Bweeehhh I'm so tired….YAWNNNN…here's your chapter, people! I hope you like this one! I'm sleepy… But I had to write and finish today because I love you guys too much and you guys have been too nice to me :) So I couldn't be late :D Oh and I changed my line breaks because it breaks up some readers on phones, apparently :D Thanks for telling me.

Thanks to reviewers: IronEclipse, Eradona, boyo77, ilovebks, MerryKitten, vine, brialees, BleachFreak16, Guest, Juliedoo, Caeli et Inferno, Irishmate, Taichichaser2000, MugetsuIchigo, WarriorofAnime, Mahou001, poooy200, warrior-of-water, Tokyo's Child, Codegeasslulu, mypupps1, Darkkiss15, uzuki-chan, Mtmeye, Phantom Claire, Orange3WhiteSkew, Miss Namikaze, Tsuki no Yukihime, laughingspider, DLC2904, NobodyEpic.

I don't own Bleach. Here you go, enjoy!


Ichigo deactivates bankai as fast as possible, clamping down on his reiatsu while scanning for Rukia in a panic. Where is she, where is she…

A voice, mild and warm, but engraved in Ichigo's memory as high and cold, the voice of hell itself, a voice belonging to a person more beast than man, breaks into his thoughts.

Sosuke Aizen smiles warmly, scholarly brown eyes soft, the very picture of the kindest captain in the Gotei 13.

"That was very impressive indeed, young man. I believe I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?"

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The midmorning sun, finally risen out of the dreary half-sleep of early dawn, illuminates the aftermath of the battle. It is not selective in its choice of what to reveal; there is nothing especially poetic about what lies on the streets and rooftops of Seireitei. And so the streaming sunlight beats down on victory grins and scowls of pain alike, a score of streets painted crimson with gore, shouts of success, moans of the injured. But however messy the overall picture, the predominant feeling for most shinigami is relief.

Except for one.

For one, the sky darkens, the air freezes, his heart spasms under the sight of a supposedly warm smile, a half-crushed memory of this reiatsu signature, remembered as the prelude to horror and death, the hiss and rattle of a coiled snake.

For Ichigo, the sun is but a passing candle in the sudden chill in his soul. Breathe. Breathe, you idiot! An emotion almost akin to panic swells in his chest, as he reflexively pulls his reiatsu so close to himself that Zangetsu grunts in pain, Ichigo's power suppressed to a mere swathe hovering above his taut skin.

Control. Think. Breathe.

Ichigo tells himself to sheathe Zangetsu. He does, arm moving a second slower than he orders it to, his fingers shaking imperceptibly on the hilt. He feels Zangetsu take firm rein of his reiatsu, leaving him the inexpressibly more difficult job of clamping down on his emotions.

But it is terribly difficult when Ichigo finally meets Aizen's gaze, and that infuriating smirking sneer that everyone besides him sees as a kind smile. A new feeling floods Ichigo, a storm of rage so intense that for a moment he sees nothing but red, and Rukia's still form pierced by a blade, and he can smell the metallic tang of blood in the air, and hear the screams of shinigami falling from the sky –

"Are you quite alright, young man?" Aizen's voice, light and concerned.

Control! You are a captain, not the boy that faced him then! And you still don't know where Rukia is.

The thought of Rukia is like a lightning strike. With a shuddering breath, and an almighty tug from Zangetsu in his mind, Ichigo comes back to himself, the maelstrom of fury compressed into a tightly bound ball of steel inside him. Ichigo pulls his features into a mockery of serenity, although his eyes still burn with hellfire.

Isshin, standing on an opposite roof, notices his tenseness, frowning in concern.

"Of course, Aizen-taichou," Ichigo hisses between his teeth. The honorific is forced, and he does not make the customary bow, not even the slight one he offered the other captains upon their meeting. He is not going to bow to that serpent.

Aizen shifts, straightening his glasses with a sympathetic tilt of his head. "My apologies. A case of after-battle adrenaline, I suppose?" A light laugh. But his brown eyes are narrowed at the edges; unnoticeable to anyone but Ichigo, who takes this to be an indication that his lapse did not escape the mastermind's suspicion.

Around them, the captains turn to receive Aizen. It is undeniably strange to see them barely thirty feet apart and not with zanpakutuos drawn. There is no fearsome scowl on Soi Fong's face, nor frightening snarl on Komamura's, nor cold, deep-seated anger on Byakuya's.

