CONTAGION

CHAPTER NINE

Isane's hands fluttered over the papers that covered Unohana's desk. "And there's this one, that's from Yamamoto-soutaichou -- and this one, from Hitsugaya-taichou, about Hinamori-kun -- and this one --"

Unohana shook her sleeves back and began to sort the papers into piles. "Sit down, Isane. Here. Go through these and let me know what they are while I check Yamamoto-soutaichou's ones."

Isane relaxed. She pulled up the small chair to sit opposite her Captain, and began to scan the papers. "This one's from Zaraki-taichou. He wants his men released."

"Have they been checked?"

"Not all."

"Send him a very polite note that in response to his query we are glad to release some of his men, and will let the others go as soon as possible. Then throw out the ones we've checked." Unohana wrote as she spoke, her ink brush flickering in neat characters across the paper. "Next?"

"Hitsugaya-taichou. He wants to know how long before Hinamori-kun's fit for duty --"

"Denied."

"Captain . . ."

"We don't know how much psychological damage Aizen's done to her. She can't be risked in command at a time like this. Keep her under observation till we're satisfied she's safe. Phrase the response more politely. Next?"

"Request from Third's third seat about Kira-fukutaichou's status."

"Tell them he's fainted from injuries received during the fight. Flag a copy for Ukitake-taichou's attention and suggest he drops by to help."

"Ukitake-taichou?"

"Third will need a gentle hand at the moment. With Ichimaru in charge for the last few decades . . ." Unohana signed off another document. "Next?"

"Request for files on some of the recently afflicted from Kurotsuchi-taichou for his research."

"Send him the files," Unohana directed, "and tell the patients involved to stay inside Fourth and not leave it under any circumstances and certainly not to go to Twelfth."

Isane nodded. "Returned files from Ise-fukutaichou with a note of thanks."

"That girl," Unohana said flatly, "is wasted on Shunsui."

"Captain?"

"Never mind. Next?"


Ishida paused to take another swig from the bottle of water that he was carrying with him. His grandfather had always said that when going on a hunt, the Quincy must remember to care for himself as well as for any other weapon, because the Quincy is a weapon.

He could hear his grandfather's voice now in his memory. He'd never forget it.

The sun was moving towards setting. This was a hot autumn day rather than a cool one, a throwback to dust and thick air rather than cool breezes and maple leaves, and probably that was why he was sweating so much. That, and the exercise of using his Quincy powers again. He'd dealt with I five /I Hollows now, blasted them out of existence, and it had felt so good.

He'd have to get back into regular training. Back to the waterfall and the quiet forest clearing and the exercise of grip, pull, release. Back to the unconscious mindset of aim-and-shoot. Eventually. Soon.

But not for the length of this glorious, beautiful, perfect afternoon. Pride of the Quincy. Yes. He had pride once more. He could hold up his head and say . . . well, say something.

He drank more water. If only there was a breeze . . . ah, wait. He could sense it now. Hollow sign to the west.

He began to run.


Nanao nearly ran into Kuchiki Rukia in the passageway, the process being accelerated by the papers which filled her arms and the speed which Kuchiki Rukia was moving at. Long years of experience at avoiding her own Captain's deliberate attempts at collisions helped her manage a three-point-turn and rapid brake while simultaneously redirecting Kuchiki Rukia into the nearest empty bit of corridor.

"Oh!" Kuchiki stammered. "I'm so sorry, Ise-fukutaichou -- I didn't expect to see you here in Thirteenth?"

"I'm looking for my Captain," Nanao said briskly. "Who is, I believe, with your Captain, and if you would happen to know where the two of them are," hiding, she almost said, "currently located?"

"Third Seat Kotsubaki said that Ukitake-taichou was out by the lake," Kuchiki said cheerfully. "I was just going there myself. I have to report to him. If you'd follow me, Ise-fukutaichou?"

Nanao nodded. "Thank you, Kuchiki. That would be most kind of you." Not that she didn't know the way to the little bower by the lake, but the formalities must be observed.

