Without A Net

by Manita

Sequel to Blind Before the Looking Glass. After Byakuya's apparent treason, Ichigo is picking up the pieces of his life and hanging on to the 6th any way he can. Meanwhile, in the living world, Byakuya and Renji struggle to survive, alone and hunted in a city full of hollows. What they all need is a helping hand but, new friends or old, that's not always an easy thing to find.

10. Nobody's Fault But Mine

He had no idea where he was or how he'd got here. He just knew that he was lost and had been for hours.

Yasutora skidded, his feet almost going from under him. Only a hand quickly slammed against the wall stopped him falling and cracking his head open on the stone.

Panting heavily and knees shaking from exertion, he stopped, resting his forehead against the wall, his eyes wide-open, staring. He closed them again. It made absolutely no difference to the ghost images dancing bright against unrelenting black. There wasn't enough light down here to see anything at all

But he could hear. The drip of something wet, the rasp of his own breath.

A creature snorting in the darkness, and the scrape of something sharp against stone.

Yasutora jerked upright. It was here again, whatever it was. The thing that was hunting him, driving him on until even his reserves were nearly exhausted.

Gutless coward.

And, along with the hunter came the voice, the one from before, in his head. Only this time it wasn't friendly and supportive.

Go on then, run, like the terrified kid you are.

It hated him.

Run or face me and die.

"Screw you," Yasutora croaked, pushing himself off the wall and kept moving forwards. He had to. He'd never been the sort to just lie down and let death come. If you wanted to call it running, then so be it. While the wall under his hand kept going, then so would he, until he found some way out of this endless labyrinth.

And if the beast was waiting for him when he got there?

Fear and fury stirred under Yasutora's heart and he heard an echoing roar in his head.

Damn it. Give him some light and place to stand, and yeah, he'd fight, no problem. No matter what the voice said, he wasn't a coward. He was dead anyway if this went on much longer, so it had to be better to go down fighting.

In the meantime, one foot in front of the other was the only way to go, because facing the beast here in the dark was suicide.

Another patch of moss appeared at his feet. This time Yasutora stepped over it rather than slipping, and it wasn't until he was safely on the other side that he realised the implications of what he'd just done.

If he could see his feet, there had to be light.

Raising hopeful eyes, he squinted at the pale circle that had opened up in the distance. Daylight? With the way his luck was going, it was probably an oncoming train instead. Wasn't that the way the saying went?

He braced himself for disaster, but the light didn't get brighter or bigger, and nothing screamed out of the darkness borne on screeching metal wheels of death. So eventually Yasutora decided it was probably safe and got moving again.

The moment he did, something bellowed behind him.

Yasutora spun, and caught a brief glimpse of glowing eyes and massive bulk, before whatever it was hit him in the chest like the express train he'd been expecting from the other direction. He flew. Faster and further than should have been possible, tumbling heels over head through the air. Desperately, he tried using reiatsu to stabilise his trajectory. The thing was coming after him. He could hear it. Angry snorts, harsh breathing, hooves clattering across stone.

He had to land well. Anything less and it would be on him before he could defend himself.

Daylight erupted around him like a volcano. Sharp and bright, scorching on skin that felt like it had been underground for eternity. Sound exploded with it; the familiar dreaded cheers of the crowd.

Yasutora's back hit the sand and he rolled, coming up with blood pumping and fists raised. He could do this! This was the arena. His home-ground. Here, with Jackie beside him, he was more than ready to fight.

But Jackie wasn't there, not any more, and it wasn't a hollow that came out to meet him, it was a bull. Toro Bravo, as black as a moonless night with horns that curved like steely sabres into deadly points. As familiar to Yasutora as the dusty streets of his grandfather's village.

Nostrils flaring blood red, the bull pawed the ground, its head swinging low on a neck and shoulders of solid rippling muscle. Yasutora fought the urge to take a step back. That would be cowardly. The bull might be half a ton of raging killing machine, but it was still a pussy cat compared to most of the hollows he'd had fought in the past year.

For one thing, it was smaller. And for another, if it was a bull, it could bleed and tire and weaken. Yasutora's confidence settled and grew. This battle just went from life and death struggle to one of pure stamina, and Yasutora'd pit himself against that any day.

The bull charged, flat out across the arena, dust exploding beneath its hooves as it came, the thunder of them vibrating up through Yasutora's heels and into his chest. He held his ground, facing the thing down until the very last moment, then spun away with a step of pseudo-shunpo. The bull snorted its fury and drove its hooves into the sand as it turned to follow. Another 'step' took Yasutora to the other side of the arena.

Behind him, the crowd screamed abuse, and the voice in Yasutora's head echoed it. Still running! Coward! Stand and fight!

The bull's bellow resounded in time with it and, as the twin voices resonated into one in Yasutora's head, he finally understood. "You're the bull."

NO! We, together, are you! Another charge. This one so much faster, and was it Yasutora's imagination or was that bull getting bigger?

This time he stood his ground for hardly a moment, but the breeze from the bull's passing still stirred his hair when he dodged. And now he had no time to rest. Not a second to stand and think. The bull was after him and on him, again and again, as the screaming in his mind built into a tsunami that felt like it would burst any second from the top of his head.

Stand! Face us! Coward!

Not a coward, Yasutora answered.

Then why run? You cannot deny us. We are part of you.

That made no sense. How could this bull be a part of him?

Another charge and the sand slid beneath Yasutora's foot. What should have been a clean getaway turned into a stumble, and the bull was on him. Noise, pressure, heat, the power of it smacked into Yasutora's side sending him flying yet again. This time the barrier stopped his flight. He hit it with a thump that stole breath and, for the briefest of vital seconds, consciousness.

It was enough. Sharp and huge and as smooth as the slide of steel from a sheath, the bull's horn pierced his belly, through and into the wood behind him. Yasutora's cry of pain sounded loud against the sudden silence from the crowd.

Pinned, he hung there, hands clasping the living weapon impaling him. His lungs fought to breathe, catching on pain and things inside that tore.

He coughed and tasted copper.

Death. This was what death tasted like. Yasutora knew. He'd tasted it before. The bitterness and disappointment of it.

So this time choose differently.

Now, the voice that had been full of rage was a fathomless pool of calm. Yasutora opened his eyes, and looked into those of the bull. Not an animal's eyes. But not human either. Something else. Perhaps a little of both?

"Who-" he tried, and coughed again, agony tearing at his innards.

