'BLUSTER IN A BOTTLE'

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed--special thanks to demon*feathers for such lengthy critiques! You're all wonderful! Now, I realize that some like and some do not like the fact that Halibel and Byakuya were married. Well, I do plan to add a little backstory on their relationship, so please stay tuned and you'll understand exactly how I feel about that particular pairing.

And, yes, for the IchiRuki moments. There will definitely be more (plus, it's gets more mushy and fluffy), and once again I apologize for making you guys wait such a long while simply for there to be some interesting interaction between the two. But, my finals are coming up this week so please bear with me as I get through the pain ;p

Warning: This chapter is graphic (bloody/a lot of filthy talking).

June 28th
Chiba, Japan

Like crude rainfall, brackish, crimson-colored liquid splattered onto the blood-stained carpet as a man--an obese, corpulent drug smuggler--tilted his neck, struggling to maintain consciousness as his bruised head swelled like a painful zit. He sniffled, saliva dripping from his mutilated lips, and blood spurting from his fragmented nose, while pleading for his assailant, Kurosaki Ichigo, to end the torture.

The pitiful wretch was sitting half-awake in a chair with both hands confined as his looming assaulter held a dagger to his ear, threatening to slice it off if he failed to reveal the location of the Kuchiki-gumi's precious, hidden substances. For the beaten-down, bloodied lout, it was a brutish nightmare he could not escape from; for Ichigo, it was a typical workday.

"F-fuck..." The overgrown crook whimpered, much like a wounded beast. "Fuck, fuck...okay, I'll tell you. B-but, please, don't k-kill me, please don't kill me..."

Ichigo spat, his chocolate eyes glistening under the dim light fixture. "That's good you've decided to give in, Omaeda, you pathetic fuck. Hurry up, or I'll skin you alive right now."

"O-okay, I'm sorry." He cried uncontrollably; indeed, this would be the last time Omaeda ever decided to weave himself into the dark, venomous tapestry of the Yakuza underground. It was simply too much for him--for any weak-hearted dolt--to handle. "...th-the drugs...they're in Sapporo. I-I left them there u-under the control of another m-man..."

"And, who is this other man?"

"I-I don't know...th-this man."

Ichigo glared down at his battered victim, impatient. "I'll ask again. Who is this other man you dealt with?"

"...I have no i-idea--"

Swiftly, Ichigo slashed the fleshy, plumpish cheek of the crippled man who howled in agony as blood poured from his sliced, sweat-stained flesh. He shrieked, quite thunderously, and began to sob and shudder violently while pleading for the ginger-haired lieutenant to end the assault.

"Please!" He begged. "Don't do this! Don't do this t-to me, p-please!"

"Fuck you!" Ichigo roared, his dagger piercing Omaeda's flabby, blood-splattered chin. "Don't you fuckin' lie to me! Tell me who the fuck dealt with you!"

And as if to make the overall assault even more denigrating and morbid for the miserable brute, Ichigo tilted a melting red candlestick over Omaeda's bare, bulging stomach and allowed the hot wax to drip onto the screaming man. It was a primitive mechanism of torment, but, Ichigo--being limited to the amount of supplies he carried to Chiba, yet extremely enterprising--held no qualms in utilizing that method. Plus, it elicited those wonderful howls of pain, which further humiliated the boor who foolishly believed he could rob from the Kuchiki-gumi and get away with it.

"Ahhh!" Omaeda bellowed helplessly, squirming in his seat as the liquid wax streamed down his flesh like gravy. "Ahh! Fuck! Fuck! Okay, I-I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything you want to know!"

"Hurry the fuck up!" Ichigo responded, not ready to withdraw just yet. "Who was there in Sapporo?"

"Okay...o-okay...I was helped by a German guy..." Omaeda sobbed. "He offered to buy those d-drugs from me...! And, I'm stupid, and I don't know what to do with the drugs I steal, so I al-always sell th-them to other M-Mafia men..."

"Then, those drugs aren't in your possession anymore." Ichigo replied. "They no longer belong to you."