When they got there, Nanao pursed her lips to see that the scene was just as she had anticipated. Frivolity, debauchery, and post-debauchery exhaustion.

"Ukitake-taichou!" Kuchiki exclaimed. "Kyouraku-taichou!" She gave a little bow. "Third Seat Kotsubaki said that you'd brought Ukitake-taichou's cough mixture by, thank you very much . . ."

Ah, innocence. And Kyouraku-taichou really needs to think of some new excuses. Nanao made her bows, then coughed meaningfully. "Sir, about the research you had me doing?"

"Put it down there a moment," Kyouraku-taichou instructed her amiably, "and pour us some tea while Rukia-chan gives her report, my lovely Nanao-chan."

Nanao strongly considered sniffing, but Ukitake-taichou's amused glance mollified her. She set down the pile of scrolls and sketches, and knelt down by the tea service.

Kuchiki folded her hands very formally, clearly conscious of another Captain's presence. "We've had an upswing in the number of Hollows running round Karakura, Ukitake-taichou, but nothing that we haven't been able to contain. So far Ichigo and Renji aren't showing any signs of infection -- and nor am I," she added dutifully. "And Yasutora-kun or Inoue-kun or Ishida-kun must be dealing with the Hollows too, as we've had several alerts that turned out not to be anything once we got there, so it's either them or Urahara-san and his group cleaning them up, but so far we haven't caught up with them to ask which of them is doing it."

She paused. Her gaze flicked to Nanao's pile of papers. She hesitated.

"Yes, Kuchiki?" Ukitake-taichou prompted her.

"Ah, Captain . . ."

"Go on," Ukitake-taichou said encouragingly.

Kuchiki took a deep breath. "It's not that I want to be inquisitive or ask questions where I shouldn't, but why are you investigating Ichigo's father?"

"What?" Kyouraku-taichou said.

Kuchiki jerked her chin at the papers. "That picture of him . . ."

"What?" Nanao repeated her Captain. "That's Shiba Isshin, Kuchiki. Before your time."

"Shiba Isshin?" Kuchiki stuttered. "But that's Kurosaki Isshin, Shiba Kaien never said anything about a Shiba Isshin . . ."

Ukitake-taichou held up one hand. "Ise-kun. Your research. What have you to do with Shiba Isshin?" There was a note in his voice that she couldn't quite place.

Nanao glanced to her Captain, who waved a loose go ahead at her, pulling his hat down aslant. Relieved of any need for discretion, she said, "I was looking into people who were around during the experiments previously, sir, as I think you know --"

Ukitake-taichou nodded.

"Someone from Fourth was involved," she went on. "Evidence suggested it was Shiba Isshin, who was vice-captain of Fourth at the time. He went missing during a mission, presumed dead. I was coming to report this to Kyouraku-taichou, with all the information I could find on Shiba Isshin, including that sketch from files . . ."

Ukitake-taichou turned to Kuchiki Rukia.

"That's Kurosaki Isshin," she said without hesitation. "Ichigo's father. I don't know anything about there being a Shiba that I've never heard of," and there was more than a touch of annoyance and snubbed pride in her voice, "but that is definitely Kurosaki Isshin."

Ukitake-taichou and Kyouraku-taichou looked at each other. Kyouraku-taichou grunted. Ukitake-taichou ran his hand through his hair.

"Sir?" Kuchiki said nervously.

"Right." Ukitake-taichou rose to his feet, throwing off the casual robe that he'd draped over his uniform. "Ise-kun, thank you, I'll go through those later. Shunsui, I need you to cover for me while I make a quick expedition to the world of the living based on the vital information which my subordinate has just reported --"

Kuchiki blinked. Nanao, more experienced in the art of retrospective justification of dubious actions, nodded.

"Can't I come too?" Kyouraku-taichou sighed plaintively.

"I need all this filed an hour ago, including the prior notification to Yamamoto-soutaichou," Ukitake-taichou said patiently, grabbing up his Captain's coat from where it was draped over a chair.

"Nanao-chan?" her Captain enquired.