The bull's eyes softened, its breath whistling in its chest as it panted against his legs. Speak with your mind, it said, We are one. I will always hear you.

Who are you?

You. The part that you left behind.

The world wavered and Yasutora was back in the past. The Plaza México, huge and towering, stretched around him, the crowd cheering a synchronous, "Ole!" as the torero flipped his scarlet cape and drew the bull towards the man riding the blinkered horse. The bull charged and the picador's lance stabbed down. Yasutora cried out as flesh tore and blood flowed.

As the crowd screamed in appreciation, Yasutora dived for his father's arms, swarming up his tall strong body and hiding his face in a neck that smelt of sun and sweat and aftershave. "Papi!" he sobbed, "I don't like it. Can we go now, Papi?"

A hard hand grasped his arm and shook him firmly. "Hey, no hiding. I'm not raising some sissy-boy, you hear me?"

"Yes, Papi." A deep breath and nervous glance through lowered lashes. Now everyone had moved to the other side of the arena, the brightly dressed man looked like he was dancing with the bull, which was big and strong and powerful, just like his father. Yasutora sat up a bit, earning his father's grunt of approval.

"See that," Papi said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest against Yasutora's leg as he pointed towards the bull, "That's your culture, just like mochi and those kanji your mami has you learning. It's part of you and that isn't gonna change."

The world shivered, and dirt scratched beneath Yasutora bare feet. He stood in the village square, hate and rage boiling inside him as the other kids shouted names that stuck like barbs in his skin. He hated everything. Everyone. Mami and Papi for leaving him. Abuelo for not being them. And most of all himself, for not stopping them from going out that night.

He still remembered the policemen's faces when they'd come to the door. And the babysitter's scream when they gave her the news.

Now he was stuck in this stupid village, with stupid little country kids. He missed the city and his friends, he missed his parents. He wanted to cry at the unfairness of it, but Papi said real men didn't cry. Real men fought, like Papi did, and Abuelo did, with their fists.

The kids danced around him, too quick-footed to catch, like torero in front of a bull. Toro Bravo, the fighting heart. No matter how people drove it down, it kept fighting to its very last breath, just like Yasutora was going to do now.

He dropped his head and lifted his fists, shouting a challenge, heart pounding with the strength and rage of a bull.

A lurch in reality and suddenly, instead of kids, it was Abuelo standing in front of him. Bruised and battered from the blows that had been meant for Yasutora. That would have fallen on Yasutora if Abuelo hadn't got between those men and him.

And they'd hit hard, with clubs, until he'd fallen to his knees. But instead of fighting back, Abuelo had just let them do it.

"Why?" Yasutora demanded, still terrified and confused as he helped his grandfather limp out of the alley. "You're not a coward, why didn't you fight? You can, I know you can, I've seen the trophies." More than he could count, kept polished and safe on the shelves in their small living room along with grandfather's gleaming championship belt.

Abuelo's patient eyes crinkled, the split on his lip gaping a little as he replied with a question of his own, "And how many of their sons fought back when you hit them, Yasutora?"

Guilt twisted at Yasutora's gut and he gripped the lucky coin, now around his neck instead of grandfather's. "Not many." And none successfully. They hadn't a chance. Yasutora was too big and too strong for any of them.

"Then don't you think those fathers deserved a chance for revenge?"

Yasutora frowned. "Not on you. You weren't the one who hit their kids, and their kids weren't the ones who hit you."

"True," Abuleo said, reaching out and putting a rough hand on Yasutora's shoulder. "But you've seen my trophies. If I had fought back, what would have been the outcome?"

That was easy. "You would have beaten them, like that." Yasutora smacked his fist into his palm.

"And would it have been a fair fight? The type that would win trophies?"

That was more difficult. Abuelo had got the trophies by winning fights. Were there different ways to win?

Yasutora thought about that all the way home and all that evening, staring at the gleaming silver on the shelves that said, 'light-weight' and 'middle-weight' and 'Champion'. He thought about his grandfather and fighting, and finally, as he was going to bed, he said, "Grandfather, I have an answer for you."

Abuelo raised an eyebrow and put aside the newspaper he'd been reading, giving Yasutora his full attention. "And what is it?"

Fighting not to squirm under the scrutiny, Yasutora said, "It wouldn't have been a fair fight at all, sir."

"No, it wouldn't. Raising your fists against those weaker than yourself is never honourable, Yasutora. And when you're trained, like I am, or big and strong, like you are, that is everyone outside of the boxing ring."

"I know. I see that now." Yasutora looked up, biting his lip as he summoned the courage to ask what he'd been wanting to for a long time. It took a lot, but he got there eventually. "Abuelo, will you teach me to fight like you?"

His grandfather's approving smile made Yasutora feel loved for the first time in years.

The world spun again, and this time it was the cold, white, open spaces of Narita International airport that met Yasutora's eyes.

"Konnichiwa, Yasutora-chan. I am very pleased to meet you," his aunt was saying, her head lowered as she bowed slightly to him. She was tiny, so much smaller than him and Yasutora didn't know what to make of her. His mother hadn't talked much about her family, and even if she had, that had been years ago. Yasutora barely remembered the words she'd taught him, let alone how to behave in this place that was nothing like home.

Around him, the airport bustled, but not with the loud Mexican conviviality he was used to. This was the buzz of people intent on their destination. Spoken exchanges were clipped and formal, and everyone seemed to move like they had a bubble of space around them. Yasutora towered over them all, and his uncle, who was standing behind his aunt, was staring at Yasutora like he was some kind of invading giant.

Still, Yasutora did his best to be polite. He ducked his head to his aunt and murmured, "Konnichiwa, oba-san. I'm pleased to meet you too."

That earned him a slight smile from her, though his uncle just glared even harder.

"We've enrolled you in boarding school," his aunt said in English, the only language they both spoke enough of to have a decent conversation. "That would be better for you, we thought." Her eyes flicked so briefly to her sour-faced, impeccably dressed husband that it was hardly noticeable. Yasutora got the message anyway; he wasn't stupid. His uncle didn't want a foreigner around embarrassing him all the time, even if it was a relative.

But even with his disapproval, his aunt hadn't turned her back on Yasutora like she could have, and Yasutora was grateful for that.

At twelve years of age, he was too young to be alone under Mexican law. His grandfather's friends had done their best, but they weren't relatives, and the authorities had been about to send him to an orphanage when her letter had arrived with a one way ticket to Japan. So here he was, in Tokyo, with family he didn't know, in a country he didn't remember, and with yet another new start ahead of him.