Kyouraku adjusts his straw hat, giving Ichigo a cursory glance. Addressing Aizen, he smiles. "Welcome back from your extended mission, Aizen-taichou. If I may ask – I don't see your fukutaichou anywhere, or Tousen-taichou, for that matter. Did they get caught up?"

Aizen chuckles softly, raising the hairs on the nape of Ichigo's neck. "Gin-fukutaichou and Tousen-taichou are just finishing up some business. They will return soon." He gestures casually at Ichigo, who tenses. "I see that our young friend is known to everyone here except I. Would you be so kind as to introduce him?" A sly glint appears in his eyes. "I was not aware there was a Fourteenth Division in the works as I departed on my mission."

It is Ukitake that answers, seeing with an inward sigh that most of the captains present would not be bothered to reply, Byakuya and Soi Fong being prime examples. "There wasn't," he starts shortly. "Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou arrived here three days ago through a scientific mishap from fifty-five years into the future."

Aizen's brows rise. His gaze is still benevolent, but the tilt of his head changes. A tiny twist appears in one corner of his mouth.

Ukitate continues. "He came with his fukutaichou, Kuchiki Rukia." Byakuya keeps a stolid poker-face behind him. "They are expected to be contacted by the future Mayuri in a few days, to bring them back to their timeline."

There is a short silence.

"My, my," Aizen says, "it is quite the honour to meet you, Kurosaki-taichou." Ichigo's lips are drawn into a thin line. He nods perfunctorily. "This is an…unexpected…turn of events. How is Kuchiki-taichou faring?" Aizen turns to Byakuya, a mask of compassion on his face.

"Well enough," Byakuya answers with his signature frostiness.

Komamura's rough growl cuts through. "All is well and good with the small talk, but we need to reorganize, and report to Soutaichou-sama. We'll update you with the situation there as well, Aizen-taichou."

"Of course, Komamura-taichou," Aizen says, bowing slightly in deference and spreading his hands in a gesture of respect. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Kurosaki-taichou." The last phrase is delivered in a façade of amiability, although Ichigo knows that he is hiding a fair amount of interest in him. Already, Ichigo can see Aizen sifting through the limited information on this new development, analyzing, planning how to twist it to his own advantage.

"Aa." Ichigo keeps his gaze level, quelling the turmoil inside him. His earlier reaction had spiked suspicion. Any more would cement it.

The captains turn in the directions of their respective headquarters, and disappear in a flash of shunpo. Aizen, too, leaves, but not before shunpo-ing to rest a friendly hand on Ichigo's shoulder. Ichigo goes rigid, a wave of pure revulsion flooding through him. He has to bite hard on his tongue to stop from drawing Zangetsu and hacking the man's arm off. Too late, he looks up to see a spark of gloating satisfaction leap in Aizen's irises. He pats Ichigo's shoulder twice in an offhandedly genial way, and leaps into the air.

Ichigo hates himself. He has all but confirmed his hatred for the captain – Aizen would be on his tail now. He unclenches his hands – he hadn't even realised they were balled into tight fists, nails digging into palms hard enough to draw blood.

Center. Breathe.

"Bit tired, are you, after all that shmazz?" Isshin's voice sounds right next to him. Ichigo jerks reflexively away, absurdly unsettled and surprised by the appearance of his father next to him. He hadn't felt him leap to his side. Was I that distracted?

Two hands grab him by the shoulders, shaking them gently. Isshin's hands. The captain of the Tenth Division is quietly worried under that laughing demeanor, some unknown factor alerting him to Ichigo's distress. Ichigo realises he has yet to reply to Isshin's query. "Um, yeah, I suppose," he manages to eke out. A weak response. He tries again. "I'm fine, really."

Isshin is not fooled, but assumes that Ichigo really is tired. "Does that bankai of yours drain you this much?" he says, eyebrows still slanted in a frown. "Get some rest after the meeting, okay?"

Ichigo almost chokes on a weird desire to laugh. He hasn't seen his dad this worried in a long time – he must have lost control just now more than he thought. "I'm fine," he says emphatically, brushing off Isshin's hands.

Isshin shrugs. "Get that cute girlfriend of yours to cheer you up," he grins.

Rukia.