"Covered, sir," Nanao said, picking up a piece of paper and beginning to draft the formal memorandum.

"And I need someone to keep an eye on things here for when I bring him back."

Kuchiki looked between the two men, slightly dazed. "But surely everyone's . . ."

"Later, Kuchiki," Ukitake-taichou said, grabbing her by the shoulder. "And later, Shunsui, Ise-kun. If you will excuse me --"

He and Kuchiki Rukia were abruptly gone in a coil of wind and the sound of flash steps.

"Sign here, here, and here," Nanao said, presenting her Captain with the paper.

"Ah, my beautiful Nanao-chan," he murmured, taking the inkbrush from her. "Isn't it a good thing that you aren't a professional forger."

"I've often thought so too, sir," she agreed smugly.


Hinamori sat and looked out of the window. She had folded her hands in her lap so that she would not be tempted to fidget, or to reach for Tobiume, or to leaf through books and then put them down again, or . . . or anything. She was quite calm now, quite still.

She would be as still and calm as was necessary to get out of here. Begging to speak to Aizen-taichou had been a mistake, she could see that now, just as her tearful appeals to Shirou-kun had only made matters worse. People had looked over her head, looked past her, avoided her gaze, exchanged glances when she had thought she couldn't see them . . .

She hadn't said anything, of course. She would only have looked more pathetic.

Aizen-taichou had taught her how to plan. He'd taken a just-qualified shinigami out of the Academy and made her a competent tactical leader. She wouldn't refuse the knowledge. Her objectives were simple enough: get out of here, find him, and -- and then save him. She had to save him.

She looked down at her hands.

But that wasn't all. She had to look after the Division. He'd left them because he knew she could take care of them. She had a duty to them: Matsumoto had been right. She was responsible for them, and she had a duty to Kira-kun as well, and Shirou-kun, and all of them. And none of this, none of it, could be seen to while she was sitting here.

She had to persuade them that she was sane. That she was competent. That they could trust her.

There had to be a way.

She looked out of the window, at the sunlight on the garden, and kept her hands very still as she thought.


Yuzu came trotting out of the greengrocer's with the mushrooms in one bag and the radishes in the other. It was early for the mushrooms, but the hot weather that had carried over into autumn seemed to be bringing all the vegetables on a little out of season. Her brow furrowed as she considered how to prepare them. Maybe steamed, with the rice as plain as possible, and the radish grated on the side? And a couple of leaves of --

"Excuse me," a voice said from behind her.

She turned to look up and see a tall man with short pale hair. He had a smile, a pleasant smile, and it probably wasn't his fault that it curved quite like that at the corners.

"You'd be one of the Kurosaki girls, mm?" the man asked.

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Were you wanting to see my father? His clinic will still be open at this time of day."

"Sounds good," the man replied. His eyes were barely open. "Don't suppose you could show me and my friends the way there?"

"Of course," she agreed cheerfully.

"Better and better." The man snapped his fingers at one of the others loitering behind him. "Il Forte, carry this nice girl's bags for her. Least we can do is to be polite."

"Thank you!" Yuzu dimpled politely at the blond man who took her bags, trying to ignore his sulky air, and smiled up at the pale-haired one. "It's just this way, sir. Only a short walk."

"Ain't it a good thing we ran into you," he said with a smile, falling into step beside her.


There was nothing now but the hunt. It carried Ishida across the city like a river. It was like being a child again, running downhill and trying to keep pace with the slope and the speed so that he wouldn't fall down. He had never felt like this before, not even when he had broken his glove and drawn on the full power of the Quincy in Seireitai. There it had been like starlight; now it was a naked heat that he could feel in his veins, that seemed to burn through him and tug him on. He didn't even need to look. He could feel the sources of reiatsu and they drew him like lodestones.

With casual grace he leapt to the rooftop, not even thinking about it as he performed the hirenkyaku. He could sense his prey over in the next street.