Sometimes it felt like there was nowhere in his life that stayed stable long enough for him to put down roots. But he had no choice. This was what and who he had to be now, however out of place he felt.

Curling his fists at his sides, Yasutora recalled every lesson Abuelo had ever taught him, and then tucked the memories safely away alongside Papi. And when he answered his aunt, it was with his mother's words, the ones he remembered being so important to her when he was a child.

"Thank you, oba-san" he said, bowing properly this time, "I promise I will do my best."

The ground beneath his feet swirled from grey industrial carpet to bloodied sand and heaving black-furred flanks. Pain lanced through his belly where the bull's horn impaled him. And in his head, the voice rumbled accusingly, You forgot about us. All of us. The only thing you kept was Abuelo's lesson, and you let that turn you into a coward.

Had he?

School in Japan had been a nightmare to start with, Yasutora remembered that much. He'd done his best, like he promised his aunt. Forced himself to change the way he acted and spoke, but he'd been too big, too dark-skinned, too foreign to ever really fit. The kids had picked on him, but when he'd refused to fight back, they'd frozen him out instead. In the end, that had almost been worse.

As soon as his Japanese improved enough for him to go to a mainstream school, he asked to transfer out, and had met Ichigo on his very first day at Mashiba Junior High. There, finally, he found the reason for his fists that Abuelo had told him about all those years ago. To fight for Ichigo, for what was important to Ichigo. And in return, Ichigo would do what Yasutora had promised never to do for himself, and raise his fists on Yasutora's behalf.

Did that make him a coward?

No. But the bull was right about one thing. He had forgotten a lot. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to mass, and though he wasn't exactly a Christian, he wasn't Shinto either and that didn't stop him from visiting shrines. He never spoke Spanish anymore, or practised his boxing. In trying to keep his memories safe, he'd locked that part of himself away and tried to deny it.

If that wasn't enough, dying had erased it completely, until Ichigo had given him Abuelo's coin back.

And now?

Now his Mexican half had come back, with vengeance on its mind, apparently.

Since, in Yasutora's experience, bulls didn't speak, this had to be a dream. So presumably, this was his conscience having a go at him. All those new/old memories coming back to kick his ass into shape.

The pain was fading. Yasutora lifted a hand and rested it against the side of the bull's muzzle, feeling its hot skin tremble beneath his fingers. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it with all his heart. "I'm sorry I forgot you. I won't do it again."

See that you don't, the voice said grumpily, Or I'll chase you down and I won't be so gentle next time.

Yasutora laughed as the wood at his back and the hide under his hands disappeared. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was back in his body, though as he opened his eyes, he thought he heard the voice say, Remember, if you ever need me, you only have to call my name.

"What?" he said, eyes opening to star-spangled darkness and freezing temperatures.

A deep shiver racked through his body making his teeth chatter, as a female voice above him said, "I asked if you were Sado Yasutora."

Memories of the day, of Jackie's funeral and Moyu's death, returned to rest uncomfortably beside the dream of the bull. Yasutora frowned and shivered again, only then realising that he was freezing, and sitting in the doorway of some kind of temple or shrine, with a cloaked figure standing over him.

He tensed, fighter's instincts finally kicking in as he searched for other threats. There were about half a dozen of them, all with their zanpakutō drawn, stood some distance away in a loose half circle around him. If he tried making a move against this one, he'd be dead.

But did he need to fight them? This shinigami hadn't attacked him, she'd asked who he was. No, that wasn't true. She'd asked if he was Sado Yasutora, and only a handful of other people in Soul Society knew what Yasutora's full name was. Which meant these shinigami had to have come from Ichigo.

The instinct to fight or run faded. Instead, Yasutora ducked his head and grunted an affirmative.

"Finally. I'd heard you were slow, not an idiot," the shinigami snapped. "Now get up. We haven't got all night."

As the adrenaline from his sudden wake-up call faded and the sluggishness of a brain and body still half-caught in dreams and bone-numbingly cold, returned, another shiver racked through him. The shinigami huffed loudly and folded her arms over her chest. She still seemed angry, though why Yasutora had no idea. But whatever her reasons, she was only getting crosser the longer Yasutora disobeyed her. He should move. Maybe then they could sort this out.

Using a trick he'd picked up in the Pits, he forced reiatsu into muscles grown stiff with cold, and managed to roll smoothly to his feet. The group of shinigami, who'd obviously not been expecting him to move that fast, all shot back several paces, drawing their zanpakutō. Yasutora held his hands out, palms up, to show he wasn't about to fight.

It was enough to settle the woman. She slid her sword back into its sheath and came towards him again, saying, "You shouldn't be so quick to surrender. We could be anyone."

"You're from the 6th," Yasutora answered bluntly.

The shinigami cocked her head at him, her hood sliding back enough for Yasutora to see the ends of dark hair and the strong line of her jaw. "Good guess?" she asked.

Yasutora shrugged, he didn't want to mention the name thing, since it might lead to awkward questions. Instead he said, "I'm still alive, and you didn't use kidō on me before you woke me up."

"Eh," she said, tugging a bundle out from inside her cloak. "Glad to see you're not as dumb as you looked, sitting out here with no one guarding your back."

That had been pretty stupid and could easily have cost him his life. Yasutora couldn't remember much about arriving here, wherever here was, and what had made him decide it was a good place to stop. But he did remember running from the funeral. Was that why this shinigami was mad at him? Should he have asked permission before going? He hadn't even thought.

In truth, he hadn't been thinking at all. When he'd seen the blood, something inside his head had just snapped and he'd bolted. If he'd tried something like that back in the Pits, he'd have been branded a runaway and given a punishment beating. Here, he had no idea how things worked. Had Ichigo taken over as his new owner or did Yasutora belong to the whole of the 6th now?

Maybe he should have asked, but up until now his mind had been consumed with thoughts of Jackie. And with Shin and Koji and his family treating him just like another person, Yasutora had thought it was safe to let his guard down. He should have known better than to do that around shinigami.

But whatever the situation, apologising to this one couldn't hurt.

He dipped a shallow bow. "Sorry for running off. I didn't mean to inconvenience anyone."

That earned him a grudging nod. "I guess it couldn't be helped," the shinigami said, sounding a little less annoyed. She shoved the bundle at him. It was another cloak, this one large enough for his frame. Yasutora took it gratefully and was about to sling it around his shoulders when the shinigami continued, "And get a move on, we need to get you back and dealt with."

