in, Ichigo." His voice wasn't shaking, but Ichigo could tell that Toshiro was well beyond the point of bothered by something or another. "I'm not feeling particularly well."

Ichigo leaned his forehead against the door, praying that it wasn't anything serious. But he had a sinking feeling in his heart that it was serious, and that the door in his way was the only thing keeping him from helping his beloved through whatever it was. "Please open the door," he pleaded.

He heard Toshiro sigh. "It isn't locked, you know."

Ichigo had to admit that he was rather surprised at that, but was glad that he had asked permission to enter anyway. It gave Toshiro a moment to collect himself if he needed to, which he was sure the smaller man would appreciate. He turned the knob, pushing the door open and peeking in carefully before setting foot inside. Toshiro didn't look particularly haggard. He was just leaning against one of the tile walls, his arms slung over his knees and his fingers fiddling with themselves as he sat. But there was a distance in his eyes that alerted Ichigo that the turmoil was internal.

He walked forward, sitting himself down next to the man. He looked at him, his brows raised in worry at Toshiro's continual lack of proper response. He brushed his knuckles against Toshiro's cheek, and the other leaned into the gesture gently, closing his eyes. Ichigo's hand opened, his fingers splaying to cup the small cheek carefully.

"What's the matter?" he asked, brushing the pad of his thumb over a high cheekbone.

Toshiro sighed against his hand, a bit tiredly. "I've just been contemplating some things. I'm sorry if I've worried you." His voice sounded so hollow that it scared Ichigo, so badly that he drew the other into his arms and further into his lap.

Once settled there, Ichigo tightened the embrace, burying his face in the crook of Toshiro's neck. "You're worrying me more by dodging the topic," he said, talking against Toshiro's pale neck.

He heard Toshiro chuckle humorlessly. He couldn't tell if that was progress or not. "I guess I can't really hide anything from you, can I?"

"I would hope that you didn't feel the need to," he said, rather glumly.

"I'm sorry," Toshiro said, this time with a bit more of his usual honesty. "It's just… I was faced with a rather difficult topic today." He curled under Ichigo's chin, snuggling backward into his husband's chest, and gripping at Ichigo's arms.

Ichigo looked at him, concerned. Not much was difficult for Toshiro to handle, especially considering the man had skin thick as lead, so he had a hard time imagining what could have made him so dour as to hide away in their bathroom after having returned home. "What is it?" he asked, trying to urge the other on just enough to get him to speak.

Toshiro nuzzled his head under Ichigo's chin at that point, apparently trying to make himself as small as possible. "I had one of the seated officers from one of the other squads ask me today… whether or not it was true if I was a murderer."

Ichigo was stunned into silence, his mind jumping exactly to what the foolish subordinate had been asking about. The entire case with Kusaka had been made public (to a point) after his return, and quite frankly Ichigo had been amazed that Toshiro's reputation had remained so untarnished. But this resurrection of that sore old topic, in such a crude way, he could totally understand why Toshiro was upset.

Ichigo didn't care what Toshiro had said in response to the subordinate, already knowing the truth well enough for what it was. He shook his head, letting Toshiro be nuzzled beneath his chin. "I'm sorry, babe," he said, a hand brushing at the smaller Captain's neck.

He was most sorry for the fact that, in spite of hundreds of years having passed between them and that horrible span of time in their lives, that the obstacle of getting around and over it had not yet passed. And that the process was still painful was a hard pill to swallow indeed.

4: Finite

"Good lord, Toshiro," Ichigo said, gawking at the menagerie of tiny gears that were strewn across their kitchen table. He glanced at all of them curiously, not wanting to touch any lest he disturb some kind of organization that Toshiro had set up. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm building a watch," his spouse informed him simply, working with the tiny gears so deftly in his hands that it made Ichigo wonder if he hadn't done it before. He would have been unable to do the task himself; considering the finite parts would have been beyond his grasp to keep from breaking.

"Yes, I can see that," he said, shaking his head and sitting down. "Why?"

"If you want to get into finite reasoning, it's because my Seventh Seat's birthday is coming up, and considering how much she's done for us in the past, I considered this to be an applicable gift."

5: Ascension

With Toshiro's death still lingering in his mind, Ichigo had come to the conclusion that life, if it existed beyond that pivotal moment, was only a slow winding descent to a future he didn't want. He'd wept for need of a future that promised ascension to something better; a future that he'd been chasing after with Toshiro in his hand. But as ash through a fisted hand, he'd slipped away, just like that.

