Bleach and all of the things it incorporates are not mine. THEY ARE NOT MINE! So, nobody sue me.

When I play with my cat, who knows whether she isn't amusing herself with me more than I am with her? – Michel De Montaigne, Essays.

Maybe I should just install a cat door.

…No. On second thought, Ururu would adopt every stray that wandered in. Tessai as well, more than likely.

I open the door and a small black creature walks in, exuding an almost visible aura of irritation. Dear me, I wonder who set Yoruichi-san off? I have not yet gotten a good feel for those kids, so it could have been any one of them. Still, the power that was kicking up a while ago seemed to remind more of Arisawa-san then the others. She is such a tiny thing, but I can't see any of those boys ever giving off a blood lust like that.

"Milk?" I offer.

"Of course," she replies.

She leaves my sight for the sitting room and I wander away to the kitchen. Milk is placed in a kettle on the stove (I really must get around to fixing the microwave one day) and the timer is set. I make sure to set the timer correctly this time. No one wants another incident like the 17th of May, 1980. I did not know that milk could be superheated to a liquid state that was capable of eating through plaster.

When the drink is ready, I find her already sitting on her favorite cushion in front of the table. She was never one for waiting. I suppose it is a side effect of using shunpo so much. The world outside of it must seem so terribly slow.

The hot kettle sends slow curls of steam up from its mouth. I note that I will soon need a new hot pad for my table. I'm rather fond of this piece of furniture – it was made for me by a carpenter too poor to pay with cash back in, oh, 1947, I believe – and I don't want heat marks on its surface.

I pour the milk and we drink, me with considerably less enthusiasm than her. I don't particularly like milk. I still don't really know why she does. Every time I ask, she gives me this exasperated look and says, "If you have to ask, you're never going to know." I always respond, "Well of course I won't know. You never tell me." And then she glares and it always ends like that.

But we haven't had milk together for a long time. Not for… fifty-seven years, I believe. World War II had just ended, I was reopening a new shop after the firebombs had destroyed my old one, and she had swung around….

…Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it?

"Something wrong?"

I blink and return to the present. She stares at me.

"Just remembering," I say. "We've been keeping quiet for so long, it seems odd to be getting ready to scream."

"Cold feet?"

Heat rushes through me and there is the bitter, copper scent of blood in the air, though it is not real. I can feel Benihime giggling. I smile, forcing my lips to stretch back until it hurts. Honestly, I'm not sure whether I'm grimacing or smiling. Maybe even snarling (though, it does feel rather good. Maybe that is why Yoruichi-san enjoys that form so much. It feels good).

"No, not at all."

"Good," she says. "I'd hate to have to pull down heaven on my own."

The fact that she would still give it a damn good go is unmentioned, but not unknown.

"Now, what is this about?" I ask.

"I'll be staying out late for the next few nights," she says. "Apparently, I've been given an overachiever."

"Oh? You mean that racket a little while ago?"

"It was the karate brat. Stupid kid damn near brought down the whole Gotei 13 on our heads. So, now I'll be busy beating that energy out of her with a big, iron stick. I'll help out with the gate as much as I can, but don't expect to see me for a while."

"Do you need any dampers?"

"No, I've already got some set up in that lot I've been having them practice in. I'll just keep her there until she has a handle on herself."

So, you think she can learn to repress her energy that quickly? Curiouser and curiouser. Or is it…

Ah! Oh my, indeed. Or is it that she'll have to learn to repress her power that quickly? Dear me, Yoruichi-san. Please don't break her. I'd hate to have to explain that to Kurosaki-kun.

"How long do you think it will take?"

"She learns fast enough, I think. Already had her power more or less in hand by the time I got to the forest. Given the proper motivation, I should say… two nights, at most."

"Need any medical supplies?"

"No."

Her pink tongue takes another quick lap of steaming milk. Then her furry black face looks up at mine and, through the veil of whiskers and cat's eyes, I can see a very irritated Shinigami commander.

My, my, Arisawa-san. Do you have any clue what you've gone and done?

"This operation has no room for weakness or incompetence. The brat needs to learn subtlety and she needs to learn it yesterday. I'm not going to coddle her, not one bit. Besides, I said I'd be beating it out of her and I meant it. She woke me up at three in the morning - three in the fucking morning, Kisuke! - to go for a run in the woods and haul her ass out of the fire she didn't even know she lit."

"And the other one?"

"I'll be having a few words with Sado-kun, as well," she says.

Ah, well.

What doesn't kill us, and all that.

They'll thank us for it when they're older.

Eventually.

"Just as long as you leave Kojima-kun alone," I say.

"He is, after all, still paying his bill."