At those foreboding words, Yasutora's fingers fumbled the ties. Dealt with? He didn't think Ichigo would do anything like have him beaten, but someone like Takata-sensei might, if she thought she could get away with it, and Ichigo was often busy. Yasutora had hardly seen him at all in the past few days.

Then again, maybe he deserved it. He had been responsible for at least two deaths. At least he thought he was. Surely there'd been too much blood for Moyu to have survived. "Is she dead?" he asked.

"Koji Moyu?" the shinigami replied, glancing up at him. "Yes, but not before she stabbed a priest through the eye and blew his brains out. Crazy woman, I swear."

He hadn't known that he was hanging on to hope until his worst fears were confirmed. Guilt surged, and with it came the confession. "I told her to do it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The shinigami's hands flew to the hood of her cloak, stripping it back to reveal a horrified expression on a much younger face than Yasutora expected. Not that that meant much in Soul Society. "You told her to kill him?" she demanded.

Before Yasutora could explain, one of the other shinigami called, "Kurosaki-goseki! There's two patrols heading this way. 3rd and 1st, I think."

Kurosaki? Yasutora stared at the small dark-haired shinigami in front of him as she scowled and muttered, "Damn, they're always butting heads along this boundary."

Could she be related to Ichigo? She did kind of look like him, especially right now. And didn't Ichigo have a younger sister? Maybe two.

Kurosaki's voice rose as she continued, "Heads up, people. We'll be taking the usual late night detour, formation C. I don't want anyone getting picked off if we overlap with them. Ready on my mark."

Except Ichigo went by Shiba now, so why would his sister stay a Kurosaki?

The other shinigami all vanished from around them and the fifth seat's focus snapped back to Yasutora. Dark eyes, that could have been Ichigo's in another shade, assessed him coolly. "We'll be moving pretty fast," she said, "You gonna be okay getting dragged?"

As an alternative to getting caught between two patrols, he'd put up with it. Yasutora nodded and quickly secured his cloak. As she reached out for him though, the nervousness from before crept back in. "To the 6th?" he asked.

Even if it was for a welcome rather than punishment, the thought of seeing Ichigo there and having to face Koji's family after what he'd done, was enough to make Yasutora balk.

The shinigami snorted. "Hell, no. I'm not taking you anywhere near my brother till I've got some damned answers," she said, before grabbing his arm firmly and stepping into shunpo.

As world vanished around him, all Yasutora could feel was utter relief. He needn't have worried. She was Ichigo's sister after all.

---

"Fifth seat Kurosaki," the lanky red-haired guard on the gate dipped a shallow bow before glancing nervously around at the rest of their group, her hand edging towards the zanpakutō tucked through her obi. "This isn't your usual escort. Why would I let you in?"

"Because I'm 6th division and you're 13th and that's how it goes," Kurosaki replied, pushing the gate wide open and dragging Yasutora inside with her. "Besides, if I was here to cause trouble, I wouldn't bother knocking and you know it." As he stumbled past the stunned looking guard, Yasutora thought about introducing himself, but never got a chance as Kurosaki stopped hard and swung round, demanding, "Is Kira in?"

The guard, who was watching helplessly as the others piled through the gates, glanced back at Kurosaki with a frown. "I think he's out-" she began, but that was as far as she got.

"Cool, we'll use his place then." Kurosaki turned to the escort. "You lot wait here till I call. Suzu'll make you tea and snacks and let you sit round the brazier, won't you, Suzu?"

"I-I guess…" The guard, Suzu, replied as the seven strapping and well-armed shinigami who made up the rest of their group streamed past her into the small guard house, the buzz of conversation already starting up as the door opened and heat and warm golden light spilt out to greet them.

"Right, let's go," Kurosaki said, tightening her hold on Yasutora's arm and taking another step of shunpo. They stopped a heartbeat later, before Yasutora even had a chance to feel disoriented, in front of what had to be the division's main building. It towered over them, two and half stories of plastered facade with a huge 13 painted on it, just visible in the moonlight.

Steep steps led up to imposing doors, which flew open as they approached revealing yet another female shinigami. This one, unlike the gate guard, was tiny, not much bigger than Kurosaki herself, and was the spitting image of Lieutenant Sagara from the 6th.

"Halt invaders!" she declared, posing on the top step and brandishing her zanpakutō, "You shall not pass!"

"Yeah, we will," Kurosaki replied striding up the steps, still dragging Yasutora along with her. "Because it's really freaking cold out here and I need to borrow a hell butterfly, otherwise your sister's gonna have kittens."

"Really?" the shinigami asked, sheathing her zanpakutō and falling into step with Kurosaki. "Why, what have you done?"

"I didn't do anything," Kurosaki replied, with all her emphasis on the 'I'. "It was this idiot." She lifted her hand and shook Yasutora's arm by the handful of haori she'd not let go of since their first step of shunpo back near the shrine.

Scarily intense violet eyes immediately turned on Yasutora, scrutinising him minutely. "Sado Yasutora," Yasutora said, trying to dip a polite bow as Kurosaki dragged him backwards through the front doors. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Sagara Rukia," the little shinigami replied, confirming herself as the lieutenant's sister. But that was all Yasutora merited apparently. Her next words were aimed at Kurosaki again. "Are you going to punish him?" she asked.

Yasutora waited for the laugh, the brush-off comment. Neither came. Instead, Kurosaki said, "Dunno. Maybe," and turned sharp left to start down a long corridor.

He almost dug his heels in and refused to follow her. Except, this was Ichigo's little sister. And he trusted Ichigo.

"I'm using Kira's place," Kurosaki continued, "Round up that butterfly along with something warm and I'll let you watch if I decide he needs it."

"Deal!" Rukia said with a bounce and about-faced back down the corridor at top speed.

And maybe it was something about their tone, or the way Kurosaki had just tossed out that offer to watch, but Yasutora was suddenly catapulted back to the Pits and the so-called punishments that went on there. More than the simple beatings were the public whippings and mutilations. Object lessons, the owners called them, and it was certainly educational how much damage you could do to a person if you had a kidō healer on-hand to keep patching them back together again. Especially if you planned on sending them into the arena to die anyway.

But this wasn't the Pits, so Kurosaki couldn't mean anything like that, could she?

As Rukia had vanished back round the corner, leaving them alone, Kurosaki snorted quietly and shook her head. "Nuts, I swear. The whole division," she muttered, and kept walking.

