By the time they got back, Ichigo had missed his appointment with Yuzu by a mile. All he could do was put his faith in Soul Society's crapped out communication system and hope the butterfly he sent earlier had got through. Why the hell they used the things was beyond him. The 12th could make video cameras and audio pick-ups that'd make James Bond cry, and yet when you wanted to just send someone a message, it was a hell butterfly or nothing. Yet another example of how the Gotei needed a hard kick up the ass.
And one day he'd do it too, Ichigo promised himself, as he trod swiftly down the corridor towards the captain's office, but not today. Right now he needed to get to the 3rd to see Ichimaru but, before he went, he had to do something about his hands. It hadn't been too bad this morning. He'd wet them down again, which had helped a bit, and then with the alarms and the train crash, he'd either been too busy to notice or there was something about the living world that made them itch less. Either way, now he was back and so was the itch. If he didn't get them fixed soon, he was going to go nuts.
He stopped outside Byakuya's door, took a deep calming breath, and knocked. Just a quick in and out. No need for it to end up in a fight. Or as Renji had put it, "Keep yer damn fool mouth shut, don't say anything to annoy the guy, and you'll be good."
"Enter."
Ichigo pushed the door back and stepped inside. Byakuya was sitting behind his desk, ink and brush to hand, papers in front of him, obviously deeply immersed in his work. All he needed was a pair of glasses perched on his nose and the image of the busy executive would be complete.
He's like Ryūken.
The stray thought trickled into Ichigo's mind, and his memory moved briefly to his uncle, and the cold mask he'd always shown the world. Only once had Ichigo seen that mask slip, after mom's funeral.
Ichigo, who'd ended up sharing a bed with his cousin, had woken up and crept downstairs to find his dad in floods of tears while Ryūken sat next to him on the couch, patting his shoulder and making quiet understanding noises. When he'd seen Ichigo in the doorway, Ryūken's expression had tightened, his gaze flicking to Isshin's hunched shoulders and then back to Ichigo again, and even at that age, Ichigo had known that his dad would hate his son seeing him that way.
He'd shaken his head to let his uncle know that he shouldn't worry and given him the brightest smile he could muster. The one he'd got in return made the sort of impression that Ichigo would never forget. Pride and affectionate approval that felt as warm and real as the hug Ichigo had been looking for. He had returned to bed feeling as secure and happy as a nine year old who'd just lost his mom could.
That moment, brief as it was, had changed his impression of Ryūken forever. Always afterwards he'd sought to look beneath the arrogance and the dismissive brush-offs, and seeing Byakuya sitting there, looking like a dark haired version of his uncle, made Ichigo wonder if maybe he hadn't tried hard enough to look beneath Byakuya's mask.
Even if that was true, it was too late now. The opportunity was gone.
After a moment or two, Byakuya glanced up and, seeing who it was, put the papers down. "You wish to have your gloves removed?" he asked, already reaching out.
Ichigo nodded, took the requisite number of steps forward to the desk and held out both arms. The sleeves of his shihakushō rode up, revealing the cross-ties of the gloves and, rather than look at Byakuya, Ichigo kept his eyes fixed on those, watching the way Byakuya's fingers pressed firmly against that final loop of silk.
Instead of casting the releasing kidō, Byakuya said, "Has Renji explained that you will need to see me for this procedure until he has clearance?"
Ichigo nodded again, eyes still down, and waited. Byakuya's fingers didn't move. Finally Ichigo looked up, to find that cool grey gaze levelled at him. He met it, unblinking, feigning more confidence than he actually felt.
"I would like an answer, Kurosaki-sanseki."
So it was going to be like that, was it? Ichigo bit back a rude comment and said, "Yes, Kuchiki-taichō, sir, I understand."
"Then you will report to me morning and evening. Since I assume you would prefer not to be locked in your room for the night, you will have to content yourself with sleeping in them for the time being. Once Renji is permitted to release the seal, you may spend the night in his company, ungloved."
Ichigo had forgotten that little detail. One of the conditions of his parole laid down by the sōtaichō was that he couldn't be left unaccompanied without the gloves on, presumably in case he went nuts and started attacking people or something. Considering some of the freaks he'd met since coming to Soul Society, Ichigo thought it really unfair that he was being singled out this way. But he wasn't in a position to argue, so Renji'd better get used to sex with gloves on.
One side of his mouth lifted. Somehow he didn't think Renji was going to complain.
"You find some part of this amusing, Kurosaki?"
