A/N: Yes! Grimmjow! Also, some of the OC's in this chapter were mostly just because I love torturing Byakushi. If anyone's curious, they were his babysitters before they joined the Royal Guard.
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Grimmjow Jeagerjaques was surrounded by shinigami.
He was also bored out of his mask.
In normal circumstances, the combination of two such states would have been, if not impossible, then extremely short-lived. At the most it might have lasted the quarter of a second it would have taken him to draw Pantera and ram it through the nearest of the cocky bastards. Hell, he could skewer them barehanded in half that, he was the fucking Sexta Espada!
Was being the key word. Or maybe not, since it wasn't like anyone had replaced him or banything. But then again, Aizen had formed the Espada, so… ah, screw it, he was the Sexta and if anyone argued he'd claw their eyes out.
Of course, it didn't look like he'd be doing much of that in the future. Hence why Grimmjow was in the middle of a division full of the strongest shinigami to ever live, and his sword was still firmly in its sheathe. He had been 'requested' to keep it there, what with him being a bloodthirsty psychopathic Hollow and all. Not that he'd have listened in most cases, but even he wasn't crazy enough to argue with that healer woman. Especially not when she was smiling like that.
"Creepy bitch…"
"Grimmjow-kun?" Speak of the all-too literal devil. "Did you say something?"
"Er…" Fuck. "No?"
Several of the other bathrobe-wearers had turned to watch them, rather than the far bloodier and engaging—meaning that occasionally the audience had to dodge a misaimed blow or just plain run for their lives—show of Zaraki and a younger member of the Royal Guard sparring. They had been going at it for over a half an hour already, and the
Not to mention the ongoing halftime show of the latter's triplet sisters cheering him on, one of whom had settled into a spot directly behind Kuchiki Byakuya while her sisters bounced—there was no other way to describe it—into place on either side. The noble's expression remained as smoothly disdainful as ever, but the way he twitched whenever Zaraki's opponent pulled off an exceptionally skilled move.
Of course, he couldn't blame the bastard, seeing as each time that happened the sisters insisted on shrieking in his ear and hugging each other. Watching the prick attempt to discretely avoid being trapped in the center of their embraces had been hilarious for a while, but even that had started to get annoying after the first ten minutes.
Not to mention the way that they were squealing made the Arrancar want to cut out their voiceboxes. Or his ears, whichever made that damned noise go away faster.
He almost wished that they were having another shrieking match now. But no, when he actually wanted them to be loud and distracting they were watching him as avidly as the rest of the damned nosy shinigami. Maybe he shouldn't have been so eager to get away from those brats after all…
"Grimmjow-kun? Are you feeling alright?"
Damnit, she was still there and she was still smiling at him, like he didn't know she was running through all of the ways she knew to eviscerate him with his own hair. No wonder half of the idiots gawking at them looked like they were being nostalgic, they'd probably gone through the same damn thing if the captain of the fourth was half as old as he'd been led to believe.
"I'm fine," he snarled, sliding hastily a few inches away on the section of rubble he had claimed for his lounging.
It had originally been a part of the roof, but there was a reason why the Eleventh Division racked up the highest damages every time someone managed to convince them to actually do the reports that the other divisions were required to submit monthly. More often than not, that someone was the same one who was currently terrifying Grimmjow.
He'll certainly fit in well with the rest of the Eleventh, Unohana mused with a slight widening to her smile after several more seconds of watching the Espada squirm. Finally, when it looked as if the mighty Sexta was close to either fainting or wetting his hakama, she took pity on him and relaxed her examination.
"If you're sure," she told the blue-haired Hollow sweetly before turning back to the scheduled entertainment. Predictably, neither combatant had noticed anything other than their opponent. The healer shook her head bemusedly; between the Kenpachi's bloodlust and Koinu's single-mindedness, she doubted that even that rather adorable sixty-story reptile monster in those "mu-bis" the living world was so fond of would be able to distract them at this point.
"Enthusiastic, aren't they?"