Yasutora went with her. It wasn't like he had a lot of choice and anyway, he was over-reacting. He had to be. This was Ichigo's little sister.

Who was also a shinigami. And the shinigami who slit people's throats out on the proving grounds were probably someone's little brothers and sisters too. And this was the 13th, not the 6th. There was no Ichigo here, and no Shin to run fetch help. Yasutora didn't know any of these shinigami, and none of them knew him. If Kurosaki decided to carry out her threat, there was absolutely nothing to stop her from doing it.

And here was Yasutora, blindly following her like a lamb to the slaughter. He should at least try and fight, or something. Or maybe he could offer her something else instead? That worked sometimes.

Except, she was Ichigo's little sister.

Yasutora's feet slowed still further as, about halfway down the corridor, they reached a door with a single flower stamped on it. Kurosaki knocked once and then pushed the door back, peering inside before opening it wide and entering.

Reluctantly, Yasutora followed her, and found himself, not in a dungeon or cell, but a small office. It was plain, simple. The single window was clean, the two chairs placed exactly opposite each other on either side of a desk that was clear but for a blotter, and the books were all arranged by size order on the single bookshelf. The scariest thing that could be said about it was that whoever worked here probably had a slightly obsessive personality.

It was also warm, which would have been a relief, except for the chill in Kurosaki's expression when she shoved Yasutora towards the chair on the far side of the desk, and snapped, "Sit."

To get out of the room, Yasutora would have to get past her, and though she might be half his size, as a shinigami, she had twice his power. Plus, she had a zanpakutō.

As he hesitated, Kurosaki's scowl deepened until finally she growled, "I said sit, and stop looking so damned scared. Sheesh. I only want to ask you some questions."

Yasutora's ass hit the seat as Kurosaki paced back and forth across the office, her brows drawn into a tight frown. After a couple of moments, she turned on him, demanding, "What did you mean about telling Moyu to do it? Shin said she killed a priest and then cut her own throat. What've you got to do with that?"

The memory of the bodies; scarlet blood on white robes, the crumpled forms and lax limbs; flashed into Yasutora's mind and he took a moment to breathe before answering, "Ichigo was asking about the funeral. He mentioned his father's business in the living world. The priest heard him."

And if she wasn't Ichigo's sister, or at least in the know, he'd just spilt the beans to yet another person, Yasutora realised a moment too late.

"Crap," Kurosaki muttered, a look of comprehension passing over her face as she began pacing again. "I swear he never thinks before he opens his mouth." She paused mid-stride and shot a frown at Yasutora. "Killing the priest seems a bit harsh though. Couldn't he be bought off?"

That had been Yasutora's aim, but it hadn't worked. His words had steered Moyu so far off course that she'd foundered and it was all Yasutora's fault. He'd never forget. Like Jackie's blood, those words were inscribed on his soul. "I told Moyu to pay whatever it'd cost to keep the priest quiet."

"Oh shit," Kurosaki breathed. The colour drained from her face and she sank onto the other chair. For a long moment that was it, and then her face crumpled, and she slammed her fist down on her thigh, her voice quiet and furious and hurting as she ground out, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

It cut Yasutora right to the core. He knew he'd made a mistake, but hearing it like this was somehow worse. "I didn't mean-" he began.

"Not you!" Kurosaki snapped. Her jaw clenched around other words that seemed to be fighting to escape. They got out anyway. "It's this place. These… people." As she spoke, her whole body softened, the anger and tension draining away to be replaced by exhaustion and something that could have been despair.

Whatever the emotion was, it most definitely human. "They're so hung up on death," she continued a moment later, her voice quiet, reflective, "they don't even look for another way out."

A profound sense of relief swept through Yasutora, because now he knew the truth behind Kurosaki's mask. This was Ichigo's little sister, she wasn't mad at him, and he hadn't been brought to the 13th for some kind of punishment. All she'd wanted was answers to some pretty straightforward questions. The same ones Yasutora had had to face when Ichigo had suddenly reappeared in his life. Are you the same person you used to be? Are you safe? Will you hurt me/my brother?

In retrospect, Yasutora could have kicked himself for being such a paranoid fool. It was true he needed to be wary around shinigami, but he also needed to remember that there were other people apart from Ichigo in Soul Society that he could trust.

A moment later all that human vulnerability was gone and Kurosaki sat up straight, fixing him with a narrow glare. "Did Ichigo tell you how we ended up here?" she demanded.

Yasutora was shaking his head when someone replied, "That was primarily my fault, I'm afraid," and the door drew back to reveal a tall man with long white hair wearing a wide straw travelling hat that concealed most of his face. Stick thin arms protruded from the sleeves of his pink flowery kimono and he wore two odd shaped swords, joined by a length of red cord, stuck through his obi.

"Ukitake-taichō," Kurosaki blurted, leaping to her feet and spinning round into a deep and respectful bow. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you."

The captain waved her off. "No, no, don't apologise. You know I love visitors, Karin-chan, and we have so few at the 13th these days. Tell me, how are your brother and sister?"

Her name was Kurosaki Karin and she had a sister. Ichigo's twin baby sisters. Of course. The final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in Yasutora's memory.

"Fine, sir, thank you. Um, this is…" Karin shot a quick glance at Yasutora, who took his cue from her and, standing, bowed respectfully.

Ukitake tipped his hat back, meeting Yasutora's gaze with intense sea-green eyes and a smile that made the hairs on the back of Yasutora's neck stand on end. "Sado Yasutora-kun, I believe. Recent refugee from the Iba family business and an old friend of Ichigo-kun from his days in the living world."

Karin kind of deflated. "Yeah," she grumped, "but it's supposed to be a secret so don't going telling everyone, okay."

"Phht, no one would believe me if I did," Ukitake laughed, entering the room properly, though he left the door open behind him, Yasutora noticed. "I'm mad, remember, and no one believes anything a mad man says."

"So it wasn't your fault we ended up here then," Karin tossed back.

Ukitake's smile vanished, replaced by a look of such profound sadness that Yasutora almost wished for the demented smile back. "Ah, I'm afraid that was very much the truth, since it was a member of my division who noticed your brother's abnormal levels of spiritual pressure and reported the anomaly."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

"Good luck trying to convince him of that," Rukia said as she pulled the door back a little further and stepped into the room. She glanced up at Ukitake-taichō before adding in Karin's direction, "I tell him all the time and he never listens to me."

The smile was back, only this time it was lop-sided and small and kind as Ukitake gazed down at his division member. "This is still my division, Rukia-chan," Ukitake said, "thus ultimate responsibility is mine."

