Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. This story, however, is ours.
The Guns of Karakura
Chapter 9: A Place and A Name
Ishida was halfway to the saloon and three much-needed shots of whiskey when he reached inside of his pocket and made a very inconvenient discovery: the knife-fighter had left his belongings back at the hospital where he'd left Renji, including the money he would need to procure his much-desired whiskey.
"Damn it," Uryu cursed as he made a sharp turn about-face, kicking up a sizeable dust cloud as he walked briskly back to the hospital. Letting himself in quietly, Ishida made his way into Renji's room and had his hand around his money-pouch when heard an awkward sound that was somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp come from behind him.
Fighting back the instinctive urge to hurl his knife towards whatever had surprised him, Uryu turned around slowly to face whoever else was in the room besides Renji. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the auburn-haired young woman from before standing over Abarai, one hand clutching some fresh bandages while the other was pressed to her chest. Her gray eyes were as wide as Ishida's, and it was clear she hadn't even noticed him until just now. As the nurse got over her shock somewhat and began to stammer, Uryu slipped the pouch into the folds of his jacket before holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.
"It's okay," he said softly, "it's okay. I'm a friend of Renji's. I'm not gonna hurt the person who's healin' him, trust me."
The young woman held Uryu's gaze skeptically for a few more heartbeats, but when she was satisfied that the man was being truthful she turned her eyes back to Renji. The nurse said nothing as she busied herself with changing Abarai's dressings, carefully unraveling the bloodied cloth and replacing it. The stifling silence that settled over the room became too much for Ishida to take after a few moments; once he'd re-adjusted his glasses for at least the fifth time in two minutes, Uryu cleared his throat quietly and spoke.
"So, how's he looking?"
A mostly-indifferent, vaguely optimistic sound that stayed at the back of the nurse's throat was the only reply Ishida got, and the room was still once again. Once she had finished swapping out the linen completely, the gray-eyed young woman turned around and began to leave the room. Seeing his chance at ever getting to know her slipping away, Uryu spoke up once again.
"How much do we owe you?"
The nurse stopped completely at those words, and Ishida's sharp blue eyes caught her shoulders tensing for a brief moment before she forced them to relax.
"Don't worry about it," she answered, her voice clipped and frigidly terse. "Miss Unohana don't like to take money for her treatments, an' folk here give us enough to get by on."
"But I'm not talking about Miss Unohana," Uryu replied insistently, undaunted by the nurse's tone, "I'm talking about you. Clearly you deserve something for doing all o' that for Renji. Knowing him, he's just gonna get it torn back open anyway—"
"Do I look like a whore to ya?" the woman shot back, a whirl of bright auburn in the dim room for one glorious moment before her hard eyes came to rest, glinting, on Ishida. "I don' need your pity, and I don' need no charity neither," she said harshly, before her gaze came to rest on the silver star Uryu wore and her eyes narrowed. "But I guess money's tha only tongue your kind knows how to speak, ain't it?" the nurse finished venomously. More than used to these kinds of jibes, Ishida merely sighed. When he replied, however, he couldn't keep all of the hurt out of his voice.
"I would have hoped that Junrinan would be accepting," he parried, "and that those words would never spring from the lips of someone as fair as you. But I guess I was just foolin' myself, same as always."
With one last bitter chuckle the Jewish knife-fighter swept from the room, blowing right past the shocked nurse. As she was left alone in the room, the young woman hung her head in shame and clenched her fists. She'd just been trying to get him to shut up by any means necessary, and had wound up lashing out worse than a cornered diamondback. Maybe it had just been a reflex, or maybe it was because he'd reminded her of one of those men, but the gray-eyed young woman had never expected to be the one left feeling guilty.
Deciding on a rash impulse to try apologizing to the young man, she fairly ran out of the room and out onto the front porch of the hospital. When she got there, though, the auburn-haired nurse was greeted by nothing more than dust and a pathetic scrap of newspaper as it blew by in the wind.
Ichigo hissed sharply as Rukia's slender hands moved over his ankle. Rather than the primal, pleased sound that had been leaving his lips a few hours previous, though, this hiss was fueled by pain and discomfort.
"Fuck, Rukia," he cursed, "could you maybe be a bit gentler with it?"
Kuchiki shot her patient a quick stare before going back to bandaging the still-sprained ankle in front of her.
"If you hadn't been so aggressive last night, maybe I wouldn't have to change these dressings," she huffed as she tied off the last bandage with an overly forceful twist, provoking another agonized sound from Kurosaki.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't been begging and pleading for it, I would've held back some," Ichigo shot back smugly, a pleased glint shining in his eye as Rukia quickly turned her head away to hide a blush at the memories.