Unohana gave a neutral nod, not even bothering to glance at the newcomer. She could hear rustling and respectful murmuring; the King had clearly come with his bodyguard. Although she respectfully inclined her head towards that direction, her eyes remained locked on the two warriors. "He's improved."
"Well, it has been three hundred years." Hikifune pointed out as she sat down beside her former comrade-in-arms, folding her legs gracefully beneath her. Despite the apparently casual slope of the shoulders and the way she leaned back slightly on her arms, her gaze lingered for a few moments on Grimmjow—or more accurately, on the sharp nails that irritably drummed against the sheathe holding his zanpakutou. If the lower-ranked of the duo noticed the straying of her colleagues' eyes, she chose to ignore it.
"Three hundred and seventeen," she murmured instead, and the other woman gave her a sidelong look, sharp and searching.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" The Guardian mused with a slight shake of the head. "Not since the Academy."
"You're one to talk."
Unohana's words had been soft, but her companion's keen ears picked it up with ease, as she had known they would. "How are our kohai doing, by the way?"
"I'll ask Shunsui next time he's sober."
"In other words, they haven't changed either." Hikifune chuckled as they watched Koinu duck beneath the bladed arc of his taller opponents' swing. Both were at shikai—not that Zaraki had ever managed to have his sword at any other level—but the Guardian had restrained himself from using his zanpakutou's ability. It could have been out of fairness, or simple selfishness in wanting to challenge himself in a rare opportunity against the single warrior who had risen to captaincy without even knowing his blade's name.
"GO NIICHAN!" One of the girls literally screamed, causing Byakuya to visibly cringe and attempt to slide surreptitiously far, far away. Unfortunately, the triplet on his other side was positioned perfectly to cut him off, and when he bumped her she squealed and hugged him. The combatants ignored this completely in favor of pounding their swords together repeatedly.
Or Koinu could just be insane. It was better hidden in him than in his sisters, but both his past and present captain had long harbored suspicions. In fact, a few months after his promotion, his vice-captain had tried to trick him into getting a psychological evaluation.
"GO KEN-CHAN! GO GO GOOOOOOOO!"
"YETH, GO KEN-TSAN!"
Then again, compared to his opponent, he was the epitome of sane normalcy. Or at least, he had seemed to be before volunteering for a bout against the stir-crazy psychopath.
She sighed, and thought back to her own fukutaichou. She had been young, yes, but Hikifune had had such high hopes for the girl. She had even started to see her as more of a daughter than a subordinate… and there, perhaps, had been the problem.
"You got attached again, didn't you?"
"Don't mistake fairness for favoritism." The healer's tone was uncharacteristically sharp, although only the Guardian heard it. "They're children, and they've been through too much already. Most of them were normal humans until few months ago."
"None of them were ever truly normal," Hikifune retorted, "it was only a matter of time."
"Before what, may I ask?" Unohana inquired, her voice colder than even the rowdiest members of the Eleventh had ever had the misfortune to hear. "And please keep your voice down."
"Very well." The scream of metal on metal pierced the brief silence that had followed those words, and after it had died away to be replaced by panting and the mad Kenpachi's laughter, the captain of the Royal Guard continued. "But you know what I meant. Besides, they'll find out soon enough… those records are no more hidden than any of the others. Young as they are, those children will try to save her any way they can, and find them."
"But what I wish to know," she lowered her voice slightly, "is why are you so intent on hiding what happened."
"It was two thousand years ago," restrained anger faded into a mild murmur, as the healers' eyes took on a certain nostalgic. They remained fixed on the battle, yet it was clear her mind could not have wandered farther away. "It has nothing to do with what is going on now, or it shouldn't."
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
Unohana stared at the other woman, directly at her for the first time since she had entered the Royal Realm chasing after Aizen with the others. Finally, she shook her head and rose fluidly from her seat.
"That," she began, slowly, incredulously, "is the most hypocritical statement I have ever heard."