"N-no...they don't...!" He twitched slightly, much calmer, though the bleeding in his cheek failed to halt. "Please let me go, sir. I promise I-I won't do anymore of this...please!"

"What was the German's name?"

"I don't k-know--"

"Don't you fuckin' lie to me again, Omaeda, what the fuck was his name?"

"Uh...I-I think..." Omaeda clenched his eyes shut, as if trying to generate some activity in his brain. "I-I think it was so-something l-like Schiffer..."

'Schiffer?'

"What do you know about him?"

"No-not much. I only know that...he-he has black hair, and green eyes...Oh, god, I don't wanna die..."

"What is he associated with?" Ichigo asked, holding his dripping dagger away.

"Uh...uh...I t-think he was f-from California. B-but, I honestly don't know the city, o-or the gang, so please, stop hurting me...!"

'Fuck.'

Ichigo sighed, scratching his head in irritation. This was just plain, fuckin' tiring. He had been pursuing the information for thirty minutes with the fat lout, and even longer for the money and drugs, which vanished from his grasp once again. Hoping for a hint on the relationship between Barragan's crew and the mysterious "Schiffer", Ichigo had done everything he could to extract the desired information without killing the oaf, but he realized that nothing else was going to be released from Omaeda; the wretched, overfed cow had been milked dry. Ichigo could have slaughtered him right there in his flat--out of anger for wasting the lieutenant's time--but he disliked more unnecessary bloodshed, and finally decided that it was time to retreat.

The ginger-head, disgusted by the mess and oozing liquids from Omaeda's horrendous figure, tossed the latter a damp rag and loosened the bindings on his wrists. It was quite merciful of Ichigo, who was known to have shown even a bit of charity to his victims after a pummeling session. To Renji and the rest of the senior bosses, the act was considered "pussy-ish"; to Ichigo, it eased his guilt after inflicting such tribulation upon his prey.

"Clean yourself up," Ichigo spat as he stood by the threshold, about to exit. "And don't you fuck with the Yakuza again, or I'll blow your head off the next time we meet. Remember, Omaeda," The ginger-head shot his bloodied, lacerated victim a spite-filled glare. "There's no one you can turn to. Not the cops, or any other gang; they'll just step all over you 'cause you're nothing but a fuckin' piece of shit. Don't you forget that."

The door slammed shut.

Ichigo stepped out into the lackluster, fog-covered alley at approximately 3:09 in the morning, and carefully scanned his surroundings to make certain that no one noticed him emerge from Omaeda's flat. He crept into his car, wiped the fat man's blood from his face, and removed his blood-stained gloves to reveal trembling, pallid hands. God, the young lieutenant sure was exhausted.

He breathed out, ready to endure another stifling trip back to Tokyo, but before he could start his car, a ruffling noise emerged from the back seat. Rapidly and without hesitation, Ichigo grabbed his gun and turned around to view whatever entity had crept behind him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ichigo demanded, finger pressed onto the trigger.

But, boy, was he in for a shock.

"Calm down, it's me." A voice answered back, though, it was not merely any voice. It was delicate, feminine--too high-pitched to be threatening, yet blooming with the austerity that Ichigo immediately recognized. He dropped his gun.

'The fuck?'

"Rukia..." Ichigo sighed, his eyes widening as the young woman, with her cartoon bunny-print nightie on and her hair tied into pigtails, crawled into the front seat so she could better face her escort whom she, quite frankly, had come to adore very much.

"What...what are you doing in my car?" Ichigo asked, perplexed by her presence, though Rukia appeared to be completely unflustered. "And, how did you get in?"

"Oh, let's just say that I'm a guru when it comes to picking locks. Don't ask me where that skill came from, but I did take the time to sneak into you trunk last night before you left. And, when you went into the apartment complex over there, I just snuck into the backseat. After all..." Rukia yawned, smirking. "...sleeping in the trunk is so uncomfortable."