There. Two of them. One was large and one was slighter. They both burned with reiatsu. They were Hollows. They had to be. Or shinigami. Hollows or shinigami. Hollows or shinigami were as bad as each other anyway. They killed and they killed cruelly and they destroyed and he could remember the screams like buzzing in his mind, remember his own voice as the blade went into his shoulder and wrenched, the high thin giggling . . .

Inoue? Sado?

. . . he could hear giggling now. They were giggling at him. He should shoot them down before they had a chance to notice him. Yes. For the pride of the Quincy.

This is wrong.

The bowstring sang high and sweet as he drew it back and aimed the shot.

There is something I should remember.

Why was he hesitating?


"I don't see why Rukia had to go back and you didn't," Ichigo said, in what he flattered himself were tones of sweet reason.

Renji sneered at him. "Rukia had to report to Ukitake-taichou, didn't she? I don't have to report to Kuchiki-taichou till later. Or I can send a butterfly."

Ichigo snorted, then drew his knees up to under his chin. They were both sitting on the school roof. It was the end of the day, and only a few late-evening societies were still around the place, and certainly nobody likely to be able to see either of them as they were. "Renji . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Has anyone considered getting the Hougyouku back off Aizen?"

Renji ran his hand through his hair. "Well, that's a good question, isn't it? I figure the Captains have to be planning something. We can't just sit here."

"So?"

"So I haven't been told anything yet."

Ichigo snorted again. "It's not as if we aren't involved."

"Thought you wanted to just get back to being a student."

"Yeah." Ichigo thought about that. "Well. After this is all over. Not right in the middle of it."

"Besides," Renji said with airy casualness, "it wouldn't be easy."

"Mm?"

"Well." Renji crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward. "We'd have to get into Hueco Mundo, see. That means either some very powerful kidou or somehow getting a Hollow to take us there. Then we'd have to find where Aizen was hiding out. And the local Hollows'd probably be, you know. Not happy to see us. Then we just have to get the Hougyouku off him and get it back here and twist Urahara's arm up his fucking back till he thinks of a way to smash it."

"And Aizen wouldn't be expecting it," Ichigo said thoughtfully. "So it wouldn't be like it was last time."

"Well, he has to be expecting something. Just not us and not so soon. If he's got spies in Soul Society --"

"Spies?"

"Well, you don't know, do you? Second have been . . ." Renji gave an uncomfortably descriptive shrug. "Investigating stuff. But you have to figure he's at least keeping track of what's being done in public. He's not stupid."

"Yeah," Ichigo agreed. "I guess he could have planted bugs . . . remote surveillance devices or kidou," he added hastily as Renji opened his mouth to no doubt ask what insects had to do with it. "So some sort of independent attempt might work best."

"Yeah."

"Do you suppose we could get Urahara or Yoruichi in on it?"

"You'd trust them?"

"Trust them, no. But they're very good. We'd need people who were, you know, good at fighting but good at sneaking around too."

"That rules out Zaraki, then."

"Do me a favour," Ichigo said, with feeling, "and if you see Zaraki coming, tell me so that I can be somewhere else. For the next ten years. At least."


Yuzu pointed to the clinic sign ahead. "There you are, sir! The Kurosaki Clinic. Shall I run on ahead and tell Papa that you're coming?"

The men exchanged glances. The pale-haired one smiled at her again. "I'd kinda like it if you waited out here with us while one of my friends rings the doorbell."

Yuzu wasn't stupid. Papa had given her all the lectures about strange men and what to do if they acted weird. The first step was to scream. The second step was to run away.

She didn't manage to get more than a squeak out. The pale-haired man had moved far too fast, even faster than Ichi-nee-san when he was beating up Papa, and he had her bundled under his arm with one hand over her mouth. "Ring the doorbell, Grimmjow."

"What about this, Ichimaru-sama?" the one called Il Forte asked, dangling her shopping casually.

"Put it on one side now," Ichimaru -- the pale-haired man -- said pleasantly. "Don't want to get the lady's vegetables all messed up now, do we? Now be a good girl and stop trying to bite my hand, and everything'll be all right."

Yuzu glared up at him.