It was so much like something his headmaster would have said that Ichigo was sassing back before he remembered who he was speaking to. "Just thinking that Renji'll probably send you a thank-you card, sir."
"Ah, yes, he does have his predilections," Byakuya replied and before Ichigo could say something exceedingly rude, kidō pulsed through the leather and silk and the gloves unwound from Ichigo's hands, dropping to the floor with twin thumps. As the fresh air hit, the skin on Ichigo's hands reacted like he'd just stuck them into an ants' nest. They stung and burned and itched like crazy and all Ichigo could do was hunch over and scratch and scratch and scratch until he thought his skin was going to peel right off.
"Let me see," Byakuya said a second later – or it could have been minutes, Ichigo couldn't tell for certain. Cool fingers wrapped around one wrist and tugged his hands apart, revealing reddened skin covered in seeping blisters.
"Ow," Ichigo said, staring at them. What the hell? He'd never had a reaction like that to anything, ever.
"Indeed," came the dry response. A chair pressed against the back of his knees and Ichigo sank gratefully onto it. "Wait here and try not to scratch."
Ichigo pressed his palms to his legs and did his best to obey. By the time Byakuya returned, he was chewing his lip and staring at his hands trying to convince himself that, despite how it felt, there really weren't insects crawling all over them.
The clunk of china was followed by the splash of water and then Byakuya lifted one of Ichigo's hands and began bathing it. Whatever was in the water had an immediate effect. It stung like a fucker.
"Atata!" Ichigo complained, earning himself an unsympathetic look. He shut up and suffered in silence, making do with glowering at Byakuya when he swapped one hand for the other and repeated the process. Then he picked up something else. A crockery jar with a wax sealed lid. The smell when Byakuya cracked the seal was... smooth, was only way Ichigo could think to describe it, cool, and not unpleasant at all.
"When I was a child," Byakuya said, dipping his fingers into the stuff and picking up the first hand of Ichigo's that he'd treated, "I had a tendency to train a little too hard. My skin had not yet toughened enough to avoid damage and so I would end up with blisters. My uncle's remedy was to use an astringent, much like the one I used to wash your hands. Your father used this."
He spread a thin layer of the pale green gloopy stuff onto Ichigo's palm and the itchy-burn faded immediately. It was like magic, but better. Ichigo sagged and held out the other hand, gratefully accepting the generous dollop that Byakuya deposited on it. As Ichigo began working it in, Byakuya warned, "Do not rub too hard," standing as he spoke, and putting the lid back on the jar. "Also I advise that you stay in the office with me this afternoon. That way you may remain ungloved and allow your skin time to heal properly."
Ichigo hesitated for a moment before answering. He really hadn't wanted to tell Byakuya that he was going to see Ichimaru, but on the other hand, he couldn't just leave without an explanation. Especially not when the guy seemed to actually be making an effort. He'd spoken about Ichigo's dad, and not in a bad way. That sort of thing should be rewarded, right?
"I can't," he said, hesitating for a second before going for it, "I have an appointment at the 3rd. With Ichimaru-taichō."
Byakuya froze for a moment, his back to Ichigo, and when he spoke his voice was cool and distant once again. "I see. In that case, I recommend you do not attempt to manifest or use any undue amount of reiryoku. The superficial irritation does no real harm, however the blisters are the result of your body attempting to access reishi through the silk. They are a mild form of the damage you inflicted on Ise-fukutaichō, and thus will not respond favourably to kidō based healing."
"Right," Ichigo replied, his mind whirling at this new information. The damage to his hands was the same as that? No wonder Kyōraku had been so mad, especially if healing kidō didn't fix it. And it wasn't just Ise either. Was that how Byakuya knew the cream worked? Had he used it on his own hands after Ichigo had hurt him?
And why had he used it on Ichigo now? After what Ichigo had said to him last night, it didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
"You're not gonna order me not to go?" he asked, not able to think of a way to bring up the other stuff.
Byakuya placed the jar on a shelf and turned to look at him. "Would you obey if I did?" Ichigo dropped his gaze, unable to answer in a way that wouldn't get him into trouble. "As I thought," Byakuya continued, and then seemed to change tack. "I assume you will be taking Matsumoto with you so she may visit with her friend?"
"Yeah, I... I guess." To be honest Ichigo had kind of forgotten about Matsumoto. With last night and then today, and now Ichimaru... Damn, he had to check and see how the other guys from the 10th were doing too. He moved his schedule around in his mind, trying to fit Renji in during daylight hours, and failed.