"I'm done here," she spoke tersely after a moment of awkward silence, before getting up and hauling Ichigo to his feet. They walked in tandem over to their waiting horses as Kuchiki braced Kurosaki once again, before saddling up and looking out over the horizon towards Junrinan.
"It'll take us a few hours to get there," Ichigo commented, and Rukia dug her spurs lightly into the flank of her horse, urging it to a trot in preparation for the galloping to come.
"Well, we best not waste any time then," Kuchiki replied before racing ahead. Kurosaki just smirked, shaking his head lightly before following suit.
"Gimme three shots of your best whiskey," Ishida announced as soon as he walked into the bar, "neat."
"You sure about that, soldier?" the blond barmaid asked warily as Uryu sat down. "It's awful early to be hittin' the bottle."
"It's never to early for that," Ishida parried as he pulled out some coins, "but it is too early for ice to be gettin' in the way."
"Suit yourself, kid," the voluptuous woman replied offhandedly as she poured the shots. "Everybody's got their somethin', after all."
The knife-fighter quietly savored the burn of the first shot as his body began to feel ever-so-slightly lighter, and by the time the second shot had settled in his stomach Uryu was ready to ask some questions about the young woman who had rebuked him so fiercely earlier and yet wouldn't have the good grace to get out of his head.
"So," he began casually, downing his third and final shot of liquid courage before continuing, "what's the name of the girl that works inna hospital with Miss Unohana down the way?"
The barmaid made a crestfallen clucking sound at the mention of the nurse, finishing drying off a glass and placing it down on the oaken surface of the bar before answering.
"You must be talkin' about Inoue," she said. "Orihime Inoue. Sad girl, that one. Looks mighty pretty on the outside, but I can tell from those eyes o' hers that she's torn up 'bout something on the inside. Never heard what it was made her that way, though; she never talks to any women 'sides Unohana, and the day she says word one to a man is the day pigs fly in a snowy hell. I'm Matsumoto, by the way," she said, extending her hand. Uryu shook it, and was about to mention how this 'Orihime' had spoken to him earlier, but before he could speak another voice cut him off.
"Such a shame, too," a man with a coolie-style straw hat broke in gruffly, the shadow of the hat blocking all of his head from sight apart from his sharp, stubble-smattered chin. "I bet a girl that beautiful has a voice'd make a nightingale blush."
"Maybe you oughta lay off the booze yerself, Shunsui," Matsumoto scolded him with a smile. "You have a wife and kid at home, remember?"
"A band of gold around the finger don't change a man's eyes, Rangiku," the man with the odd hat replied with a smirk in his voice, "and it don't mean he can't appreciate beauty where he sees it."
Before the pair's discussion on the limitations of marital fidelity could get any further, though, the door of the saloon swung open loudly. The sound the door made as it moved, though, was quickly drowned out by another sound that was even louder, and far more obnoxious.
"Oi, Ishida!" Ichigo called out as he strode up to the bar, Rukia following right behind him. "Here you are; we were lookin' everywhere for you! Thought you be over by the hospital visitin' Renji, but when we couldn't find ya the doc said we should check in here."
"As usual, Kurosaki," Uryu commented drolly as he adjusted his glasses, "the volume'o your voice is rivaled only by yer lack of tact."
Before Ichigo could ask if the three empty shot glasses in front of the Jew were the reasons behind his less-than-crisp speech at the moment, a loud cough courtesy of Shunsui drew all attention to the hat-wearing man currently working his way through a half-bottle of Jim Beam.
"You just say that kid's last name was 'Kurosaki', boy?" he asked seriously, lifting the brim of his hat up to reveal two intense brown eyes. Everyone stiffened as the air itself seemed to stop dead, but after a few heartbeats Ichigo loosened back up with a cocky smirk and a pointed gaze directed at Shunsui.
"And if it is?" Ichigo asked sharply, inching his right hand towards Zangetsu's grip. Rukia's eyes narrowed in concern as she saw all-too-clearly that Ichigo was trying to provoke the older man into a fight, and Kuchiki prayed he wouldn't be that stupid. "You got something to say about my name, friend?"
"Maybe I do, kid," Shunsui continued evenly, but with an edge in his voice that told Kurosaki to back down. "What brings someone like you to a place like this, Kurosaki?"
"I'm lookin' for the bastard killed my ma and my pops, almost killed me and took away my kid sisters," Ichigo answered in his usual steely, straightforward manner while his hand moved away from his gun's grip. "What's it to you?"