Ichigo pivots, and with a single leap, lands silently next to the still figure of Kaien, who is looking down at the cleanup efforts while twirling Nejibana. "Where's Rukia?" he asks quickly, dreading the answer. What if Aizen had somehow gotten to her first, snatched her out of the air when his back was turned…he slams the thought into dust. If Rukia is gone…his heart twists.

Kaien is taken aback by the ferocity of Ichigo's tone. "Take it easy, she's fine. She trusted you to get rid of the hollows here, and went to the academy to check on some friends – Renji, if I remember correctly?"

Ichigo tries not to sag with relief. "Thank you," he breathes. A heartbeat later, he is away, vanished like incorporeal smoke.

Isshin joins his nephew on the roof. Kaien acknowledges him with a nod. "He doesn't like Aizen-taichou, Uncle," he says somewhat conversationally.

"I know." The answer is unusually short and serious. Both men are in mutual understanding.

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The sun has shifted in its circle along the heavens, beating down upon the silent structure of the Shinigami Academy. Its halls are oppressively silent, strewn articles of clothing and study adorning the floors and dormitories almost like an apocalyptic decoration, ghostlike remnants of students evacuated. But the usually empty courtyard at the back of the massive structure is alive with chaotic mayhem, a hectic imitation of order. A series of temporary structures have been set up to shield students and instructors alike from the glare of the sun. In the mass of tents, the wounded are laid out, healing kido glowing in many hands, names accounted for in a brisk registration.

In the hectic activity, Renji picks his way through the raucous jumble of students, trying to fight his way out of the white – white canvas awning above his head, blue and red striped uniforms a sea before him. Hinamori had collapsed from exhaustion after overexerting herself in kido, and he had just left Kira tending to her in a shaded corner.

Not quite recovered from the blinding focus of adrenaline-pumped fight, Renji finds the hurried movements of the uniformed students terribly reminiscent of the hollows he had just carved through. White, white, white. His hand is continually twitching towards Zabimaru, and he clenches his teeth. He can smell the crispness of fresh winter air just ahead, an escape from the stifling sweat and clamour. Nearly there.

Renji stumbles out into bright sunlight with almost a pained gasp of relief, closing his eyes to the feel of a brisk wind in the air. His fingers uncurl from his zanpaktuo's hilt. His first – no, second, taste of battle. Renji would have expected himself to calm down quicker, somehow regain his equilibrium sooner after the last strike of his blade, but he is still strangely unsettled. He thinks of the orange-haired captain that had single-handedly saved all their skins, and looked not even out of breath afterwards. Kurosaki. Was that his name?

Renji opens his eyes, about to turn back, when a flash of black on the rooftop catches the corner of his vision. The figure is facing away from him, about to leave. A shinigami. But no, not just any regular foot soldier, this one is petite, hands encased in soft white gloves, and Renji inhales sharply as he recognizes the tilt of her head and the way her feet alight on the ground –

"Rukia!" he shouts, running towards her. He has ignored her for a whole year, convincing himself that she is happier without his contact, working himself to the ground in order to somehow attain his goal of superseding her brother, but she is here now, and he is gravitating towards her before his mind has truly time to think.

The figure pauses on the rooftop, a shadow in the sphere of the sun, and hesitates. Renji shields his eyes, looking up at her. Then Rukia shifts, and is suddenly before him in a highly proficient exhibition of shunpo. He blinks. She didn't even know shunpo when she had left.

"Renji." Her voice is soft, wistful. Renji swallows. Perhaps this means she has missed him too. She is marginally taller, mayhap a trick of sight due to her professional shinigami shihakushuo. Her face is the same as ever, but her violet eyes are deeper, more experienced, and her hair is shorn to short bob, sharpening the lines of her face. And with a jolting shock that jerks Renji back in its abruptness, he sees the fukutaichou's badge on her shoulder.

Renji finds himself unsure whether he likes the new look. It makes her look confident, but a stranger to him.

Rukia surprises him by breaking the silence first. "I'm glad you're okay," she says softly, looking him over. "You were in the fighting?"

It takes a moment for him to find his voice. "Yeah," Renji says huskily, cursing the choke in his voice. "You look…well." He bites his lip. That didn't sound convincing, even to himself.

A strange expression he doesn't comprehend flits over Rukia's face. It is a mixture of realisation, regret, understanding, and finally settles on guardedness, although a hint of remorse still softens her eyes. "I'm doing as well as can be expected, Renji."

