After the beautiful weather in Seireitei, the pouring rain of the material world seemed a bitter disappointment. He let it drench him, even though he could easily have prevented it from touching his skin; let the sensations overwhelm him. Cold rain soaked his hair, made it cling to his face, washed him clean in a way that felt more real, somehow, than the box had kept him. Water poured down his back, made the thin white kimono cling to the contours of his skin, splashed over the lenses of his glasses until he could no longer see out of them. Under his feet the gravel was cold and wet, and he wriggled his toes into it, exhaling contentedly.

To make his progress gentler he moved onto the grass, letting the mud squelch between his toes as he walked along the riverbank. The town was invisible from the bottom of the high walls built to protect it from flooding; it made Uryuu feel as though he was completely alone, and the sensation was eerie.

As he reached the fork in the path that led toward the center of town he did hesitate. He wasn't ready to be seen yet. There were several reasons for that, of course, but the most pressing one was his state of undress; back at his apartment there were changes of clothes, yards of material. He couldn't face Kurosaki like this...no; he wanted to look his most impressive when he faced Ichigo down. Perhaps that was why he'd been more careful than ever to conceal his reiatsu now he was finally home.

He decided to follow the rarely used path that had once been a railway track through to the center of town. It came out, quite conveniently, right behind his apartment building, and he could enter through the bathroom window without waking anyone; since he'd left the keys inside when they'd gone to Hueco Mundo, it was necessary anyway.

At the right place he jumped over the fence and climbed down the short hill, jumping up to the windowsill and using the key that he left on the ledge to unlock it. Then he carefully opened it and slid inside, letting it close soundlessly behind him.

Instantly he realised that there was something wrong. Very wrong.

The bathroom was empty of his personal effects. The bottle of gel he used to tame his hair into place, the fluffy towels, even his toothbrush. Had he been robbed? If that was the case, who would steal a toothbrush? With a deep sense of foreboding he stepped out of the bathroom into the darkness beyond and switched on the light.

Everything was gone. His bookcases and his desk, his sofa bed, his sewing machine. The whole apartment was empty, from the ceiling to the floorboards; all of his effects, all his furniture... Part of him felt a deep rage; something he pushed down to pick over and conquer later. He had fought, suffered and almost died to protect this town, and they repaid him by robbing him blind while he was gone?!

He sat down in the middle of the empty floor, suddenly feeling very cold and miserable. None of the delight of the rain soaking through to his skin remained -- only the chill -- and he shivered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Why...? He'd come so far only to feel like he was still in that box!

Uryuu lay there until self-preservation forced him back to his feet. He was freezing; he had no money and he had no change of clothes. In this weather, he couldn't even steal from a clothes line, and it was too late to try to go shopping even if he had money. There was one place he could go, he supposed...

* * * * *

Urahara Shoten was still the same as Uryuu remembered it. The storefront was dark, soaking in the blackness of the clouds in the sky above. The windows never seemed to advertise the merchandise within. In fact, if you hadn't known what kind of shop it was, you wouldn't have been tempted to enter at all. Today, it looked like it was a funeral house, dreary and depressing.

As he approached the door he could hear an argument within, raised voices ringing clearly out through the empty storefront from the living quarters behind.

"I'm not doing it! You do it!"

"But Urahara said..."

"I don't care what he said!"

"Now then, now then! What's all this about, hmm? There's no need to argue when the weather is so beautiful!"

"Beautiful?! It's raining!"

"That's what I said. It never rained in Seireitei. I rather like it -- don't you?"

Uryuu stopped just inside the doorway, reaching up to take off his glasses so that he could try and dry them. With his clothes so wet, it was an impossible task, and it rendered him defenceless against Urahara Kisuke until the man was close enough to look him straight in the eye without putting them on.

As usual, and as expected, Urahara's expression showed nothing of his thoughts. He was a very clever man, Uryuu knew, watching him move back out of his field of vision.

Urahara said nothing; the silence he left was clearly meant to be the space in which Uryuu incriminated himself.

"I'm looking for a change of clothes," he said, wary of what he might give away with even those simple words. "Mine were all stolen."

"Stolen?" Urahara had lowered his head now, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat -- Uryuu recognised this particular action as calculation, so he decided to answer, in the vague but probably flawed hope that he might get some answers of his own.

"Isn't that what you call it when items disappear when you've locked them away?"

"I suppose I might call it that... Okay!" The shopkeeper tipped his head back, a broad smile now fixed into place where none had been before. It was the kind of smile that instantly aroused suspicion. What was it? What part of the story was he missing? It was frustrating not to know, and Urahara Kisuke would hold out on him now, he was sure of it. "I'll fetch you a change of clothes. You don't mind sunshine yellow, do you?"

To Urahara's credit he took Uryuu's glare as a direct answer, and he returned shortly with something white and far more acceptable. The change of clothes was warm and dry; it comforted him in its familiarity, even though it wasn't quite the outfit he was used to. It was clothing in a way that the kimono had not been.

"Would you like a bowl of something warm? We have tea...or sake?"

"..." Uryuu studied Urahara for a moment, and then, sure that it was not a request, he submitted. "I would be grateful for some warm milk," he admitted, drying his glasses on the sleeve of the jacket. He followed Urahara into the back of his shop with his eyes down, and knelt at the table, feeling the Shinigami's eyes on him.

"Who are you concealing yourself from?"