And more than anything, that was what hurt the most, was the fact that he'd slipped away so easily, leaving Ichigo's dreams of a life ascended from pain and suffering buried in the ashes that remained as history's markers of their love.

6: Original

Ichigo was never really afraid to face enemies who had copying abilities. He could anticipate who they would choose to mimic every time, and every time he would know how to break down their illusion in order to return to the original.

Because they'd always choose Toshiro, thinking the white haired man to be his greatest weakness. And he'd be able to weed every single one of them out by asking questions of them that only Toshiro would know.

Most of them about Toshiro's subtle sexual preferences, which left most clones spluttering and blushing, and a dead giveaway.

7: Curtain-Fall

"Renji!" he bellowed out through the rain, his compatriot turning at the sound of his name. The battle raged through the skies above Karakura, a thunderhead of war exploding over the city as the struggling stalemate burst to a close. A jagged cut above his brow bled down over one side of his face, successfully blinding him on that side almost entirely, save for the silver of a painful squint he could get away with. His other eye was wide open and searching, ignoring the pain his body was insisting he was in as the storm throwing chaos above them threw his senses into a jumble.

They'd all been fighting for so long, and it still didn't look like there was any hope of stopping anytime soon. His hands were shaking as they gripped Zangetsu's hilt, the lighter bankai blade a nice relief compared to his normal sword, if not for the drain on his power. He was wearing thin, and from the looks of Renji, he wasn't faring horribly well himself.

"What is it, Ichigo?" the red head bellowed back, wiping a streak of blood away from his lip. Zabimaru looked heavy in his hands, but Ichigo knew that now there was nothing to be done; they fought until they fell, or until one side won out over the other. But at the rate the fight was dragging along, it seemed that neither side was going to win, and that both were going to collapse in on themselves before any side could claim victory.

"Where is he?" he yelled, worry beginning to bear down on his nerves. The battle had spread wider than his blunted senses could follow, and even though he'd become quite adept at sensing his husband's spiritual pressure over long distances, the other had apparently moved out of his capability's range. And, had he been faring better in his own battles, he wouldn't have been as worried. But with how taxing it had all become, he was beginning to worry for Toshiro's safety, especially considering he hadn't been able to feel the man for some time.

Renji paused, panting as he tried to concentrate. Ichigo let him, not wanting to rush him, but knowing that they really didn't have much time. Time had been something that had been washing away with the rain as it fell, through his fingers without remorse and against him with a grudge.

Renji's panicked look didn't do much to quell Ichigo's fear, but before a word could exit the other man's mouth, a heaven piercing roar sounded over the clouds. Ichigo froze, recognizing the cry of Hyorinmaru anywhere. He whirled, hoping to see some trace of the dragon, because the earnest agony in its cry had set his heart to thundering.

But again, before he could do anything, the sky broke open with a deafening crack, the maw in the sky erupting with a familiar avalanche of snow. Hyoten Hyakkaso's release sent the temperature plummeting, promptly causing the rain drenching all of them to freeze into a tearing blizzard, a violet white-out falling over the city.

But Ichigo couldn't have cared less about the weather; the fact that Toshiro had been forced into even using Hyoten Hyakkaso was what had disturbed him so, Hyorinmaru's agonized cry not helping to quell those unabashed fears. Leaving Renji to his own devices, he trailed after the closing tear in the black curtain of the sky, knowing that wherever the snow fell was where Toshiro needed it to.

Before he could make a close enough approach to even have to look, a tower of bursting ice petals rose in a column into the sky. But then, much to Ichigo's surprise and dread, more towers of ice flowers began to blossom. A second one rose, followed by a third, a fourth eventually climbing up after its predecessors. Apparently Toshiro's targets had fallen, because as soon as the last flower had bloomed on the last column, the entire area encompassing the space fell into an eerie, complete silence.

When Ichigo arrived, he felt like he was looking upon the remnants of a nuclear winter; everything so still and silent that life itself seemed to be fled from the place. But when a faint screaming reached his ears, Ichigo knew that the time for watching the chaos was over. It was back to being a part of it, after the split second of silence.