Renji gestures sort of weakly at the wooden badge. "Fukutaichou, eh?" his voice is steady enough. "Congratulations. Must be the results of private training, right? Your, um, brother help you with that?" An unbidden spark of jealousy. He hides it.

Rukia does not nod and smile, like he expects her to. Instead, she withdraws into herself, the closed expression on her face melting into something almost like pain. Strangely, not fresh pain, but pain from a memory. Renji berates himself – he must have let his emotions into his tone after all. But Rukia sees, and quickly says, "Renji. It's not your fault. I'm not really –" She halts. "It's just…complicated, that's all. It's not you." Again, a trace of something hidden, deeper in her eyes that he cannot place.

She doesn't look happy, Renji realises. The guilt of leaving her alone for so long weighs heavy in his chest, and he finds himself speaking in a tumble of words. "I'm sorry, Rukia, for not contacting you, I thought you have a family now, and I assumed I should stay out of it. I was stupid –"

"It's okay, Renji," Rukia cuts in. "I forgave you long ago." She favours him with a small smile. Renji breathes out, hardly daring to believe her words. So great is his relief that he does not notice the peculiar phrase long ago; she had said it like it meant years. There are actually quite a few things about this Rukia that don't quite match up, but Renji is happily oblivious. He also smiles, tentatively, back.

"Are Hinamori-chan and Kira also okay?" Rukia asks, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Hinamori is a bit tired, but she'll be fine." Renji snorts. "Kira got out of it without a single scratch, but he still has that blasted gloom-face on – you know him."

Rukia sighs, disappointingly not even acknowledging his attempt at humour. "Listen," she begins, "I've got to –"

A rush of wind, and a voice halfway between controlled and frantic issues from above them. "Rukia!"

They do not even have time to look up, before the speaker is next to them, feet kicking up a small cloud of dust at the swiftness of his entry. Renji blinks at the sight of the shinigami captain from before, the one with the deadly speed. Kurosaki-something.

"Ichigo! You handled the situation?" Rukia answers, turning towards the new arrival. That answered the question. Kurosaki Ichigo. Renji doesn't know what to be more surprised, or alarmed, at – the fact that the first true smile he has seen from Rukia since their reunion has now blossomed like a sakura flower across her face, or that they are familiar enough to be on a first name basis. How many captains does Rukia know personally?

But Rukia has swiveled enough so the number on her badge is in full view. 十四. Fourteenth Division. Renji feels like he has been struck in the stomach. He's her captain! He's Rukia's captain…

Ichigo doesn't answer her question, eyebrows drawn into a sharp V of worry. Rather, he looks her over as if checking for injuries. "Are you okay?" he asks searchingly, reaching for her hand. Renji shifts surreptitiously.

Rukia is confused for a second. "Of course I'm okay. I told Kaien-dono where I was going – I knew you could handle all the hollows by yourself in bankai mode." She steps closer to Ichigo, frowning. His hand is gripping hers far too tightly. "Something's wrong. What is it?" Her voice sharpens in apprehension.

Ichigo sweeps his gaze around them, as if checking for the presence of some unknown enemy, passing through Renji as if he was transparent – apparently he doesn't count as a threat. He bends his head protectively over Rukia's smaller form. Renji bristles slightly. Ichigo does not notice. "We need to go," he says to Rukia with an edge of authority, "now."

Renji has had enough of this man who has so far acted as if he is invisible. "Excuse me, captain," he breaks in testily, "but Rukia and I were talking. So if you don't mind…?" The words are barely on the acceptable edge of the proper level of respect, but he could care less about that. And stop standing so close to her, he adds in his thoughts.

Rukia opens her mouth to answer, but Ichigo gets there first, something hard and unshakeable in his eyes and tone. "Look, good as it is to see you, Renji, we have no time," he says shortly. "Goodbye." And with that, he crouches and blurs away, pulling Rukia away with him. She has no time to even make a sound of dissent.

The courtyard is still. Renji stares after them, hand curled on Zabimaru's hilt, the image of Ichigo's guarding hand on the small of Rukia's back echoing after their departure. He decides, quite conclusively, that he doesn't like the captain. At all.