And with that, she came the closest to literally stomping off that most of those present had ever seen her come, or ever wanted to again. Komamura with rabies, a smiling Mayuri… even a temporarily-insane Yamamoto rampaging around with his shikai out would have been preferable. Byakuya actually hesitated for a few seconds before taking her departure as an excuse to flee from the triplets, much to their obvious disappointment. Hikifune watched the end of the white haori vanish around the corner, and found herself frowning. But she shook her head—it's the only way. I'm sorry, Retsu, but the mistake all those years ago wasn't what was done… it was that they stopped it.
Grimmjow chose that moment let out a rude snort and turned away from the brief spate of debating. Shinigami, he concluded, were as boring as fuck when you weren't fighting them.
He'd have to do something about that when they dragged him back to the seireitei along with them. The Sexta wondered if he could get Gantenbainne to stir up some trouble, maybe even get half of the captains furious at him.
Now that would be entertainment.
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"Talk."
Ichigo blinked. "Huh?"
"You heard me. Talk," Rukia repeated, folding her arms with the air of one who would not be denied. "You've barely said anything since yesterday."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"How about the fact that you broke three pairs of chopsticks?" the Thirteen Division shinigami retorted. "And didn't even eat half a bowl of rice?"
The orangette scowled—who was she to lecture him like this?—but said nothing. A vein visibly throbbed in Rukia's forehead.
"It's been over a week, and I'm getting tired of dealing with you!" Her tone brooked no argument, but the substitute found himself furious enough to risk being frozen alive anyways. "Start talking. Now."
"What, do you think I should make jokes about this?" He gestured around him, at the wall scrolls and sliding doors and peaceful serenity of the place that could become their nakama's new prison. "You think I should act like everything's normal? That it's fine? It's not!"
His fist hit something, then continued onwards with a sound that was decidedly Not Good—he opened his eyes to see that, surprisingly enough, he hadn't punched through the wall—just one of the paper screen doors. The orangette stared at the rip blankly for a long moment before leaning his head against the wooden frame. His voice, when he spoke again, was quiet but bitter. "No wonder she's terrified of me."
"What are you…" the dark-haired noble trailed off, her eyes widening slightly as she gazed at the back of his head. "Inoue?"
"No, Ururu," was his surprisingly sarcastic retort.
"She's not afraid of you..." Rukia sucked in a breath as realization hit her. "Your Inner Hollow. She saw it."
"No, my inner child." He muttered acerbically. The other shinigami exchanged a glance; they were used to him throwing himself and his sword at a problem, not growling about it from the sidelines. And certainly so sarcastically. But then again, this situation wasn't like those they had faced before, not really.
Yes; there was a rescue to be had, a damsel in distress—the shinigami twitched, she was going to maim Urahara for calling her that next time she saw him, now he had her doing it too, the bastard!—to be dragged home if necessary, a warden to—wait a moment…
"She said she didn't want you to save her, didn't she?" Rukia murmured, finding a few more pieces of the puzzle behind the couch cushions and beginning to fit them into place. "She asked you not to fight."
The Vaizord said nothing, which made the answer clear. In return… she thwacked him on the head, so hard that he fell face-first into the floor. Hard.
Kuchiki Rukia was known for many things; her power despite her low rank, her adopted family, her artistic skill… but most definitely not her merciful nature. She proved why mere moments later, when her foot collided with what arguably could have been the densest material in all of the worlds—Ichigo's skull. She ground her heel against his head for almost a full minute, until his muffled curses had gone from being screamed to grumbled and his flailing arms had finally slowed. "Hufeeah!"
"You," she enunciated the word with care, making sure it carried clearly despite the indiscernible swearing that could still be heard from her orange-haired friends' blocked mouth. "Are an idiot."
"Zuff'oo."
"Eh?"
"Zuff'oo!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Renji finally spoke up, unadulterated confusion jarring him from his amused spectator status.
Rukia rolled her eyes. "How would I know?"
"ZUFF. OO."
Carefully, she shifted her foot—feet, the instant he started moving; he stopped soon enough after her other foot settled right on top of a very sensitive spot—to allow the carrot-top to enunciate his words just a little clearer. "Bitch."
Her foot came down. Renji almost winced, but he knew she was being nice—it was the one on his head she had stomped the Vaizord with. Besides, sudden movement on his part would just attract her attention, and the multiple bumps and bruises and scratches she'd inflicted on him earlier were still throbbing.