"Rukia," Ichigo shook his head. "You're not supposed to be here--"

"It's okay, Kurosaki. I already know what you do for a living. It wasn't hard for me to find out considering that I live with you and the other Yakuza members--who, by the way, are very nice to me--that I'm shrewd, and that your tattoos are very visible." Rukia smiled sheepishly. "And to think you tried to fool me by saying you were involved in 'dimplomatic services...'"

She was such a stange girl, and genuinely amusing (Ichigo would not lie about her quirkiness) but would've inflicted a heart attack on her ginger-haired lieutenant had she emerged too brazenly. Ichigo knew that Rukia would eventually figure out his profession; she was too keen, too bright, and had already laid eyes on his trademark tattoo after the overly embarrassing incident in the shower room. Ichigo would not deny that the young lady intrigued him with her craftiness and whimsical mannerisms, but her eccentricity exposed her to more danger, and that was what worried him.

Even more unsettling to Ichigo were her sharp, nimble tongue and critical wit. Yes, after supervising the young lady for a week, he realized that she had the brilliance and levity that could rip a man's heart out. Such characteristics were malignant, yet here Rukia was, tucked in his car on a foggy dawn and in a city whose name she probably did not even know.

She didn't care, though, as displayed by her flippancy. Ichigo sighed and decided to deal with her later, though one thought that did cross Ichigo's mind in a split second was why Miss Rukia had been following him so closely for the past week.

"My apologies, Rukia, for keeping all of this away from you." Ichigo replied while starting the car, quite calmly. "I didn't think you would like it the news."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle the fact that my sister was married to a drug lord. However, I am concerned about this..." Rukia said, and grabbed Ichigo's wrist, pulling him toward her. "Kurosaki, you're bleeding."

He withdrew his hand very quickly from her warm, soft grasp. "It's not mine. And, I'll be alright."

"Oh." Rukia replied, suddenly understanding that her escort was most likely involved in some violent quarrel, one which she would not pursue in courteous consideration of his honor. "I see. But, Kurosaki, you seem really tired. Do you want me to drive?"

Ichigo looked at her, quite astonished by her abrupt--though kind--offer, but said, "No, I'm fine. You, on the other hand, need to go to sleep."

"I'm wide awake, actually. Here, let me drive, and you can rest." Rukia leaned forward to grab the steering wheel.

"No, Rukia," Ichigo insisted, his tone slightly harsher. "I won't let you do this; you're the Oyabun's family. So, don't worry about me and go to sleep, now."

Rukia looked at him for a few moments through those brilliant, glittering eyes. For some reason, whether it be the cold or the sudden drowsiness that transpired after hearing Ichigo's tone become more uninviting, Rukia surrendered and bothered him no longer. She allowed him to drive, and though he pressed her to sleep, she could not admit for slumber to overcome her. It was strange; normally Rukia would have been more bold and assertive, but, in the presence of this man, she was unable to be the sassy, impudent "Blackbird" that was normally exhibited through her fiery writing.

Maybe, this Ichigo Kurosaki made her somewhat...weak. Vulnerable? Perhaps.

After all, Rukia had made an attempt (albeit insolent) to connect with him. And, since when did she care about "connecting" with Yakuza men? In her eyes, however, the orange-haired lieutenant, whose handsome complexion shimmered so enticingly under the star light, was different--unique. Unique enough for the "Blackbird."

And, before arriving in the grand city of Tokyo, Rukia made one last attempt to "connect."

"Hey, Kurosaki." She whispered through a half-open gaze.

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering...about that scar on your back."

Ichigo's blood froze. "What about it?"

"Well, how did you get that scar?"

He paused. "Accident."

"What happened?" Rukia asked.

"Nothing; just bad timing." Ichigo replied, his breathing slowing down.

"Did someone hurt you--?"

"--Sorry, Rukia," Ichigo interjected before she could go further. "I really would prefer it if we not discuss this."

Rukia sighed in silence, and, glancing at her escort, said, "Alright, sorry. I'm just really inquisitive."

"It's fine. Go to sleep now."

The lavender-eyed girl bit down her bottom lip, darkening the flesh as her teeth sank in deeper. What was she hoping for? An engaging conversation with this cryptic, tight-lipped man whose profession required him to be, well, tight-lipped?