"Quincy conceal their reiatsu for the safety of the people around them," Uryuu answered, succinctly. It was a calculating question, and he didn't like not knowing what was going on inside the shopkeeper's head when he decided not to reply.

"I suppose I just want to know why you came here, instead of going to Ryuuken."

A surge of panic came to life inside his chest. His father...he didn't want to face him! He tried to push it down as he spoke, but the seed of fear was already blooming in his expression despite his best efforts. "You know Ishida Ryuuken?"

"Of course."

Uryuu looked down, embarrassed and angry. Urahara knew something, and he seemed determined not to say a word to him. Fine – if he wanted to play it that way, then Uryuu was going to have to clam up too.

"Am I going to regret my kindness?" Urahara asked, taking the tray from Jinta as it was brought in.

Another moment's hesitation as Uryuu took his bowl and answered, "You might."

"I see." There was that calculating look again.

Uryuu drunk the warm milk gratefully - it was his first since before his imprisonment - and Urahara continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye, clearly fascinated by the way Uryuu let the warmth of the bowl seep into his fingertips, and closed his eyes to savour each mouthful.

"You should rest here tonight," Urahara said, slowly. "In the morning, I'd like you to visit the cemetery with me."

Uryuu had no intention of staying the night; a fact he was sure - by past experience - that Urahara was familiar with. Rather than say so out loud, he instead said "Why?" hoping to secure a good reason.

"I would rather show you," Urahara answered. It was a bold attempt at piquing his curiosity, but Uryuu had more important things to do now.

He felt as though he had been sleeping for years, and freedom was finally his. The rain that had been thundering against the windows had finally abated, and only a brisk wind remained, whipping the raindrops away from the surface of the glass.

"Drink some sake with me."

"I'm underage."

"Oh, but I won't tell anyone."

"I don't drink." Uryuu barely contained a growl, meeting Urahara's eyes across the table.

"You don't drink? I see. That's disappointing." The man's gaze dropped away, and Uryuu lifted his hand under the pretext of adjusting his glasses, so as to hide his scowl behind his hand.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Urahara sighed. "It can't be helped. Seems I'm running low on drinking partners nowadays."

Uryuu frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't have any friends." Now that was a bald faced lie. Urahara gave him a stern look that made it clear that he was supposed to see right through it.

"I see."

It was interesting... Had they achieved everything they'd meant to by defeating Aizen? Had they made the town a safer place to live? If there really was nobody here to drink with Urahara, rather than it being an attempt at securing his presence for a few hours of insobriety where more information could be drawn from him, then it must mean that Soul Society were no longer sending extra Shinigami to protect Karakura Town.

When they'd returned from Seireitei the last time, the incidence of hollows had increased; and the desire to recover his Quincy powers had pressed in on him. Now, even with the power he now possessed, the threat had passed. Never mind that he felt as though he could have taken on Aizen himself -- he had to be grateful that his purpose was fulfilled; that the people in this town were safe.

"Now, about those clothes," Urahara started with a wolfish look. "You can pay me back..."

"Tomorrow," Uryuu said, looking up. "I'll have money to pay you by tomorrow evening."

Urahara looked disappointed; clearly one of his more devious plans had just been foiled. "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain." Uryuu coughed. "Do you mind if I lie down? I think I stayed a little too long in the rain."

"Fine, fine. Follow me."

* * * * *

The room in which Urahara had ensconced him was the same one in which he'd spent many days and nights recovering from previous injuries. The burn marks still lingered in the corner from a previous explosion which had been painted over clumsily, and one of the window panels had a bullet hole sized crack through which the wind whistled as though it were playing the glass like an instrument.

Uryuu waited until the lights began to blink off elsewhere in the building, and then he pushed aside the white sheet that covered him and slid to his feet. The clothes he was grateful for, of course, but not so grateful that he intended to stay the night. For all he knew, Urahara had a reason to keep him away from the others, and he intended to find out what it was.

He left the sandals off until he reached the door in his socks, determined not to make a noise, and as he slid back the door, he looked once more over his shoulder. No interruption…still, he couldn't help feeling as though he were being watched. No – he was definitely being watched.

Uryuu stepped out into the wind, reaching up to lift his hair from in front of his eyes and pushing it back over his shoulders. He looked into the wind, then turned away from it, letting his better judgement guide him away from Kurosaki's house and down toward the river. With open spaces, it would be easier to see if he was being followed, and if he crossed the river, he could disappear easily amongst the houses on the other side before a discreet companion could catch up with him.

Losing his tail seemed to progress to plan, surprisingly. He had expected it to be harder, and again the suspicion lingered, even after he had used hirenkyaku to return to his previous course, turning once more into the bitter north wind.

Kurosaki's house was quiet and dark; only one light was on, a bedside lamp that illuminated the Shinigami's torso in the pool of darkness that was his bedroom. It caught the violent orange of his hair and turned it into flame in the darkness, and Uryuu came closer; close enough to see the way the light made some of the strands brighter than others, and how it highlighted every tiny hair on his bare chest as it rose and fell with the steadiness of his breathing.

Uryuu watched for a few hours, until the thin rising light on the horizon reflected into his eyes from the inside of his glasses, and from the pane of glass that was between himself and Kurosaki, obscuring his view. Today he would need to devote himself to finding money and a place to stay – he would not be able to rebuild his life without confronting Kurosaki and the others, but neither could he confront them without, at the least, getting a haircut.