"Are you ready to talk nicely now?" She asked in an oh-so-sweet-and-innocent-and-overall-la-la-la-I-clearly-can't-be-crushing-my-friend's-spinal-cord-while-holding-back-maniacal-cackling-because-I'm-just-too-darn-angelic—yeah, right, in what disturbing parallel universe?—tone of voice.
Ichigo was many things…and some would say that 'reckless, suicidal idiot' was one of them. Others would be forced to agree after his next statement.
"Yeah," he began, innocuously enough. "Shut up please."
Surprisingly enough, Rukia did not immediately blast him with the strongest kidou she knew. Neither did she kick him, punch him, or stomp on him again. Instead, she crouched down as he sat up, meeting his gaze wearily. "Ichigo… you have to stop."
"What are you talking about?" He asked, but shook his head when she opened her mouth to reply. "Never-mind, I don't care. We need to get back to—"
"Inoue?" The shorter shinigami finished. "That's what we're trying to tell you."
"No." He jumped to his feet, his reiatsu tumultuous around him and something cracked in his eyes. "I won't give up on her, why the hell would you even—"
"We're not, you idiot!" Renji cut in hurriedly, coming to stand alongside his longtime friend, the ends of his toes just a few hairs ahead of hers. "So get a hold of yourself before half of the Royal Realm finds out about this temper tantrum you're throwing!"
"Temper tantrum? I'll—"
"Sit down and listen!" Rukia snapped. "Not everything in life can be solved by hacking away at it with brute force. You have a brain under all of that orange hair, would it kill you to try and use it?" She hesitates briefly, just a few heartbeats before her fists clench and she barrels mercilessly onwards. "Because if you don't, you'll kill her."
That shut him up. His mouth opened, closed, opened again and sagged briefly before slamming shut. The Vaizord looked away, eyes closing tightly… fuck, he's taking it literally. But then again, it could be, with how fragile she is now…
"She cares about you," the dark-haired noble told him softly, "about all of us. More than anything… and if you keep hovering like you have been since we left Hueco Mundo, she's going to see herself as more and more of a burden. And there is nothing, nothing, that is worse for her than that."
"She shouldn't be alone," Renji admitted, "but you hovering like some lovestruck new recruit will just make everything worse."
"I…" Ichigo hesitated for a few moments. "I have to protect her. I promised… I won't let her down again."
"You won't," his diminutive friend agreed. "But stalking her isn't helping."
The orangette snorted. "At least I didn't follow her into the bathroom!"
"You would have if I hadn't."
"And you did because I didn't." He retorted, unable to think of a way to deny that accusation without outright lying. "But I have to protect her."
His voice trailed off, and the other two shinigami almost didn't hear his next words. "Even if she can't look me in the eyes again…"
Rukia didn't have the slightest idea what her friend was talking about. It was Renji who figured it out. "What, you think she's going to run screaming at the sight of you or something?"
Silence.
The redhead groaned. "I was kidding."
"Hah hah." Ichigo deadpanned.
"Why would Inoue—" she who Rukia knew was always bright always smiling, always brave and determined and would heal even her enemies "—be afraid of you?"
"Why wouldn't she?" He snorted, but it was a hollow sound.
No, she realized a heartbeat later, it wasn't. It was Hollow. "She saw your Inner Hollow?"
"I don't know," he whispered, unsure of whether or not he was lying, and if so then who he was trying to fool. "But she saw what it could make m—what it could do.
"Right after…" his fist hit something hard, he wasn't sure what—how could he have been so stupid? She'd been afraid of his mask, and what did he do? He went and lost control of the damn albino. He knew his Hollow had destroyed half of Ulquiorra's body, and was sure that every time he washed his hands he couldn't rinse away Ishida's blood staining them, but what had it done to her? "No wonder she wants to get away from me."
"Ichigo…" he glanced up just in time for Rukia's fist to connect with his face. He flinched, but didn't even try to block it before he was sent flying. She loomed over him while Renji sweatdropped. Sure, the orangette had been pathetic at that moment, but nothing that warranted a black eye.