It wasn't as though Ichigo Kurosaki, the gang's second lieutenant, was going to open up to a girl he only knew for a week, especially not when her liberal, voluminous audacity was a major issue for Ichigo. Rukia had acted out of character--not what she had planned would happen--and it began to haunt her. However, more than anything, the sweet rain of sleep had begun to dampen her mind as they approached Shinjuku, and she decided that enough energy had been spent for the night.

"...sure thing, Kurosaki."

July 1st
Hakone, Japan

Trouble was stirring, even beyond the prefectures of Tokyo and Chiba. News of the horrendous accident in Yokohama had spread throughout the archipelago, and sent waves of terror all across, affecting each and every major city that dreaded, but suddenly began to anticipate, another inevitable outbreak of a drugwar. This time, it seemed, the whirlwind would be picking up a little more than dust.

With one flick of her index finger, the lights went down, and the Keibu-ho, a short, freckled, blonde-haired woman, slung an overcoat over a free arm and exited her office. Ambling down the vacant hallway, she immediately spotted light from one particular office protruding the darkness, and sighed.

"Inspector," she called out to him in a nasal, squeaky voice. "Are you still working on that case?"

Her captain, a lanky, blonde man of twenty-seven, was situated at his desk with a folder of various documents sitting in his lap, and a glass of Bourbon on the table beside him. He looked up to see who had intruded his office at such a late hour, but smiled once he saw the woman's dangling, spunky blonde pigtails.

"Ah, my dear," He smirked, and beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand. "Come on in. I didn't know you were still working, Hiyori."

"That's 'Lieutenant Sarugaki' to you, Captain Hirako." She scoffed. "And, you're not supposed to be drinking in your office, you know."

"Ah, you're no fun," the Inspector grumbled, though quite amused by his lieutenant's authoritative demeanor. "I was about to go home, myself. But, if you'd like, we could go to a bar and have ourselves a little break from this Mafia business."

Hiyori scrunched her nose and scowled; she was fed up with her superior's flirtatious manner of approaching her, as if she was merely a simple-minded pair of tits and booty. "I don't think that's very professional. And, plus, I was not the one who dragged everyone into this whole mess by chasing after the Mafia. I mean, why do you keep yourself up so late when you can just let the Yokohama police take care of its own problems?"

"You're so young, Hiyori--"

"Lieutenant Sarugaki." She sharply corrected him.

"Okay, Lieutenant," He smirked. "This problem is not limited to the Yokohama area; it's a major problem, actually, and when I offered to take on this case, I was thinking about using my abilities to finally flush out the Mafia and its criminal activities from this region."

"You're too confident in your abilities, Inspector." Hiyori remarked. "I think it'll take more than someone like you to fully remove the Mafia."

"Ehhh, that's so cruel of you..." The blonde man sighed, though internally he was not one bit stung by her callousness of mouth. "Lieutenant, do you not have faith in my abilities? I thought you were my best friend."

Hiyori shook her head, utterly irritated by her Captain's lack of sternness--and quite puzzled as to how he was promoted to such a high position despite his childishness. It was evident that he, Shinji Hirako--the chief Inspector of three years--got by the business with his bursting charm and a wit that was as smarmy and slick as olive oil, but Hiyori believed that such characteristics were unfit for police work, and because of that she was unable to fully concede to his demands.

"Whatever. I've had enough of this for one day," She said, grabbing onto her coat. "See you tomorrow, Captain; hopefully you won't drink yourself into a burping stupor by then." And, with that said, she headed for the door.

"Wait, Lieutenant," The Inspector called to her, not ready to let her leave just yet. "I have to ask you something."

"What is it?" Hiyori asked as she turned around, her complexion clearly marked by annoyance. "And do make it quick, please."

"I was just wondering..." He lifted up his set of documents, flipped through the sheets of paper, and pulled one out, handing it to the blonde lieutenant. "...if you know this man."