"You have made a commitment to them, Ichigo. They are now your responsibility. You cannot drop them simply because they have become inconvenient. Their grace period expires by sundown tomorrow."
"I know!" Ichigo snapped, glaring at Byakuya, who was staring at him with that annoying impassive expression that Ichigo just knew was his equivalent of sticking his tongue out. "I'll manage, I just need to... " Clone himself. Could they do that in Soul Society?
Byakuya retook his seat on the other side of the desk. "You should recruit some help. Your sister perhaps."
"Karin's back?" Ichigo blurted.
"She is, and off duty for the next forty eight hours. I suggest you take advantage of that fact and put an end to this ridiculousness. I have had quite enough of my division being turned into a circus for your amusement, Kurosaki."
And they were back to asshole-taichō. Fucking great. Though Byakuya'd had a good point about finding someone to help. Not Karin though. Ichigo didn't want to involve her in anything that might get her into trouble.
He looked at Byakuya, who had his nose buried in his papers again, though only the top one, Ichigo noted. He hadn't actually turned the page yet, which suggested he was expecting Ichigo to say something. Well, here went nothing.
"Bya-" he began and then thought better of it. "Taichō, do you know how I can contact Ganju?"
Byakuya's head snapped up, and he frowned. That had surprised him, Ichigo thought with a moment's wonder.
"Your cousin? Why?" Byakuya asked, forehead smoothing as he got his reaction under control.
Ichigo was tempted to say, 'clan business', but if he wanted an actual answer, he'd be better off explaining properly. He did let himself have a bit of a dig though. "For starters because he is my cousin and I have no idea how to get in touch with any of my family without going through you first," he said and then added, "And I thought he could help with the guys from the 10th since he has civilian contacts and they're probably gonna be better off looking there than trying to get a place in another division."
Byakuya's expression turned from vaguely annoyed to very slightly surprised. "That actually shows a distinct level of thoughtfulness," he said, as though Ichigo was incapable of thinking at all. "Though I fear you'll be somewhat disappointed. Your cousin is not the type to take responsibility seriously."
"I think that's for me to decide, don't you," Ichigo snapped back, feeling insulted on Ganju's behalf. For fuck's sake, Byakuya had half killed him, couldn't he find something nice to say about the guy after doing that?
"Perhaps," Byakuya replied, and then paused, thinking the idea through maybe. "Yes, perhaps it should be your decision," he continued eventually. "In that case, you will no doubt find him in the general vicinity of the Pits. I understand he has a passion for boar fighting." He picked up his brush and signed the bottom of the document he was reading, somehow managing to do it smugly.
Ichigo swallowed as the implications of Byakuya's words sank in. He'd heard of the Pits, and knew they were a popular form of entertainment in Seireitei, but he'd never visited himself. He'd never wanted to. Sparring with friends for fun was one thing, or fighting because you had to against a hollow. But shoving someone into an arena to fight for other people's entertainment just struck Ichigo as sick. He guessed he should be thankful that at least his cousin was only watching animals do it and not people.
"Right," he said. "I guess I'd better go then." He was halfway to the door when Byakuya said simply, "Gloves." Ichigo turned back with a sigh. Damn it, he was sick to death of those fucking things already.
In the five minutes he had free while Rangiku was getting ready, Ichigo scrawled a quick message to Karin promising to see her that evening, and then decided to pop his head into the room next door to see how the other refugees from the 10th were getting on. Having not really had much of a chance to speak to any of them, he wasn't sure what to expect as he slid the door back.
"Hey... guys?" His greeting morphed into a confused question when he realised that two of them were huddled together in one corner, shooting looks at the third, who was sat perched on his rolled up futon about three feet away, holding a folded sheet of paper and looking as though someone had just handed him a death sentence. Fuck, Ichigo thought, maybe they had. "Everything okay?" he asked, quickly closing the door behind him. The room was tiny, cramped, and smelt of stale sweat and pickled fish. He tried not to breathe too deeply.
When they spotted who it was, the two – one big with short dark hair, the other small and mousy – leapt to their feet and bowed low. "Good afternoon, Shiba-sa-" the dark one began, only to get an elbow in the ribs from his friend. "Kurosaki-sanseki," Mousy finished for him.
Ichigo sighed internally. Great, word of his real identity had even got as far as these guys. Sooner or later they were just going to have to give up the whole charade. It was getting dumb to keep pretending it was any sort of secret any more.