"There's that look again!" She snarled as Ichigo raised a hand to his face, gingerly feeling for—yup, the midget had broken his nose. He told her as much, and barely managed to scramble back from the low kick she sent his way.
As he clambered to his feet, she lunged forward and pinned him to the wall with one hand fisted in the front of his shihakusho. He was too startled to do anything more than blink at her as she jerked him down to her level, and, her breath hot on his face, murmured "just how dense can you get?"
With that, she let him go, and he braced himself against the thin wall as he shot her a warily confused glance. She met it for a few moments before he found himself turning away, but it was not her voice he heard next.
"Of course she'd be afraid, you idiot," Renji retorted. Even Rukia's other favorite victim—and she never hit the redhead quite as hard as she pummeled the substitute, the latter was sure— understood what she was going on about, while Ichigo didn't? Only some small modicum of common sense kept his mouth shut rather than firing off some comment that he'd probably regret, and thankfully the vice-captain took that as a cue to continue. "Even I'd be nervous around a Hollow with your abilities! Before I kicked its ass, that is."
The Vaizord snorted, but there was little enthusiasm behind the sound—more than anything else, it seemed to have been uttered out of habit. And that was the only reason why the female member of the shinigami trio didn't bash her male compatriots' heads together as she had been about to do. Instead, she sighed.
"That's not the reason," she told them softly, "at least, not the biggest one."
Renji blinked, and opened his mouth—but his shortest nakama gave him a Look, one that begged him to wait rather than ordered him to do so. Thus he found himself silently awaiting her next words, which were withheld for over a minute as she waited for Ichigo to figure it out. To put it simply: he didn't.
"Think," she finally murmured, "think, Ichigo, you're better than this. And I know you haven't forgotten him."
"Him?" The substitute echoed, and when his voice faded the silence lasted exactly ten seconds. "Oh… oh."
He slid down, down; the back of his arms and shihakusho still scraping against the wall, but Ichigo himself not even noticing the sanded surface until he had hit the chirping floorboards. "Fuck."
The Kuchiki knew how he felt, at least somewhat. Contrary to what she'd admit in front of him, or someone who would tell him, the orangette wasn't completely blind in matters of the heart. Certainly, he had his blind spots, but he knew how it felt to be attacked by someone who looked—acted—smelled—felt so very, very familiar, but who wanted only what the memory you conjured whenever you closed your eyes had dreaded.
"I saw your mask," Rukia told him softly, "during the fight. I thought of someone I knew, years ago—he'd never worn one, but a Hollow had taken over his body."
There was a pressure on her shoulder, a weight that brought to mind dirty streets under bare feet, four other small bodies for warmth during those cold midnights, and awkward arguments after so many years falling into such easy familiarity so quickly. Rukia couldn't help the way she leaned back into Renji's wordless warmth, and wouldn't have anyways. She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, at the thought of everything their gentle friend had been through in the months since everything had begun—but the redhead being there reminded her that she wasn't the only one who'd fight to keep that list from getting any longer.
For all of them.
"Even if he'd never had a mask, and it had never really been him in control, I still saw his face instead of yours at first. And I've… I've dealt with it." She didn't elaborate, and neither man pressed her to do so. Small mercies, but ones she was thankful for nonetheless—they didn't have time for her to beat them into being less nosy. "It's only been a few months for Inoue. She hasn't had the time, or even the inclination to work through the issues he left her with."
The teens fist clenched, but Rukia wasn't done yet. "Ichigo… how did she react? When she saw you?"
""…She was afraid." He didn't even look up at her, another small mercy as the Kuchiki suspected the expression on his face would make it very difficult for her to keep from going back to violence. "She couldn't look me in the eye at first."
"The fact that she did at all…" Rukia shook her head, awed at her two closest human friends. Ichigo, for all that she knocked him around, had earned her admiration a thousand times over, and now it was a thousand and one. Not that she'd tell him that, especially not while he was still moping. And it looked as if she'd have to step her words up a notch to knock him out of it.