Hiyori grabbed the document and, being a woman of great alacrity of actions, observed the given information in one quick glance, and then said, "Marechiyo Omaeda? I don't know him."

"Ah, I see."

"Is he apart of the Mafia?"

"No, he's just some thief who tried to steal a huge load from the Kuchiki-gumi in Tokyo." Hirako remarked, placing the document back into his folder. "He's not in association with any gang, but his family is very wealthy."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hiyori asked, unwilling to waste time with small chat.

"Omaeda was found dead in Chiba." He replied. "This man was planning to leave for the United States, but he was killed just yesterday."

"And who killed him?"

"Well," Hirako grinned. "I have yet to find out, though I definitely believe he is linked to the drug lords. Be a dear, Lieutenant, and collect more information on him."

A vein instantly popped on the lieutenant's forehead as he opened his mouth; she loathed that word "dear." It was a disgusting, contempt-filled word that he nevertheless used so airily when around her, yet it was greatly demeaning to the woman. Though exasperated, Hiyori nodded politely and without hesitation, even though she was utterly exhausted about involving herself in another massive scavenger hunt--this time over some fat oaf who, foolishly, became the prey of the Yakuza beasts because of some inane mistake and his inflated, ill-fed greed.

"I will do so." She quickly turned her heel and exited the office.

"Hiyori," Her Inspector called out, although she did not spare him a single glance back. "I'll still make time for that drink with you."

The door was slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

July 5th
Tokyo, Japan

"...and so, as I have already stated in the last chapter, there is no such thing as 'virginity.' Why, it's simply an abstract, invisible cloud of nothingness fabricated by insecure, weak-hearted men with egos as delicate as snowflakes, who yearned to keep their younger, more impressionable maidens under the binding chains and shackles of domesticity..."

His pale-white fingers carefully brushed the edge of each page, as Hanatarou, with his droopy-eyes riveted onto the tiny, black prints of the lead-heavy book, sauntered down the corridors of the Kuchiki Mansion one humid, humdrum evening. With his attention securely locked onto the words and beautifully crafted idioms, phrases, and dialogues, he did not realize where his feet were moving to, and suddenly bumped into the chest of the ginger-haired lieutenant.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san," He stammered, falling back and away from the taller man. "...s-sorry, about that. I-I didn't see you..."

The older man shook his head and gave a solemn smile at the boy, whose cheeks were tinted with red--possibly out of fear for the lieutenant, though, to Hanatarou, Ichigo actually represented the more generous and merciful portion of the Yakuza gang. "It's fine, just be a little more careful. But, what would have happened if I were Halibel-sama?"

"Uhh..." Hanatarou peered down at his feet, speechless, yet blushing bright pink. "I-I will be more careful, sir..."

"Good." Ichigo said, his gaze suddenly directed at the book in Hanatarou's grasp. "Hanatarou."

"Yes, sir?"

"What is that you're holding?"

"Oh," Hanatarou murmured as he glanced down at the book. "Rukia-san gave this to me. It's a translated version, and I think she wrote it while she was studying in England."

"May I see it?" Ichigo politely asked (so not Yakuza-like), and the black-haired servant boy, eager as always, handed it over to the ginger-haired man. "Thanks."

"Rukia-san's fantastic at writing, Kurosaki-san." Hanatarou remarked as he watched Ichigo's swift fingers flip through the pages. "She's very honest and straightforward in her writing, yet she's also artistic, too. I just got it yesterday, but I'm already half-way through."

Ichigo turned to peek at the cover entitled, Crown of Thorns. Quite a suggestive title, but fitting for someone like the raven-haired young lady who was known to light a few sparks here and there.

"What is this book about?"

"Sex." Hanatarou replied--bluntly--eliciting a cocked eyebrow and astonished glance from Ichigo.

"It's about sex?"

"Yes, w-well..." The boy stuttered, suddenly unable to keep his composure, being as naturally timid and taciturn as he was. "...It's not t-that explicit. It's just Rukia-san's ideas on l-love and romantic relationships..."

"I see." The ginger-head replied, handing the book back to Hanatarou. "Have fun with that, kid."