"But if I hadn't brought you the report-" Rukia began.

"Then someone else would have eventually. No, I'm sorry. I am the one who facilitated the murder of Isshin's family. This is my burden to bear."

Murdered? Yasutora couldn't prevent the shocked looked he shot at Karin.

She sighed through her nose. "They came to the house and killed us all." She shook her head, "I don't remember much about that night."

"A small mercy, considering the circumstances," Ukitake put in. "Though I'm sure you didn't suffer. It would have been a matter of pride for Byakuya to make it as quick and painless as possible. However, it was still murder."

"Why?" Yasutora asked.

Those fathomless green eyes turned on him and for a second Yasutora could swear he heard the ocean. "Or the same would have happened to them as happened to you, Sado Yasutora. It was a hollow that consumed you, was it not?"

And just like that, he was back there, reliving being dragged from his still twitching body, hearing manic laughter ringing in his ears. He'd struggled, fought with everything he was, but it hadn't helped. The hollow had ripped the chain from his chest and tossed him to the ground, pinning him in place as he screamed and writhed, the hole in his soul starting to tear him apart from the inside.

At the very last second, something had happened to stop it. Yasutora remembered feeling power being pushed into him, and the next thing he'd known, he'd woken up in Rukongai, with no idea at all of how he'd got there. Until Ichigo had somehow returned his memories with Abuelo's coin.

He shuddered, dragging himself with some effort out of the past. "It didn't eat me. It tried to make me into a hollow."

Ukitake's dark eyebrows raised. "That is interesting, and not typical behaviour. What did the hollow look like, can you remember?"

Beyond being a monster? Yasutora shook his head, "I don't know, sorry. It all happened too quickly."

"That's quite understandable. If anything does come back to you, tell my lieutenant. He'll make sure I get the information. He's very reliable, is Kaien."

At Ukitake's words, Karin and Rukia froze. Twin terrified looks shot between them and then up at Ukitake. Was it the mention of the lieutenant that caused their reaction? Yasutora hadn't heard anything about the 13th's fukutaichō, but then he wasn't exactly in the loop when it came to shinigami gossip. They mostly just shot filthy looks at him and muttered things behind his back.

"Maybe we should go, taichō," Rukia said. "You must be getting tired by now." Her fingers made plucking movements near Ukitake's sleeve as though she was considering grabbing him.

Long fingers closed around her wrist. "Don't be silly," Ukitake said, and the smile was back; the demented one. It was terrifying. "These are my visitors, Rukia-chan, I can't just send them away. That wouldn't be polite."

A sound like waves on the shore crashed in Yasutora's head along with the kind of pressure that normally only came from a storm imminently about to break. From the way the two girls winced, he wasn't the only one feeling it. But what was it? Some kind of kidō?

No, it was reiatsu. It had to be. Only more massive than any Yasutora had ever felt before.

"We should have tea, and cake," Ukitake was saying. "We'll make a party of it, play games and sing songs."

Yasutora's breath caught in his throat, his pulse thundering in his ears. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, the pressure was too much, too high. He started to shake and his knees began to buckle.

"Taicho, please!" That was Rukia, and she sounded as breathless as Yasutora felt.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the storm broke. The pressure vanished. Yasutora staggered, catching himself on the desk as Ukitake carolled, "Lullabies for naughty children. Come!" and, snagging Karin with his other hand, swept out through the door, calling as he went, "You too, Yasutora-kun! This way to my rooms!"

Half-collapsed and panicking shinigami scattered before them as they strode down the corridor and by the time they emerged from the main building, there wasn't soul to be seen anywhere. They'd all run, the cowards.

Unwilling to do the same, despite the obvious danger of the situation, Yasutora hurried in Ukitake's wake, unsure if he should try and slow the captain down or just stick with him. He couldn't risk making a mistake this time, not with Karin's life on the line. He had to be absolutely positive of his best move before he did anything at all.

They were moving away from the main division buildings and out across one of the training fields. Frosty grass crunched under Yasutora's feet and he strained his eyes in the moonlight to pick up any unevenness. If he fell, he didn't think Ukitake would stop and wait for him. In fact, he was pretty sure Ukitake had forgotten he was even there.

The captain's grip on Rukia and Karin hadn't relaxed at all, but as they made their way towards a dark shape in the distance, words poured from Ukitake in a never-ending rambling monologue that didn't seem to be aimed at anyone but himself.

"My responsibility. Should never had allowed him to go, of course, but there it was, he told me he had no choice. There's always a choice, I said, always a choice. You just have to know how to look at it, but he couldn't see. Never could see. Or maybe just didn't want to. Hated to be told. Obstinate, obstinate, just like his father.

"Mother and father, dead and buried, gutted on the battlefield like so many of them, and there he is taking up with one of them. Popping them out, one two three. Then he wonders why there's resentment."

Yasutora trailed behind on a stone path that led through a small stand of trees and out onto the shore of an ornamental lake. Just visible in the moon's wan light was a wooden walkway leading out to centre of the water, and at the end of that lay a small single storey building.

"Home sweet home," Ukitake sang, "Are you there, Kaien? Warm the pot and stir the coals, we have visitors tonight!"

"Taicho, no!" Rukia said, finally starting to resist. Maybe it was the sight of the little house, or maybe something else. Yasutora didn't know, but she was fighting, pulling back on Ukitake's grip, and Yasutora could hear she was close to tears as she shouted, "Kaien's dead! You know he is. He tried to kill Sasakibe and the sōtaichō burned him away to nothing!"

Ukitake was talking to a dead man?

Yasutora's worry cranked up a notch.

"Not Sasakibe, no," Ukitake replied, his voice drifting even as he stood as still as rock, despite the way the girls were yanking on his hands. A breeze off the lake made the pink kimono billow slightly and the hat had slipped back off his head, catching around his neck on the cord. His white hair glowed in the moonlight as he stared at the sky. "It was never that lieutenant he wanted to kill."

The slightest puff of air was the only warning there was. The next moment, Ukitake dropped like a stone.

Rukia cried out and caught him as he fell, cradling his body down to the ground. A shinigami, with shortish hair that was either blond or white, it was impossible to tell in the darkness, rushed to help her, and between them they lifted the unconscious captain and began carrying him along the walkway towards the little house.

Karin took a couple of steps after them before stopping and silently rubbing her wrist as she watched them go.

"Are you okay?" Yasutora asked coming up beside her.