"So, anything to report?" he asked, only thinking afterwards that the question might be a bit unsubtle. Well, screw it. He was a Kurosaki. They didn't do subtle. Plus he only had a limited amount of time.
"Yeah," Mousy said. Apparently he'd appointed himself spokesman for the group. He smirked, jerking a thumb at the guy on the bed. "You should congratulate Yuiragi, sir. He's getting married."
"Oh, right." That went some way towards explaining the odd atmosphere. Ichigo turned to Yuiragi and nodded a bow. "Congratulations. I hope you'll both be really happy."
The reaction wasn't what Ichigo'd expected. Mousy guffawed with laughter, and the bridegroom turned on him, snapping, "Fuck off, Shin," When the dark-haired guy started sniggering, Yuiragi glowered at him as well and added, "You too, Fūra. You had your freaking chance, so zip it!"
"Okay, I'm guessing it's not congratulations, then?" Ichigo said, looking from one to the other. For guys who'd be out on the street by the end of tomorrow, and inside the 12th an hour after that, they didn't look too worried.
"She's a hag," Yuiragi sighed, hands dropping to his lap. "A sullen old hag with enough money to make folks forget I was ever a shinigami."
Which would be why he was marrying her. It sucked, but at least Yuiragi'd be alive. "What about the rest of you?" Ichigo asked.
"I ain't that fucking desperate," Fūra said with a shrug. "Iba'll come through. He might be a dick, but he's family."
"I dunno, man. That butterfly's not come back yet." Shin looked too smug about that. Ichigo made a point to remember to check the location of the three butterflies he'd issued to these guys. "I reckon Nee-san's washed her hands of you," Shin finished.
Fūra looked ready to punch Shin on the nose, a bit of a turn around from the way the three had been aligned when Ichigo came in. Then again, being stuck in this airless room with only each other for company, totally reliant on outsiders for everything – yeah, it wasn't surprising they were getting tetchy. Maybe he could organise some exercise, a sparring session, give them a chance to let off some steam.
Right now though, he had to go.
"I'll check. Shin, are you expecting anything?"
A one shouldered shrug and a shifty look. And there was the other explanation as to why Shin was picking on the other two. If he thought they were leaving him behind, it made sense for him to lash out. Ichigo didn't understand the attitude himself, but he'd seen it played out enough times in school to know it happened.
He resisted the urge to pat the guy on the back and just nodded to him instead. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do. I'm seeing some people later. Maybe one of them'll be able to help."
Shin shrugged again, turning his back to Ichigo, his straggly mousy hair falling forwards over his face, and that wasn't good. The guy was giving up hope. Well, screw Byakuya, Ichigo thought. If he couldn't find something for Shin by tomorrow evening, he'd take the guy himself. Even if it did mean making the Shiba a freaking laughing stock throughout Seireitei. He'd rather be laughed at for doing the right thing, than earn respect by letting a man die.
Hinamori was waiting for them when they arrived at the 3rd, standing in the entranceway flanked by two members of her own division. After a round of polite greetings, she passed Rangiku off to the others and escorted Ichigo towards the captain's office herself, along with the half of the escort that stayed with him. He was glad of the company. From their previous visit, he remembered that the 3rd was cold, dark, and kind of dank, with a horror movie vibe made worse by the hoods all the division's shinigami wore. It made them look like mad monks and Ichigo found his fingers twitching for Zangetsu every time one of them scurried past.
Why the hell did they even wear them? None of the other divisions did, although the 9th wore sleeveless kosode. Was it a fashion thing or was there more to it than that? One of these days he'd work up the nerve to ask one of them, but not today. If it turned out to be some kind of taboo no one had told him about, his chances of getting the answers he wanted from Ichimaru would take a major hit. He was already going to be on dodgy ground, probably, unless Hinamori could help him.
As he followed along behind her, Ichigo took the chance to study the diminutive fukutaichō. Unlike the rest of the 3rd, she wore her hood down, gathered around her neck like a scarf, leaving her face visible. She hardly looked older than Yuzu yet she remembered his dad and was lieutenant of a Gotei 13 division. Honestly, sometimes it was like Soul Society went out of its way to fuck with his head, just waiting for him to screw up. But that aside, would she help him?
"Can I ask you something, Hinamori-fukutaichō?" he finally ventured into the silence as they set off along yet another dim corridor.
She glanced back at him, the tips of her dark hair catching on the cloth of her hood as she turned. Her eyes looked huge and dark, almost bruised. "You may, Kurosaki-sanseki." Last time he'd seen her, she'd ended up being really friendly. Today though, she sounded lifeless, like someone had drained the energy from her.