Rushing forward through the snow and ice, he bolted to the wavering location of Toshiro's spiritual pressure. The lack thereof disconcerted him greatly, and were it not for the fact that Toshiro was making some manner of sound, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to even locate him.

When he did, his gut twisted painfully. Toshiro was unsurprisingly collapsed, the monstrous amount of spiritual pressure displaced by Hyoten Hyakkaso's release having understandably drained most of his power away. His once pristine white haori lay clinging in tattered shreds to his body, wounds gaping wide to the cold through the clothing's holes. But, much to Ichigo's surprise, he could see Toshiro trying to push himself up, his shoulders shaking from the very strain of trying to do so.

He rushed forward, catching the toiling frame by catching him under his arms. Toshiro was hissing in pain, and as Ichigo helped haul him up, a loud clattering greeted his ears. Hyorinmaru had fallen from Toshiro's grasp, lying blood-stained and battered on the bloodied ground where Toshiro had just been.

Ichigo then glanced down at Toshiro, whose head was leaning heavily against his shoulder as he tried to support himself on his own wavering legs. Ichigo didn't let go, knowing that if he did the other would surely fall. But he noticed then how only one of Toshiro's arms was grasping at him for support. His left hand was clenched around Ichigo's own bloodied haori with a white knuckled grip. The other arm, his right, lay lax against his side. His pale hand was peeking out from beyond the split sleeve, his fingers coated and dripping with blood.

"Come on, Toshiro," he said to his agonized spouse, his heart wrenching as he tried to pull the other up into a better standing position. "Put your other arms over my shoulder and we'll get you out of here. I'll carry you out, and we'll be done with this." He hated to be potentially lying to Toshiro, knowing that beyond the wreckage Hyorinmaru had made was probably even more gruesome fighting. But he had to get the other out and to some kind of help; and probably himself to some help too, considering he could scarcely tell the difference between what was his blood gathering on the ground or Toshiro's.

"I can't," Toshiro choked out against his neck. His body tensed, and he turned his head away from Ichigo as he coughed harshly. His left hand let go of Ichigo's haori in order to grasp at his own stomach, his legs folding beneath him. In the span of that panicking split second, Ichigo's hands shot forward, kneeling swiftly in order to at least steady some of the other's fall. He only half succeeded, but ended up having managed to catch most of Toshiro's torso in the confines of his lap, as the other heaved out wetly rasping breaths.

This entire battle needed to end, lest its toll on all of them end in a death toll greater than they could recover from.

He let Toshiro lay there for a moment, letting the smaller man attempt to catch his breath as he attempted to quell the stress with whispered assurances. The gasping breath lingered, much to Ichigo's dismay, and he began to feel his own weariness compound on him the longer he sat. He hadn't realized just how far he'd pushed himself until he'd gotten the moment to actually feel it. He'd been so numbed by adrenaline for so long that his body was drained and hollow, and he was slowly curling over his spouse as his shoulders sagged. He was only barely clinging to the rung of functioning that Toshiro had fallen from, only by not being totally beyond himself with pain.

But he knew that the more he sat and waited and thought, the worse it would seem. Trying to draw himself back up, Ichigo cradled Toshiro's head gently, trying to draw the other from his hyperventilating. At the rate he was breathing he was going to black out any second, and Ichigo couldn't let that happen with the state the rest of Toshiro's body was in. He patted the other man's flaxen cheek, talking down to him quietly. "Come on, 'Shiro," he said, hoping to get a rise out of the man by using his much-loathed nickname.

His husband's face contorted in misery, his white brows ticking with strain as his eyes struggled open. Those teal orbs looked up at him, and he realized with a hard lump in his throat that Toshiro must have taken a hard strike around the eye, because in one eye, blood had dyed the white of his eye an angry red. "I'm… trying," he grit out, his chest checking with what was probably about to be another fit of coughing. Ichigo pressed a firm hand to the smaller man's chest, trying to calm him as he had to use his other arm to keep even himself propped up.

This quiet moment was killing the both of them.

Ichigo glanced down, seeing that Toshiro's left hand was clenched in a tight fist against his stomach, shaking with strain. Risking a glance at the right hand, he realized that it was just as it had been; completely lax. It was as if it were ignoring the rest of Toshiro's body's impulses, and Ichigo's worry burned a bit more fiercely. Once he was sure Toshiro's breath had steadied some, but in compensation for his eyes shutting back closed, he reached over with his free hand to grasp at Toshiro's arm. He really wanted to make sure that it wasn't broken, but he doubted it, seeing as the Captain had suffered worse and not reacted nearly so severely.