The sulky-looking blue-haired man stepped forward and jabbed a finger into the doorbell as though he was trying to punch a hole through someone's torso.

The doorbell chimed.

Footsteps from inside. Yuzu squirmed harder and kicked, but Ichimaru had her tucked into a grip that she couldn't get loose from.

Papa swung the door open. "Ah! Patie--"

He cut off mid-sentence and went very still. Yuzu tried to meet his eyes, to look at him and make him understand how sorry she was, but he was looking at the man holding her, and not at her.

"Ichimaru Gin," he finally said.

"Shiba Isshin," Ichimaru replied. His grin was like a scalpel-cut across his face. "Long time no see. Now you're going to be reasonable about this, mm?"

"Define reasonable." Her papa shifted his feet, settling into a fighting stance.

"You're going to come along quietly with us, and in return I'm going to let your cute little daughter here go unharmed. Easy."

"Your word on it?" Papa was so much more serious than normal. He was the way that he was when he was operating, focused and precise.

"My word," Ichimaru said blithely. "And for all my men here too. It's you we want, not her."

Don't do it, Papa! Yuzu tried to scream through the hand that covered her mouth. A whimper came out.

"And I can trust your word?"

Ichimaru chuckled. "Let's be nice about it and not say that you ain't got no choice, mm?"

Papa seemed to shrink in on himself. "Very well," he said. "Let me just --"

"Uh-uh." Ichimaru nodded to two of his men, and they stepped forward to flank Yuzu's papa. "No going back in the house. No little phone calls or hell butterflies to friends. We're just going to take a quiet little walk to somewhere that we can leave from discreetly, and then I'll put your cute little daughter down and let her go. What, ain't you gonna say nothing?"

"What I have to say to you isn't fit to be said in front of my daughter's ears."

Ichimaru snickered. Yuzu could feel the movement of air in his ribcage where he held her pressed against him. "You're so old-fashioned."

"Put her down and I'll give you my word to come quietly."

Ichimaru seemed to consider it for a moment, just long enough to let Yuzu's heart rise in her throat, then shook his head. "You gotta figure, Shiba Isshin, I just don't trust people like you --"

Wind cracked like thunder at the end of the street, and the air shivered with the concussion. Yuzu was conscious of a moment's wrenching and folds of whiteness, whiteness like silk and clouds and lightning, and then she was halfway down the street again from Ichimaru and his men and papa, cradled in a stranger's arms. She could just about make him out, if she squinted. He was like the ghosts that she'd almost seen before, only more there, more present; his long white hair blew back over his shoulders, and the folds of his white coat and black sleeves shivered and tugged in the wind. Ichigo's friend Rukia-san was standing behind him, but she was blurry too, her outline not quite there, not as strong as the man in white.

Ichimaru and the men with him were falling to the ground, but there were figures standing there like ghosts where they had been, blurry images of white bone and funeral silk. And papa -- papa was doing the same thing, except that his robes were black, as black as Ichigo's friend Rukia-san, and he had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Ichimaru Gin," the man holding her said. His voice had an echo to it, a timbre like distant storms. "I thought that I had seen the worst of you. I was wrong."

"Ukitake-taichou," Ichimaru said, giving him a cheerful nod. His smile was more malicious now, less playful. "Kind of you to drop by. Pity it weren't for nothing."

Ukitake looked down at Yuzu. "Be careful," he said, his tone gentle in its control, as he set her down on the ground. "Stay back."

Rukia-san nodded remotely to Yuzu. She had already drawn her own sword, and it gleamed paler than the bone on the faces of Ichimaru's men, sharper than diamond.

Yuzu nodded in return. "Please," she whispered. "Help papa."

He simply nodded, then turned back towards Ichimaru and his men. His hand fell to the hilt of his blade.

Rukia-san stepped in front of Yuzu.

The thunder was all round her now, it was in the air, it was like wind and monsoon and earthquakes. Yuzu fell to the ground, curling up in a ball with her hands pressed against her skull as though it could keep the pressure out, as Ukitake drew his sword.