"She's afraid of you." The unseated officer felt nails dig into her shoulder in shock at the sheer bluntness of the statement—note-to-self: get Renji drunk enough for a manicure at the SWA—but continued on relentlessly. "And you're afraid of yourself. But you're not afraid of the Hollow killing you, are you—not as much as your afraid of it hurting us."
His head jerked up, and he met her gaze, shocked at her insight. She fought down a smirk—she knew him far too well. And hopefully her as well.
"The same goes for her… it just took her a while to figure it out." Rukia explained gently. "She was more afraid for you than of you. That's how it's always been with her."
"With all of us." Renji grumbled good-naturedly. "Since you're too much of a reckless idiot to keep yourself out of trouble."
"Like your one to talk."
None of us are, hung unsaid but heard, at least for the older two shinigami. Rukia closed her eyes, remembering the look in Orihime's eyes as she called her healing shield up over one fallen friend after another, each worse than the last. It was the same one Ichigo himself had worn when he had found out she was missing.
"She had nightmares," the unseated shinigami said quietly. "When we dragged you out to eat, after she fainted. The second your reiatsu was halfway down the hallway she started tossing and turning, and a few times she begged you not to get hurt."
The Vaizord glanced down at his fist, at the unblemished skin of the hand she had healed in another lifetime. Then, he stared up at the other two shinigami for several seconds, forehead wrinkled in thought…
"Hey!" But it was too late; by the time the cry left the dark-haired girl's lips that flicker of orange was long gone. She scowled, folding her arms and feeling a cold rage crystallize within her sword arm. But Renji's grip on her shoulder didn't loosen, and in fact grew just a bit tighter to hold her in place. She heard a rustling as he stooped over, and a few strands of red tickled her ears.
"Don't worry," the Eleventh Division survivor's voice was uncharacteristically soft, both in volume and tone. "They're a lot alike."
"That's the problem." She muttered, knowing that she really should hit him, but really he'd been through enough that day already. Besides, maybe Ichigo wouldn't mess up for once.
Maybe.
"Yeah." His breath, she noted absently, smelled of wasabi, one of his least favorite foods. But so did hers, as Orihime had invited them to try the wasabi and red-bean paste flavored cheese nachos she had made for lunch. Where she had found the chips and salsa in the decidedly feudal Japanese kitchen was something they had yet to figure out, and weren't likely to want to until they got the last of the so-called nachos out of their system.
Especially Ichigo, who had somehow managed to choke down half of the bowl. The would-be chef had been so happy…
Rukia shook her head, leaning against that muscled chest with a sigh. "We really should get going…"
"Yeah," he said again. Neither of them moved.
-----
"—Demanded all of the world's citrus-flavored toothpaste! But if we gave it to them, how would the tuna fish brain leeches survive?"
"Mmm." Chad commented with a nod, his tone vaguely encouraging. It was good, he reflected, to see his friend at least pretending to be back to her old self. It would have been better to see her completely back to normal, but he doubted that any of them would ever fit the term again.
He knew he wouldn't.
But he hoped that, at least, she would be a happy abnormal. And it was nice to see her pretending; it meant that she wanted herself to be that way as well.
"So I asked them," she was saying, "and they told me… Kurosaki-kun?"
"Ichigo was involved in an alien invasion?" It may have been because of the sheer enormity of Orihime's imagination, or simply the unadulterated insanity of some of the situations that the ryoka tended to get themselves into, but for some reason the possibility didn't really surprise Chad.
As probable as such an event was, however, he found himself doubting that it had happened when he noticed that a familiarly overwhelming reiatsu was rapidly approaching. Orihime always had been particularly sensitive to Ichigo's spiritual pressure, the Mexican recalled. He stepped to one side just in time for an orange blur to flash—not literally, fortunately for Chad's eyes—through where he had been standing less than a second prior.
A moment later, the young giant found himself blinking down at the new pair of skid marks sported by the now-smoking floor. Judging from where the aforementioned marks ended, the substitute hadn't been able to stop until he had almost the other end of the hallway. He followed the streaks, raising his gaze as they went further and further… until the human found himself staring at two simple sandals, no worse for the wear despite the abuse that they had just been put through.