The only issue was that the second he even touched the lax arm, it set Toshiro to whimpering in agony. Ichigo looked down at his husband's face, now very much afraid of what he had done. But Toshiro's voice was apparently caught in his bruised throat, and thus could give Ichigo no verbal answer. With no voice to tell him where he'd gone wrong, Ichigo could only move forward, trying gingerly to discern what was giving his love such great pain.

During his ginger searching, deftly avoiding touching the arm with even the most ginger of touches and instead trying to pry away the shihakusho sleeve, Ichigo became aware of just how damaged the sleeve was. It was, in fact, torn completely from the pit of the arm all the way down the end of the sleeve in a straight line. It was practically following the hem of the sleeve itself.

Prying the torn sleeve off, Ichigo realized just what it was that had caused Toshiro to whimper at even the most ginger touch. There was a long, clean, deep gash running along the soft underside of his arm, straight from the underside of his bicep all the way down to his hand, trailing up over the base of the thumb to end between two of his knuckles. Ichigo swallowed hard, understanding now why Toshiro was so beyond himself. Blood loss was probably the predominant factor, considering the cut ran along one of the major arteries in the forearm. But also because, it seemed, Toshiro had been forced to wield his sword with such a grievously wounded arm. The thought of the wounded muscles trying to hold anything made Ichigo's head spin, let alone a tight enough sword grip. He pushed the gruesome thoughts out of his head as to how exactly Toshiro had managed with sliced tendons, and tried to think of a solution to his imminent issue of Toshiro's dwindling health. The release of Hyoten Hyakkaso must have been a last ditch effort to defeat his enemies before he himself fell, and that thought saddened Ichigo greatly.

Shirking off his own torn Captain's haori, his body shivered at the cold. But the cold was the least of his worries. He had enough energy left to get them out of the tundra-esque wasteland, so if he hurried well enough it would cease to be an issue. His primary concern was to keep Toshiro from blacking out on him, which meant more than probably that the other would not wake, lest they get him to medical assistance within the microscopic window of time that they could properly revive him. Needless to say, it would be best if he could just get Toshiro to hold onto consciousness for as long as he could, so that microscopic window would be left at a probable amount of time.

"Toshiro," he said between biting off long strips of the once white material with his teeth. He'd had enough experience with his father to know how to bandage just firmly enough without cutting off circulation, which would be crucial for a deep wound like this one. The other's heaving breath wasn't calming any, and Ichigo had trouble deciding whether that was good or bad. If it was slowing, it meant that Toshiro's slow fight against his wounds was being lost. But if it remained at the pace he was going at, the threat of overstressing himself was high. In other words, he was sitting on a hair-trigger, and had no time to choose which alternative was best. "I'm going to move your arm so I can bandage it. Please hold still, I'll work as fast as I can."

He saw the man's functioning hand get a hold of a fistful of his own torn shihakusho, trying to prepare himself for the oncoming pain. Ichigo sighed, finishing tearing off what he believed to be enough strips before gingerly setting them down next to him. He lifted Toshiro's damaged arm, trying to ignore the full body wince that made Toshiro's body shake against his own. But those pale lips remained quiet, save for their fevered breathing as he set to work.

It was a slow and grueling process, and in Ichigo's mind it seemed to drag on forever. He could only guess that it seemed equally grueling for Toshiro, whose body it was he was likely inflicting pain upon. But he took his time, knowing that if he wrapped carelessly or hurriedly, it would cause more harm than good. And in spite of the incentive his frigidly stiff fingers were giving him to hurry up, he resisted, taking every inch of the way with serious care. Halfway done with the arm, Ichigo looked down, seeing with a bit of dismay that Toshiro's ragged breathing had slowed. But the fact that he still flinched every once in a while let Ichigo know that he was still there, and still marginally cognizant.

When at last he finished, he'd just run out of bandaging strips. He would have liked to wrap Toshiro's hand, but knew that there really was no good way to do so. And considering his haori really didn't have much more to offer, he decided against trying to tear off enough for another strip in favor of collecting his spouse and getting them both out of there.