"I erm... " Ichigo swallowed nervously. He didn't want to make things difficult for her. "I need some information from your captain and I... " He paused, thinking how best to put this and settled for, "I don't want to annoy the guy so much that he just throws me out." It was rude, but it put the point across.
Perhaps too well. Ichigo winced and looked away as Hinamori stumbled clumsily over her own two feet. "You're... you're worried about upsetting Ichimaru-taichō?" she asked, her tone suddenly full of expression. Her face when he turned back was genuinely surprised, and maybe a tiny bit pleased.
"I guess," Ichigo said. "I mean, I know there's gonna be stuff that's not nice, what with bringing up dad and Bya- Kuchiki-taichō and everything. But if there's things I can avoid..."
Her face fell. Had he said something wrong? "I'm sorry, Kurosaki-sanseki," she said, "but I don't think what you want will be possible. Ichimaru-taichō is... " She hesitated as though searching for the right words, "singular in his reactions to things, and really anything I say will just give you a false impression.
Reading between the lines, that meant her captain was as unpredictable as fuck, which was what Renji had said, but this was his own lieutenant saying it. Ichigo was starting to wonder what the hell he was getting into. He'd find out soon enough, he guessed, as they stopped outside a door that had a sign saying 'Taichō' in ornate calligraphy with a sliding 'in/out' indicator beneath it. Currently it said, 'in'. Hinamori knocked and second later, a cheery, "Enter!" came from inside.
He'd expected Hinamori to go in with him, so Ichigo was a bit surprised when instead she turned to him, shot him a wide cheeky grin and chirruped, "Good luck, Kurosaki-san," before scurrying off down the corridor. He watched her leave, boggling at her odd behaviour – seriously, this place just fucked with him for fun – and then pushed the door open.
The room beyond was a hell of a lot brighter than Ichigo had expected given the rest of the building. For a second he couldn't see a thing beyond the glare of the sunlight streaming in through the window. And then a swirl of movement caught his eye. From the far corner a figure appeared, looming out of the light, all long lines and angles, skeletal and inhuman. Ichigo took a step back, wondering what the fuck was coming for him, before the shape resolved into nothing more threatening than a man. Tall, yeah, and still skinny, but definitely human, and wearing a captain's haori.
At least, Ichigo thought he was human, until he got a closer look at Ichimaru's face. That foxy smile, those slitted eyes, even the way the guy moved, with a swishing strut that somehow managed to look like some kind of hunting animal stalking its prey. The whole package just screamed alien. And Ichigo found himself thinking, this had been his dad's fukutaichō? What the hell had his dad been thinking?
With a minute shudder Ichigo decided he was glad they'd never met before now. The guy was as creepy as fuck.
Having said that, Ichimaru being a freak show didn't change the fact that Ichigo was here for a favour and if there was one thing Byakuya had managed to drum into Ichigo's head, it was that a few manners went a long way in Soul Society. He closed the door behind him, dropped into a respectful bow and said, "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Ichimaru-taichō."
"My, my, ain't cha the polite one. Ya sure not like your father."
Ichigo froze, totally thrown. Not by the sing-song tone but by the blasé way Ichimaru had mentioned his old captain. When he'd first decided to try this, Ichigo had thought he might have to tiptoe around the subject a bit, butter the guy up some before fixing him with the hard questions. Not so much apparently. If that opening gambit was anything to go by, Ichimaru wasn't the type to give a damn what was said or how. And that was something Ichigo could work with.
He stood up to find the captain slouched lazily behind his desk, legs crossed and foot bobbing, his smile even wider and smugger than before. The fucker was enjoying his discomfort, Ichigo realised. He was trying to rub him up the wrong way and make him react. Probably trying to get him to defend his dad. Well, the best way to deal with that was not to give Ichimaru what he wanted.
Willing away everything but his frustration at this whole stupid shitstorm, Ichigo snapped, "I wouldn't know. The man I knew never existed. My real dad's a lying bastard of a shingami who let his kids get murdered rather than tell them the truth." And yeah, there was enough lingering bitterness there to give the words some bite.
"So you've not been ta see him then?"
And a hell of a lot of guilt as well. Ichigo flinched before he could stop himself. "I didn't think I could," he said, hearing the confusion in his own voice. Despite his best efforts, it made him sound young and scared, and for a brief moment Ichigo hated Ichimaru for doing that to him.