"Well, if that's the case, kid," Shunsui replied, tipping back another shot of whiskey and sighing, "you can stop lookin' and start huntin'. I know who hired the men that came to your home that day and took everything from ya."
"Really?" Kurosaki pressed, his amber eyes flashing. "Who was it?"
"'Fore I tell you that, though," the older man continued, as if Ichigo had never interrupted, "I'ma need you to make me a promise. Promise me you're gonna hunt this bastard down and kill him, no matter what it takes. Your father was a good friend o' mine, and the thought of his killer still breathin' makes me sick."
"I've never dreamed of letting that son of a bitch live once I get my hands on him," Ichigo ground out through clenched teeth. "Now cut the shit and tell me, old man: who is he?"
"His name's Sosuke Aizen," Shunsui answered after a few more heartbeats of silence, seeming to deflate somewhat as he spoke the words. "You'll find him down 'cross the border, in Hueco Mundo. Lives in the fort called 'Las Noches'… can't miss it. The soldiers he sent to hunt down yer pa are called the Espada… they wear white dusters to a man, with the numbers one through ten on 'em."
Thrilled to now have not only a solid destination, but also a name, Ichigo turned on his heel and exited the bar without another word. Rukia and Ishida hastened to follow after their friend, leaving Shunsui and Rangiku alone in the saloon.
Well, almost alone. A figure rose slowly from a chair in the corner, walking coolly and methodically towards the pair. As the man crossed into the light, a pair of gleaming turquoise eyes were all the was visible of his face; his hair was covered by a white, brimmed hat decorated with a snakeskin band, and the lower half of his face was covered up by a white handkerchief.
"Well done, Kyoraku," he said simply, tossing a pouch onto the bar that jingled enticingly as it landed. "There's payment for your services, courtesy of our employer."
"He ain't my employer no more, Toshiro," Shunsui shot back gravely. "Now get outta here, before I get really pissed."
"I don't plan on lingering," Hitsugaya parried smoothly, beginning to walk towards the door while the spurs on his boots clinked musically as he went. Stopping right before the threshold, he turned his head back over his shoulder and called out to the barmaid.
"Don't get too comfortable where you are, Matsumoto," he warned. "The call's gonna come 'round sooner than you think. It always does."
The gunman left with those words hanging in the air, and Shunsui promptly killed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp before picking up the moneybag and pocketing it, head hung in shame.
"Ichigo, where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"Kurosaki, I think you're forgetting about something important!"
"Would you two just shut up?" the orange-haired gunslinger shot back impatiently, practically vaulting onto the back of his horse despite the strain such an action put on his injured ankle. "We have someone to go kill, remember? Now saddle up and let's blow this town."
"Not without Renji, you idiot!" Rukia shouted, and Ichigo's fervor seemed to dim at the reminder of his injured comrade. Snarling out a curse in frustration, he turned to his friends and spoke.
"All right, here's how it's gonna be. Ishida, you go and get Renji up off his lazy ass and out here as soon as he can wiggle his big toe without wincin'. Rukia, you stay here with me."
Sharing a quick glance with Kuchiki in commiseration at the headstrong behavior of their companion, Uryu split off and went back towards the hospital. As the knife-fighter walked, he wondered whether or not he'd be able to strike up another conversation with Orihime. He considered his odds on that front to be slim at best, though, even with three shots of whiskey wreaking havoc on his inhibitions.
Ichigo watched his friend disappear into the distance before turning around to face forward. His hands immediately shot to both of Zangetsu's grips as he did so, and he quickly drew the pair of obsidian-black hand-cannons from their holsters to point at the new arrival.
Sitting astride a horse not twenty paces away was a man wearing a solid white duster, with piercing green eyes hidden partway under the shadow cast by the brim of his black hat. A cigarillo dangled almost lazily between his lips, but it straightened as the man took a long pull from it. The rider then reached one hand up slowly to take it from its resting place, before blowing the smoke out in a spear and replacing the cigarillo between his lips.
"You sure you want to be so hasty on the draw," the green-eyed man said in a calm voice that still managed to make a shard of glass seem dull,
"Ichigo Kurosaki?"
A/N: Oh snap, it's Ulquiorra! Will Ichigo listen to common sense, or act like a brash idiot? I think we all know the answer to that one. Also, big announcement: This chapter marks the beginning of this being a collaboration story with the awesome JasoTheArtisan. Check his stuff out; it's high-quality. He's also working on a supplementary Ulquiorra-focused one-shot set in the "Guns" universe, which acts like a prelude to his appearance here. Keep an eye out for that! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review!