A flutter of black and lilac wings. Renji steps back, head turning. A hell butterfly? He hasn't seen one outside of basic skills lessons. Who is it for? He does a quick three-sixty, proving the courtyard quite empty. The butterfly hovers about a foot from his nose, patiently. Renji makes the unavoidable logical conclusion, however unlikely – the hell butterfly is for himself, a third year academy student.

He reaches out. It lands, antennae prickling his finger. Renji clears his throat. "Um," he says, "activate?"

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Ichigo tucks Rukia close to him as the buildings blur past, the winter chill whet to a knife-edge and streaming through his hair. He flicks a look behind him – no one following – and pirouettes in midair, jerking them into a ninety-degree turn to the left. Rukia gasps at the sudden vertigo, her shihakushuo sleeves fluttering up her arms as he spins dangerously close to a couple more walled corners before coming to a stop in a shaded alley. His feet splash through an old puddle, droplets dancing into the air. Ichigo sets Rukia down carefully, away from the mouth of the passage.

Rukia rounds on him, holding her ribs and struggling to catch her breath. She can't quite squeeze words past her wheezing, and settles for a malevolent glare instead. Ichigo brushes past her to check the street for shinigami. He finds none, and turns back to Rukia –

He runs into a fist.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR, ICHIGO?!" Rukia rages, still gasping for air. "I was talking to Renji, and suddenly you storm in –"

Ichigo's hand is on her mouth. "Sshhh, quiet!" he hisses.

Rukia wrenches his fingers away. "What is going on? You'd better have an acceptable explanation for this!"

Ichigo grimaces painfully. "Aizen is back."

That shuts her up. Rukia's eyes grow impossibly wide, as the same emotions that Ichigo had felt before show themselves on her face – denial, fear, anger. She breathes raggedly, forcing air into her lungs. "How?" she manages faintly, "I thought he was on a extended mission with Gin and Tousen."

"He was. He's done with the mission. Gin and Tousen aren't far behind."

Rukia swallows. "I…we…Ichigo –"

Ichigo's warm, broad hands take her small ones in his, a hopeless attempt at comfort. She moves closer, eclipsed by his shadow.

"There's more." Ichigo's voice is cold and hard, already set in his defensive mechanism. Rukia looks up. "He's behind the hollow attack. There was a message from scientific headquarters confirming that they were shielded. We know it has to be him. He just appeared out of nowhere behind me –"

Rukia goes very still. "He saw your bankai. He saw Tensa Zangetsu."

"Yes." There is no hiding it.

"Do you think he felt your inner hollow?"

"I don't know. I have no way of knowing. But he already suspects me – I didn't react especially well at seeing him." Ichigo pauses, and turns to the wall, scrunching his eyes shut and cursing himself vehemently through his teeth. Stupid, stupid idiot...

A small but firm hand pulls his forehead away from the brick. "It wasn't your fault, Ichigo," Rukia says quietly. But her voice is tight, strained. "Ichigo," she continues, "what are we going to do?"

Ichigo doesn't know. He faces her, holding her hands like a lifeline, wordless. He's the captain here. He's supposed to be the one who has an answer. But all he can do is alternate between trying to convince himself that Rukia is going to be safe and calming the seething tempest of fear and rage inside.

Rukia takes a deep, steadying breath. "Right," she states determinedly, even though her violet eyes quaver, "have you felt anything from Urahara yet?"

Ichigo shakes his head. "Nothing. But he said a few days, so it won't be long. We just need to delay."

Rukia bites her lip. "We need a strategy," she says, some of the strength returning to her tone. "We can't just rush headlong into a duel of minds with…him. Okay. What is the absolute upper limit on anything we can do against Aizen without changing the future?"

Her composed logic is reassuring for Ichigo. He straightens. "Well," he starts, growling with suppressed frustration, "we can't kill the stinking worm." Rukia narrows her eyes, sensing more. "Apart from the obvious fact that we actually have him to thank for our meeting in Karakura in the first place," Ichigo continues, "Did I ever tell you how my parents met, Rukia?" She shakes her head, hair shifting over her cheekbones. Ichigo snorts, a sound of profound irony. "Kurosaki Masaki, a pure-blood quincy, first laid her eyes on Shiba Isshin when she saved him from a half-complete arrancar experiment."

Rukia takes a moment to fully absorb the significance of this. "Are you telling me," she whispers, "that you were born because of Aizen?" Her fingers curl into his haori.