He really had to find out what the shinigami used to make their clothes; not only were their shoes apparently impervious to everything from friction to Hollows, but no matter how shredded Ichigo's shihakusho became during a battle it would be as good as new the next time the Vaizord left his body. His human friends, however, had each gone through so many massacres of favorite outfits that they were starting to consider a leaf—or more accurately, a cape—out of Ishida's book and start carrying around spares. Or at least learn how to repair the garments himself so that he didn't have to deal with so many people asking when he had become so religious.
"Inoue…" Ichigo's steps came to a stop a mere few feet away. Beneath that shock of orange hair, his eyes had caught Orihime's and refused to let them go. The dramatic effect was slightly ruined by many bruises that had appeared on his body—many oddly similar in shape to unusually tiny fists and feet—but Chad suspected he might have been the only one who noticed.
"K-Kurosaki-kun!" It might have been shock at his sudden arrival, confusion as she registered the fierce expression he wore, or simply tension that had been present in every move she made since her arrival—which the Mexican had, mere moments before, been doing his best to distract her from—that caused the brunette to stammer and stare. It might have been all of them together. But the point is that whatever caused her to freeze up, it also allowed Ichigo to reach over and carefully but firmly grip her by her upper arms.
"Do you want to leave?"
"Huh?" Orihime blinked, shaken out of the reverie that Ichigo's sudden arrival had put her in. She found her head lowering, and her gaze along with it. "You—"
"No," he shook his head, and his grip tightened slightly. "Not me. Not the Guardians. Not anyone else. Do you want yourself to stay here?"
"I…" She knew she should say yes, that Hikifune-san had said she was putting him and the others in danger, but the words caught before she could throw them to the world. She… she…
"I can't!" She found herself whispering. "I can't go home, but I—I can't!"
Tears fell down her face, but she couldn't stop them anymore. Something had broken and she was coming apart now, there was no more glue or tape or paper clips for her to patch the cracked parts up with and no way for her to catch the pieces as they fell. She wanted to run away, to find herself a corner in the shadow to cry in where nobody could see and feel hurt that they couldn't help her, but he held her fast when her legs shook and gave way, and all she could do was cling to him and watch the last shards of her mask clatter to the floor.
"I can't…" She said again and again and again; she was useless, she was trash, she was in his arms and he was saving her again and all she could do was let him. "I can't… I can't…"
"You can," he murmured, holding her so tightly neither of them were sure he'd ever be able to let go. "You will."
"I…" he felt the heat of her breath through his shihakusho. The rough fabric scraped against his skin as she tangled her fingers in it, her forehead bumping against his collarbone. He leaned in, wondering at the scent of her hair; how that subtle hint of strawberries and citrus had stayed throughout the long Hueco Mundo night, then the bloody battles that had followed, and finally the days—almost a week, now—that they had spent wandering this new Realm. "I have to go!"
Then she pushed off against his chest, stumbling back away from him. Ichigo tried to draw her close again, but it was too late: she had already bolted and he could only grasp at the reishi in the air. After a moment, he could do nothing but bury his head in his hands.
"What was that?" The substitute mumbled into his palms, eyes closed behind the splayed fingers. "What was I thinking?"
Chad could only shrug.
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NOTE: In case anyone's wondering, Chad being Christian is just yours truly grasping at straws. Although Mexico does have a tiny but slowly growing population of Buddhists, 95% (according to wiki) of the population is comprised of self-ascribed Christians. Japan has an small but gradually increasing Christian population, and early on in the manga Keigo mentioned that it was rare for Chad to attend the fireworks festival.
The last part is probably more due to personal preference, though, since most Japanese don't tend to name themselves as followers of one specific religion. Instead parts of the two most popular faiths, Shintō and Buddhism, are often blended in the everyday life of Japan. Plus, Ishida skipped out of the festival that year, although he did so in order to work on his Quincy costume.
Anyways, to sum it up, in this story Chad's Christianity is a guess. And before anyone says anything, I'm an agnostic Jew with semi-comedic Pastafarian leanings.
