One of the things that struck him about her was her certainty. She walked in long, steady strides, looking all around her with an intensity that reminded him of himself when he was fresh out of the academy, angry and—looking for a fight.

Unfortunately for him, she didn't find the kind she was looking for. Forty-five minutes of walking and nothing. He tugged at her sleeve. "It's getting late. I need to get going."

"Oh." They had barely spoken the whole time. He scanned her face; she seemed disappointed, but he wasn't convinced it was merely because she couldn't kick any hollow ass.

"I'll walk you back to your apartment," he offered without knowing why. She was a big girl and could clearly take care of herself. But he wasn't comfortable leaving her.

That is, until she said something that made him even more uncomfortable. "So you've been moping around pining for Rukia, haven't you?"

It wasn't even a question. He stopped walking without even realizing it. "What the hell do you know?"

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"Like someone just kicked your dog and pissed in your slushie. No wonder Chad's been babysitting you. How long has it been? A few weeks? A couple months?"

"Like I'm going to answer that. You don't know me from a can of paint and you're gonna make all these assumptions about me? Are you a bitch to everyone or just people who work hard to keep your narrow ass safe?" This all seemed painfully, ironically familiar to him.

"Don't bullshit me. Urahara told me how shinigami work. You all have those phones to track hollows with. You don't need to patrol and you know it. Ichigo and Rukia only do it to humor your dumb ass."

He could only gape at her. She had him, dead to rights.

And he couldn't even remember her name. The deer-in-headlights feeling he always had when he argued with Rukia resurfaced, only this time she wasn't here to provoke it. So naturally, he struck back the only way he knew how: He punched the offending party.

"You struck an unarmed human girl?" The horror is seeping through Byakuya's cold voice, and Renji understands it completely.

"She dodged me, sir."

"But you tried to hit her."

"And she dodged me. And then she kicked me in the balls."

"Oh." Byakuya settles back into his chair. "What then?"

"After I stopped rolling around on the ground praying for death, she helped me up and I walked her back to her apartment. Where she jumped me."

"Jumped you?"

"It's a human metaphor for sex, sir." A cough. "We didn't actually. Just came really close to it."

"Ah. Please continue."

It was an older building with six floors. Of course, considering his luck, the apartment occupied by Arisawa Tatsuki and Inoue Orihime was on the sixth. He was still aching a little, and she seemed very sorry.

Okay, just a little sorry. "It was a reflex," she said as he collapsed onto the couch. "You can put some ice on it, if you want."

He understood this was all he was going to get in the way of an apology. He also understood the reasoning. She seemed tense, as if she knew she had overstepped her bounds somehow. Renji looked around. It was a girly apartment, but most of the things he saw were clearly Inoue's: A teddy bear, some scented candles, and a picture of Inoue's dead brother. There was nothing here to signify Arisawa lived here at all. He was about to comment on it when she came into the living room holding a towel full of ice. He waved his arm tiredly. "I don't need it."

She paused. "Is it because of the meat suit?"

"Meat suit?" He tilted his head. She might as well have been speaking Greek. . . "Oh, you mean the gigai. Nah, wearing a gigai doesn't stop you from getting hurt. But. . ." It was either jeans that looked like he had pissed them, or another, even less appealing alternative.

Tatsuki's mouth formed a little O. "You can go into the bathroom if you want. . ."

"No, it's okay." He heaved himself up and stumbled toward the door. "It's time to head back, anyway."

She was in front of him before he could move another step. "Look, I was trying to help."

"You've helped plenty." Like he needed the pity of a sadistic, all-knowing little harpy. He felt the blood rushing to his face. "Just leave me alone, will you?"

She set the ice down on the coffee table and stepped closer. "I can't do that."

He groaned. "And why not?"

She blinked, swallowed. "Because I know how you feel, you moron." She looked him in the eye and he knew she was telling what she considered to be the truth.

He swallowed. "Ichigo?"

"I couldn't let myself want something that Inoue wanted, you see." She was pacing. "I couldn't betray her like that. And so I let go and I moped, and when I looked at myself in the mirror—that's the same look I saw on your face."

He couldn't say a word. Until just a few hours ago she was barely a blip on his radar. He had just gotten to the point when he remembered her name, and here she was, worried for him. It made no sense whatsoever. But he was still touched. Touched. He could only do what he knew how to do. Whenever Rukia told him something deep, he would reach and touch her head. He did this, set his long white hand atop that dark head, and look at her, willing her to understand his appreciation, even if he was confused. She gazed up at him and nodded.

And that was enough. His legs moved, her legs moved. Her lips were on his before he could even tell himself he was doing something stupid. Very, very stupid. Because instead of pushing him away and calling him a pervert, she kissed him back. And it felt. . .good.

Very good. Blood was rushing to both of his heads. Her lips were soft and warm and . . .

He was the one who pulled away, gasping.

She pursed her lips and waited.

"You started it," he said.

"I'm not denying that.," she said.

"You're—a little crazy, aren't you."

"No," she said, blushing just a little. Somewhere in that twisted head, she was completely aware of what she was doing and saying. "Just a little horny, I guess. It's been a while since I've been up close and personal with something in possession of a penis, and I guess my libido got the best of me. You have a nice body, all things considered."

"Well gee. I kinda feel like a piece of meat."

"Sorry.. I really didn't bring you here for that."

They stood and stared at each other. He inched toward the door and she made no move to stop him. Of all the. . .

She shook her head. "Go on, Abarai. I'm just as weirded out as you are." He could not tell if she was lying and at that point didn't care. He opened the door and made good his escape. Nevermind the fact that his lips were still—tingling.

"Strange girl," Byakuya says after a long pause. "What made you stop?"

"Well, when I started to. . . you know. . . it still hurt and everything. How could I do something like that with someone who would kick me there like it was nothing?"

"That's logical thinking, for you. But you still want to, don't you."

"Um. . . yeah."

"Fascinating. Keep going," Byakuya says.

Next up: An interlude. Arisawa's confession, Inoue's empathy.