Ichigo smiles, a pained grimace. "My birth was a subsequent result, yes."

"We kill him, we kill…you."

"Yeah." The word hangs in the air.

Rukia shivers. Then she seems to deliberately shake it off. "I suggest we don't cause him any physical harm at all. It's safer that way," she says briskly. "I'm sure Urahara isn't stupid enough not to have a contingency plan for the rest. All the same, we can't let him find out about your hollow powers. You're an unidentified quantity, Ichigo."

"Thanks," he quips, a hint of sarcasm breaking the weight of the conversation.

A roll of Rukia's eyes. "I meant that you're essentially what he has been working towards – a flawless blend of shinigami, hollow, quincy. You're the perfect result to an experiment he's only half completed. It's like a glimpse of the ideal that could be. It could accelerate his plans tenfold, and wreck the sequence of events."

"I'm perfect? Wow, really, thanks." Ichigo is grinning, now, although the worry has not left his eyes.

Rukia glares, and hits him, hard. "I didn't mean it that way, and you know it. Idiot."

"I'll take it that way, thank you." Another half-grin. He gets a kick in the shins. But Ichigo is serious again as he looks down at her. "We're to attend a debriefing at the captain's meeting hall, as soon as they're finished clearing up after the attack."

Her hands grip his tighter. "We can't avoid him, then."

"No," he says shortly. "You'll probably be restricted to an observer's status. It is a captain's meeting, but you need to be there. We weren't supposed to be in the fighting in the first place – there might be consequences." He smiles humourlessly.

Rukia nods her understanding. "Okay," she says, almost to herself. "Okay."

"Hey," Ichigo says, "we'll get through this." A lingering echo of their conversation the night before, on the ice. How different the future looks now. He closes the gap between them in less than a step, gathering her into the safety of his arms. Rukia hugs him back fiercely, surprising him with the strength of her embrace. Ichigo holds her close, both to reassure himself that she is still here, unharmed, and to reduce the biting cold encroaching on his heart.

The hollow attack is over, but they are going into a new war.

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The grand doors to the captain's meeting hall are ornate, exquisitely beautiful, and for most, an entrance not unlike that to their own personal hell. The double doors are so magnificently tall, the hallway leading up to them seems a lot shorter by eye than it actually feels like as shinigami stride, walk, shuffle up its length. Even those that are determined to enter with their backs straight and heads high fail in the end, for as they take each step towards their fate at the end of the corridor, the immeasurable weight of history, tradition, power, and honour falls on their shoulders until they stand in front of the gilded entrance feeling like a babbling toddler looking up at some godlike entrance to a council of deities.

Ichigo stands at the beginning of the hallway, head held tense and level, brown eyes fixed on the destination ahead. Rukia is beside him, her diminutive form made even more insignificant by the imposing height of the hall. They are both late. By unspoken consent, neither had wished to spend a second more in the company of Aizen than absolutely necessary.

But they are here now.

Ichigo shifts. "Let's go," he says softly, resolutely.

Rukia does not answer. They move forward together. Three steps later, her small hand intertwines in his. Ichigo looks at her for a moment, finding her still looking unwaveringly ahead. He understands. This is not a moment of weakness, but a declaration that they would face this hell together. He grips her hand tightly in return.

Thirty feet from the grand entrance that dwarfs them, the doors open smoothly, gliding back on golden hinges.

Rukia lets go of his hand, the comforting warmth of her fingers slipping away. Ichigo clenches his fist. Into the breach they go.

The meeting hall reveals every captain present bar Tousen, eleven haoris gleaming white, eleven zanpakutuos belted, deadly. Isshin, to one side, winks at them. It is no comfort. Ichigo had been in this very same room but a few days ago, with Rukia unconscious on the other side of Sereitei and ten pairs of eyes ready to label him as ryoka, and not felt a single spark of fear. But no, there are eleven pairs of eyes today. And that makes all the difference.

Aizen smiles a gentle smile, eyes half-hidden behind his wire-framed glasses, standing serenely in his place on the left of the Soutaichou.