Nose wrinkling thoughtfully, Karin said, "I guess. He's never been like that before. That bad, I mean. A bit kookie, sure, but never scary." She glanced up at Yasutora. "Don't say anything to nii-chan. He'll try and stop me visiting."

That sounded like a wise decision to Yasutora but Karin had asked, so he'd bide by her wishes. He nodded, "No problem."

"Thanks. Rukia'd be gutted if I couldn't come to her girls' night any more."

"Even now you know what she did?"

"Informing on the family, you mean? Oh, I knew about that ages ago," Karin replied with a shrug. "Kira told me. He tells me all sorts of things I'm not supposed to know."

"Kira?" Yasutora asked.

"That'd be the guy who just put the captain out. Third seat, 4th division." Karin looked up at him again, a frown crinkling her brow before she returned to staring at the little house on the water, where lights had been lit and Yasutora could see the shadows of people inside moving around. "Sheesh, nii-chan really hasn't told you anything, has he," she said.

Yasutora grunted an affirmative. The only conversations he'd had with Ichigo since the night Jackie was killed had been the brief exchange in the mess and again at the funeral. And no one else had explained anything. He kind of wished they had. He might not have spent half of this evening scared of Ichigo's little sister.

For long moments only the lap of water against the bank and walkway broke the silence, then Karin barked a laugh and said, "Next thing you'll be telling me he's not signed you on yet. Now that'd be a disaster."

Yet again Yasutora had no idea what Karin was talking about, which made disaster seem more likely that not. "Signed on to what?" he asked.

Karin's shoulders fell. "You are kidding me," she muttered. "I swear sometimes I have the stupidest brother in Seireitei." With a huff, she looked up at Yasutora. "From what nii-chan said, you used to be a slave. You're not anymore, so did he make you a member of the 6th, or the clan? Or a servant, something? Without that- Crap!" Her lips thinned and her gaze cut away, "No wonder he was so damned worried this afternoon. If anyone'd grabbed you, we would've had a hell of a job getting you back."

"Sorry," Yasutora said, since an apology seemed in order.

"It's not your fault, it's my idiot brother," Karin said, straightening up and grabbing Yasutora's arm. "Come on, let's go check on the others and then we'd better get back and have you made official. If we wait too long, Ichigo'll have a fit, though I'm tempted to let the jerk suffer. He totally deserves it."

When they got to the little house, they found Rukia sitting outside the door, feeding charcoal into a smoking brazier. The glow from the flames flickered across her face making her features jump and blur into darkness, almost like a mask. As they came closer, she looked up and gave them a wan smile.

"How is he?" Karin asked quietly, taking a seat beside her and holding her hands out to catch some of the heat.

"He'll be fine. Kira got them out for him, so he'll be okay until he drops off."

"They?" Yasutora asked. From inside the building came the low sound of someone crooning a lullaby. Trying to get Ukitake to sleep perhaps?

Rukia's smile brightened. "Take a look," she whispered, pushed the door back a little, "it'll be easier than explaining."

Yasutora tiptoed over and peered inside. A single lamp stood in the middle of the floor casting a pool of light over a scene that Yasutora found difficult to believe. Ukitake-taichō was at the back of the room, leaning against a sturdy upright, and it was him who was singing - to two utterly entranced small boys who were snuggled, one each side of him, on the quilt-piled sleeping mat. A rope that seemed to have been woven from pure silver light trailed from each child over to Kira, who sat in a perfect seiza just inside the door, with his eyes closed and his hands tight around the pair of swords Ukitake had been carrying earlier.

"They're Sōgyo no Kotowari, taichō's zanpakutō," Rukia murmured beside Yasutora's shoulder. He glanced down at her in confusion.

"Don't tell me, nii-chan didn't tell you about zanpakutō either," Karin said glumly from further away.

Yasutora took one last look inside the room before easing backwards and closing the door behind him. As he and Rukia retook their seats close to the brazier, he said, "A zanpakutō is a shinigami's sword." He wasn't completely uninformed.

"Well, duh," Karin replied. "But did he tell you what they are? I mean, when I found you earlier, I thought you were sitting jinzen, but I guess not. Anyway, you haven't even got a sword to talk to."

Now Yasutora was completely lost. "I fought with my fists," he said. "No one ever gave me a sword." And if they had, he wouldn't have talked to it. That sounded a bit crazy.

"Zanpakutō aren't just swords," Rukia said, "they're part of us. Part of a shinigami's soul that breaks off or grows out of them somehow, and it ends up inside the sword. Look."

She drew her own katana and laid it flat across her knees. It was a nice, much smaller and more sensible than Ichigo's huge thing, and had a red-brown hilt and a brassy-coloured guard, but it was just a sword. Yasutora couldn't see anything special about it.

Then Rukia passed her hand along the blade, whispering under her breath, "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki."

Reiatsu shivered around them, and even though the night was already cold, the temperature seemed to drop by several degrees. The sword shimmered, and transformed, its blade changing from steel coloured to a pure white gold, its hilt and guard to a delicate snowy white as a ribbon of the same colour spilled out from the pommel and across the boards.

Once it was done, it looked completely different, and felt different too. Stronger, somehow.

Rukia looked up at Yasutora, an awed smile on her face, and said, "This is my zanpakutō, Sode no Shirayuki."

Yasutora sat in silent wonder. He'd had no idea that a shinigami's sword could do that. He'd seen them wielding many different kinds of blade, and seen them do amazing things with them, like Ichigo and the power that had destroyed that hollow. But he'd thought that was all some kind of kidō, not the swords themselves.

And the way she spoke about it. Named it.

Now do you understand? the bull's rumbling voice said inside his head. When you need me, call my name, and I will come.

Yasutora blinked. "I…" he began, and discovered he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

"It is pretty amazing," Karin said. "I haven't managed to get shikai yet." She paused and pointed at Rukia's sword. "That's what that's called, by the way. It's the first level of connection with your sword. The other one is bankai. Mostly only captains have got that. And a few lieutenants, I guess."

"Abarai-fukutaichō had bankai," Rukia put in, resealing her blade and returning it to its sheath. "It was huge, and red and obvious. A bit like him really."

"Don't be mean," Karin grinned, "Just because he mistook you for your sister - once."

Rukia's eyes narrowed. "He's rude and loud and lacking in manners," she said, snippily.

"Yeah, and he's also in jail for something he didn't do, so be nice."