He looked down again, seeing that Toshiro's breathing had slowed even more, down to a whispering sigh. He set Toshiro's bandaged arm down gently next to him, noting grimly how the wound continued to bleed into his impromptu bandaging job. He stroked his spouse's face gently, but this time was not successful in rousing him so easily. He tried again at patting the other's cheek, getting a twitch as a response, but no awakening. "Come on, Toshiro," he said, pushing the other up into a sitting position. That did succeed in waking him, thankfully, and Ichigo stepped in front of him, picking the other up by his skinny thighs and letting him rest on his back as he stood. Toshiro's good arm wrapped over Ichigo's shoulder to keep himself rooted, his wounded one pressed between the two of them.

"Where are we going to go?"

Ichigo was rather surprised at the question. Or, rather, Toshiro's ability to even ask the question. He couldn't tell if the other was asking seriously, or out of delirium, but he knew that either way an answer was necessary.

Unfortunately, his honest answer was that he didn't know. But he didn't want to tell Toshiro that; the ailing man didn't need that kind of grim outlook. Thankfully, before Ichigo needed to explain further, he noticed something. Far off in the sky, far above where Karakura's skyscrapers reached, blue sky began to peek through the clouds. He'd known from the beginning that the clouds had not been of Toshiro's making. Even if they did serve useful to him, he had not been the one to instigate their appearance. They'd been brought by Aizen, and all of his insidious intentions. But now, it seemed, they were fading, heralding the shearing of the curtain that had promised to fall on them all.

"We're going to go home," he said, beginning his slow trek through the snow in an attempt to find Captain Unohana as soon as possible. He was expecting Toshiro to answer in some manner, but when he was not responded to that was proven incorrect. He glanced back, finding Toshiro's snowy head laying despondently against his shoulder. He quickened his pace, knowing that he'd postponed his hair-trigger minute for as long as he could, as well as having outlasted the falling of the curtain.

He could only hope from there on out that things got easier, because if they got any harder, it meant that next time, he wouldn't be walking away from the battlefield with Toshiro in his arms. Or, rather, he wouldn't be walking away from the battlefield at all.

8: Due

When Toshiro was close to being due, Ichigo became the most obnoxiously doting husband probably in the history of ever. To the point that it quite openly irked Toshiro at times, but not enough to keep him from completely shooing the other away, knowing the bruised pride would far outlast any minor frustration.

But Ichigo's most potent habit during that anxious time was to jump at least three feet in the air at every little move Toshiro made. He was probably thinking all of them to be some kind of strange precursors to labor, which he had honestly informed Toshiro he had no intention of being involved with himself. He didn't trust himself, he told Toshiro, and trusted Captain Unohana to do such things considering his mental state was frazzled at best.

So, during that time, Toshiro had gotten into the habit of fake-sneezing at random intervals, just to see how far in the air he could get Ichigo to jump.

9: Electric

There were some nights when they strayed from their Friday night standard. It probably wasn't intentional most of the time, but usually started about the exact same way every time they deviated. It would always start with Ichigo touching Toshiro's shoulder as he clambered into bed. And the second he did, both would pause at the sudden jolt of electricity that would bolt through the both of them. They would turn to each other, and things would only unravel from there.

Toshiro blamed Ichigo once, in good humor, that he needed to stop being such a god-damn powerhouse all the time, and that their constant electric chemistry was what wore him out all the time.

-12 hours later… and I'm at it again. Someone please make me go to class, work, do something. Because I don't think this is healthy… writing almost nine thousand words in one day. Shoot me, maybe, put me out of my misery. But the only issue with that is that then I wouldn't get all of my projects done, and I have loans to pay, and books I want to write, and… eh. Whatever. I'll just muddle through anyway. I don't have many notes on this set, save for the behemoth that is number 7: Curtain-Fall. Here is my comment: ..FUCK. I started that darn little drabble with a song in my head and a scene at my fingers, and it turned into this gargantuan THING that ate up three thousand words of this set. God I hope you're happy, kaisamalleen, because that one really did just about strangle me. Seriously, I think it has a mind of its own, now, and one of these days it's going to walk off my keyboard and bludgeon me over the head with my stuffed dolphin. And that will be the end of that. Anyway, still taking donations, shoot some at me if you have any ideas, and I'll see you… when next I drag myself onto these poor abused keys.

8-90s love,

crypto