Ichigo and Rukia give a formal bow to the hall in general, executed perfectly – Rukia a little deeper than him, for that is her traditional place as a fukutaichou. Ichigo straightens, and is dimly aware that Rukia has taken two neat steps backwards, and pivoted to give him a secondary bow. "Kurosaki-taichou," she murmurs appropriately, and he has to force himself from biting his tongue at the sudden formality. But her proper etiquette is like a douse of cold water into his face. It reminds him of their inferiority in this hall, as foreigners on probation. And it reminds him that he and Rukia are separated by a lot more than physical distance in this hall. She is bound and mute here. Ichigo is alone.

Ichigo watches as Rukia walks sedately to Byakuya, taking her place one pace to the left and two behind him. She is admirably still and collected, gaze passing over Aizen as if he blends into the background with all the other captains. Ichigo breathes out, slowly.

A crack of wood on marble.

All captain shift to attention as Yamamoto regards Ichigo levelly, long-nailed hands clacking on the polished wood of his cane. "So you do possess manners, child. What has changed today that you see it fit to honour us with your respect, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo smiles grimly. "A wise captain reads the situation, Soutaichou-sama." A short, perfunctory bow.

Yamamoto's eyes have lost none of their piercing quality in their age. His gaze flicks to Rukia, who is politely looking at the floorboards, head down in deference, then back at Ichigo. A twist in the old man's mouth. "So you do know that you have broken the boundaries of the rules that bind your stay here. The consequences will come later, after we discuss more important things. Mayuri-san, your report?"

Mayuri shuffles forward, head twitching, the black sections of his striped face somehow paler, holding a sheaf of notes. "Ah, yes," he says in that oily voice of his, "my preliminary readings. There was no lapse in the scientific department's monitoring equipment, nor any glitches that we can find. All devices appear to be fully functional – there is no mechanical explanation for why the hollows did not show up on readings before they broke into Seireitei's boundaries." He clears his throat, shuffling through his papers. "I have to conclude – with my deepest apologies and regrets – that this recent phenomenon is not one which my department can give any solid data on. The hollows were shielded, that is all I can say. Besides, the sheer amount of power it would take to rip such a large hole in not only the fabric of this space but also Seireitei's shields…" he wrings his hands delicately, and steps back in line.

The Soutaichou taps his nails thoughtfully, the sound echoing about the hall. "I will say now that I did not sense them until they had entered Seireitei itself. It is a small matter for me to admit this. There is no need to defend a false sense of pride. Did any of you sense them before the general alarm sounded?"

The hall is oppressively silent. Ichigo is so still, he could pass for a statue.

Then cultured tones sound out like water breaking over smooth sand. "Forgive me, but I have a small query. I did not sense them either, but I'm afraid I'm unclear on a certain point." Aizen tilts his head innocently.

Ichigo tenses, unconsciously balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, a combat-ready stance.

Yamamoto grunts. "You may speak."

Aizen steps forward fluidly. "I passed by the Shinigami Academy when I first arrived back in Seireitei – as you all undoubtedly know, the academy was the first point under attack – and the headmaster informed me that Kurosaki-taichou had dealt with the first wave single-handedly before any student casualties occurred. And while, I am sure, we are all indebted to you for your quick action," he bows to Ichigo sincerely, "you arrived at the academy immediately after the alarm sounded – before any of us. My question is, how did you know?"

Eleven pairs of eyes drill into Ichigo's. There is a subtle change in the atmosphere, a sharpening in reiatsus that weigh on the air and suddenly make it difficult to breathe. Even Isshin is frowning, although his expression holds no accusation.

Ichigo's fists are clasped so tight, his nails have worked bloody furrows into his skin. He should have known that Aizen would know about the academy – he orchestrated the first point of attack, after all. Curse that sick, manipulative… Rukia's shoulders are tense as she, too, looks at him. Her violet eyes burn with intensity.

Yamamoto shifts, chair creaking under him. "Answer, child," he says. The words are soft, but they hold centuries of steel. There is no doubt that it is an order.

Aizen gestures warmly. "Please understand. I'm not trying to accuse you of anything – I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Would you care to set my mind at ease, Kurosaki-taichou?"


Aizen's really a slick manipulator, isn't he? Now Ichigo has to lie and dance his way out of trouble – not that he isn't already in heaps of it. It won't take much more poking from Aizen to paint him black. Sigh. Hope you guys liked it!

Please review! Please :) It makes me happeh :)

Answers to guest reviews:

vine: Thank you! Gin…yes, he will turn up eventually, I think :) Look up for the evil trio, muahahaha :)

Guest: Why thank you, and here's your update!