Yet again, Yasutora had lost the thread of the conversation. He'd heard the lieutenant mentioned once or twice around the 6th, normally alongside whispered references to the old captain and Ichigo. If Abarai was in jail, that went some way towards explaining why the whole subject seemed taboo, but Yasutora still had no clue as to why Ichigo was now in charge of the division and what had happened to the last guy.

Maybe this was his chance to find out.

The two girls were still chatting, about katas and meditation techniques, as far as Yasutora could tell. He waited for an opportunity and said, "Is it okay to tell me what happened?"

"With Kuchiki-taichō and Renji?" Karin asked, exchanging a look with Rukia, who shrugged as if to say, 'it's your call'. Karin pulled a face. "I don't see why not. I guess nii-chan'll tell you, as soon as he remembers how to, you know, communicate."

A disparaging mutter of, "Men," came from Rukia as Karin continued, "Renji, that's Abarai-fukutaichō, was accused of trying to kill the captain. His zanpakutō was sealed and he was jailed for some stupid amount of time. And Kuchiki-taichō-"

"Is a traitor against the King who murdered forty-six innocent souls," a light male voice said from behind Yasutora.

He glanced up to find Kira, with a blue blanket in his arms, emerging from the little house. Past him, through the door before Kira closed it, Yasutora spotted Ukitake, now alone and well-wrapped in quilts, sleeping on the bed-roll.

"Nii-chan doesn't think he did it," Karin replied huffily.

Kira heaved a huge sigh, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sat down with his back to the door. Now Yasutora understood the need for the extra cover. Sat over there, Kira was nowhere near as close to the brazier as the rest of them.

Once he was settled, Kira replied, "That's because your brother's not being objective, Karin-chan. All the evidence points to Byakuya being responsible for the deaths."

"I don't care what the evidence says. He wouldn't have done it!" Karin protested, and at that moment Yasutora could really see how young she was. Time was sometimes difficult to track in the Pits but Yasutora thought he'd been in Soul Society for about three years, which meant Karin was around fifteen. And right now she sounded it, much more the High School kid than a ranking officer in an army.

"He would if he thought it necessary, to get back what he thought was his," Kira argued. Leaning forwards, he tugged the quilt higher up around his neck and said intently, "Karin, your brother doesn't know him like the rest of us. Renji-"

He paused, blinked, and continued, "Abarai-fukutaichō would tell you. Byakuya isn't the nice guy you seem to think he is. He's… well, cruel might be the best way to describe it. And possessive with it. I've seen the marks. Renji - "

Again Kira stopped, this time colour rising on his pale cheeks. "Let's just say, I'm a healer. I know the difference between injuries sustained in battle and those deliberately inflicted."

Seated between them, Rukia was following their exchange like a tennis match, her violet eyes getting bigger and bigger with each revelation. Yasutora could empathise. He was learning more this evening than he'd managed all week.

"You're saying Kuchiki-taichō beat him?" Karin said, tapping her knuckles against her lips for a couple of moments. "Okay, yeah, I'll buy that. But that still doesn't mean he did the rest of it."

Abarai was a shinigami and a lieutenant, and he still got beaten?

Yasutora was still trying to get to grips with that revelation when Kira snapped, "Stop defending him!"

A low moan from inside the room nearby was accompanied by the sound of rustling cloth. Everyone froze, staring at the door, waiting to see if anything else was going to happen. When nothing did, they heaved a collective sigh of relief and Kira continued, much more quietly, though no less forcefully, "Byakuya killed you and your family, for goodness sake, Karin. If that doesn't convince you that he's capable of murdering Central 46, nothing will."

That seemed to take the wind from Karin's sails. She sat silently for a couple of minutes before saying quietly. "I used to think that, about Kuchiki-taichō being a murderer. Back before I got sent to the living world and saw what happens when people like us, with lots of spiritual power, are just left to wander around. If we'd stayed there, we'd have attracted hollows, and then innocent souls just waiting to find their way over would have been eaten. Even if they hadn't been arresting dad, killing us was the only way forward to protect everyone around us, living and dead."

She had a point. It wasn't an experience Yasutora would wish on anyone. Hollows were bad enough when you knew what they were. When you didn't, they were terrifying.

"Not the only way," Rukia said after a moment or two.

Karin's head shot up, eyes narrowing as she glared at Rukia. "What do you mean?"

"They sealed Abarai's spiritual pressure, so why not do the same for you guys? Kurotsuchi had to know how to do it, with all the time he spends cutting people up. Or I bet he could have worked it out if someone had told him to try. Him, or Urahara. Or Aizen. They just didn't want to. They wanted you here instead."

"Because of mom being a Quincy, you mean?" Karin asked.

Yasutora was about to ask what one of those was when Karin shook her head and continued, "No. Okay, maybe some people, yes, but not Kuchiki-taichō. He fought to stop us getting sent to the labs. No way he'd have killed us just for that."

"But he did want you so he could re-establish the Shiba, so you can't say his motives were entirely honourable," Kira argued.

Karin conceded the point with a sigh and rested her chin on her hand. "I guess. But I still don't think he killed Central 46. And neither does nii-chan."

"I think we've already established that your brother isn't exactly objective when it comes to Kuchiki Byakuya," Kira said, tugging his blanket higher.

That was the second time someone had said that about Ichigo. Yasutora got his question in quickly before the conversation could move on again. "Why?"

Karin's eyes lifted to meet Yasutora's. "Because nii-chan and Renji and Kuchiki-taichō were lovers." She huffed a laugh. "He thought I didn't know. Like anyone could miss it. Stupid googly eyes all over the place."

Oh. Oh! Suddenly a lot of the pointed comments that Yasutora had overheard during the past week made a whole hell of a lot more sense. People thought he was what, a replacement in Ichigo's life for the lovers he'd lost?

Did Ichigo think that? Was that why he'd asked about Jackie? Yasutora hoped not. He loved Ichigo and would follow him anywhere, but he didn't think he was wired that way. He wasn't sure he was wired any way.

"Speaking of nii-chan," Karin said, stirring in her seat and stretching, "I never did send that butterfly, so we'd better get back before he breaks out to come find us himself." She looked at Yasutora. "You up for it?"

Was he? With everything that had come his way this evening, Yasutora felt like he could do with a few hours to reassemble his thoughts. Not something he was likely to get back at the 6th. But Karin was right. Ichigo would be worried about them, and Yasutora couldn't do that to him for purely selfish reasons.

Pulling himself to his feet, he nodded at his best friend's little sister. He'd have to ask the rest of his questions later.