"Thank you, sir..."

Ichigo nodded in acknowledgement to his leave and headed to his own quarters. That night, it seemed, the overall atmosphere would remain silent; Renji, the raging babboon, was in Harajuku for "business"--or, rather, sex and gambling--after a long and unsuccessful search for the Kuchiki-gumi's substances. Grimmjow was in New York, Kenpachi--the headquarters boss--in Shizuoka, and most likely boosting up his arsenal in preparation for his revenge on Barragan. Kaien Shiba, on the other hand, was a strange figure--very secretive, though most people never would have described his as such due to his display of suave charm and luminous brilliance. As Byakuya's--and now Halibel's--right hand man, he was required to keep himself opaque and unreadable--a human puzzle. Kaien was probably anywhere in the world right now, leaving Ichigo the only major Yakuza leader in the Kuchiki mansion.

Being confined in Shinjuku was not what he had wanted; if the ginger-head was granted a choice including more freedom and mobility, he would have gladly taken the time to visit his loudmouth father and two younger sisters in Urawa. But, because his deceased godfather had placed his trust in him, Ichigo felt it would be a shameful blemish on his honor if he did not remain in the city to watch over Miss Rukia--whom he rarely talked to (much to Rukia's disappointment).

So, he stayed, very faithfully. Yanking his tie off (he hated ties with a flaming passion) but leaving his shirt and slacks on, Ichigo settled himself upon his bed and closed his eyes while trying to keep himself from falling into complete slumber. He contemplated about calling his family, something he could not do with Renji and the other senior bosses around. Though it was late, he figured that simply hearing their voices, and his father's irascible howls of joy--even a little bit--ought to relieve some stress.

"I should." He whispered, and pressed a finger on his Blackberry.

Crash!

"Fuck..." Ichigo felt his blood suddenly glaciate, and his heart pound mercilessly within his chest after that horrible, booming sound crashed upon him in tempestuous waves. 'What the fuck was that...?'

A scream, a thud, and a curse forced Ichigo to quickly grab his gun and run up the stairs toward the source of the sudden noises. He could hear screaming--it was Hinamori, the young maid. As he approached the maiden on the floor, with her eyes widening in trepidation and lips quivering uncontrollably, Ichigo realized that he was actually running towards Rukia's bedroom, causing his mind to instantly rush like a violent whirlwind.

"Fuck...! Rukia!" He yelled, and saw, as he stood by the threshold, a man dressed in black garbs--a familiar, typical Yakuza suit--pointing a gun towards Rukia, with his arm wrapped around the black-haired, lavender-eyed girl. It was almost mind-blowing; Ichigo could not understand how exactly this man had crept into the Mansion, which was, by far, the most heavily-guarded building in all of Shinjuku. But, that question was brushed away quickly; the orange-haired lieutenant had to think of something, and fast. Rukia, in the blink of an eye, was suddenly tossed into hazardous ground.

"Release her!"

"Don't be fuckin' stupid, kid--"

"I said to let her go!" Ichigo was extremely adamant, yet the man in black did not seem the least bit flustered by his demand.

The intruder straightened his arm, and said, "Put that fuckin' gun down, or I'll shoot this lady's brains out."

Ichigo glanced over at Rukia, who was held captive by the man's tough grasp, yet she did not struggle or begin to weep. In fact, much to Ichigo's surprise, the young lady did not look at all apprehensive, despite the perilous position she was in. She simply stared straight at Ichigo, her cool, arctic eyes glistening, lips shut, and her hypnotic stare piercing his own timorous gaze.

"Kurosaki..." she whispered, tightly clenching her fist.

Suddenly, the evening did not turn out to be so "humdrum" after all.

TO BE CONTINUED...

I can hear the suspense bursting in my head...
So, what did you all think of this chapter? Good? Bad? Meh? Please do review ;p

1) Keibu-ho--Police Lieutenant (And, yes, the Vizards will make up the police force ;D)
2) No, Ichigo did not kill Omaeda. Take a guess who?

Thanks for reading, loves!