"Ya can't." The reply came back, quick as a knife and just as sharp. "But I wouldn't have thought that woulda stopped ya trying. A good boy like you should be movin' heaven and earth ta see his da go free. An' ya are a good boy, ain't cha, Ichigo-kun."
That was an even lower blow. Not a day went past that Ichigo didn't feel bad for not battering down the doors of the prison to let his dad out. But by the same token, it'd also given him time to think about it rationally.
Three years ago, he might have tried exactly what Ichimaru just suggested; taken on all of Soul Society and hang the consequences. Six months ago, even, Ichigo would have been desperate to do something. But nothing was ever that simple. Any move he made now had to be weighed against his responsibilities towards Karin and Yuzu. And any decisions he made had to put their safety first. When he didn't, things went wrong, and fast, as he'd proven at the arena when he'd lost Yuzu thanks to his own stupidity. At least he'd only lost her to the 4th. She was safe with Unohana-taichō, or as safe as anywhere in Seireitei could be.
Which wasn't to say Ichigo had given up on rescuing his dad completely, he just wasn't prepared to try without having a decent plan first. Anything half-assed that didn't include somewhere safe to run to and allies to fight with them was going to crash and burn the second they broke down the doors of the prison block.
But mainly what Ichigo had wanted before he made any moves at all, was some idea as to what the hell had happened to get his dad locked up in the first place. Now he knew more, but still not enough. Much as he didn't believe his dad was a murderer, Byakuya certainly thought he was, and Ichigo couldn't help thinking of that old saw about there being no smoke without fire.
Thoughts still a whirling mess, Ichigo managed to drag himself back on track past Ichimaru's taunting, and force out, "If you feel like that then you're probably not gonna answer me, but there's some things I want to ask you, about that night."
The fingers resting against the desk began tapping, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Ichimaru cocked his head slightly and said, "Did Bya-kun send ya?"
Bya-kun? Where the hell did he get off calling Byakuya something that personal? Though, yeah, actually that could make sense. If Byakuya had been Isshin's apprentice when Ichimaru was his fukutaichō, they'd have known each other pretty well. "No," Ichigo replied. "I don't think Kuchiki-taichō wanted me to come at all."
The foxy smile dimmed a little and the tapping stopped. Instead long fingers absently traced shapes on the desktop. "Always was the selfish one with his toys. He never did want ta share, ya know." And though the words said toys, Ichigo got the impression that the resentment at sharing had gone a hell of a lot deeper than that. So not friends then? No, that didn't sound right. Beloved enemies, maybe. It wasn't like you couldn't be friends and deadly rivals with the same person. Look at him and Uryū, always at each other's throats. Or had been. Before.
So had Ichimaru and Byakuya grown up together? Been kids together? It'd definitely explain the kun, and Byakuya said that the 3rd took in the talented children. Was Ichimaru one of them? Damn, Ichigo thought, no wonder Byakuya was so upset when Ichimaru tried to kill him.
"You knew each other as kids?" Ichigo blurted before he had a chance to stop himself.
Ichimaru slit his eyes open, revealing slivers of shocking blue. "Ya don't know?" he asked, and seemed genuinely surprised. "Ya father never said anything about us?"
That again. Kyōraku had asked the same thing. Why did everyone always assume Isshin had told them? Ichigo dropped his gaze to the side and swallowed heavily. "Dad didn't tell us anything about anything. The first I knew about Soul Society was the night Byakuya turned up and killed us." And damn it, that still hurt. Sure there'd been reasons, but it had been his life damn it, his future, and he'd had it stolen out from under from him without even so much as an apology. And it'd been worse for Karin and Yuzu. They'd been kids, just starting high school, only to suddenly get catapulted into this strange new world where they were treated like adults, and expected to behave that way too. If Isshin had told them, if they'd known, been able to prepare, would it have been different?
The sound of disapproving tutting brought Ichigo's attention back to Ichimaru. The smile was completely gone now and Ichigo got an impression of regret, maybe a little sadness. Ichimaru shook his head and sighed, murmuring under his breath, "Why'd ya go do that, taichō? Din't the boy deserve ta know where he came from?"
It was a sentiment Ichigo shared and if things continued this way, he thought he might be able to warm to the odd captain, despite their rocky start. "I think he was trying to protect us," Ichigo offered in his dad's defence, and as a comfort to Ichimaru, maybe?
"Then he shouldn't've had ya at all," came the snap back. "Swanning around out there with some still living hussy, having kids and leaving us ta pick up the pieces, fix things up best way we could, all higgledy-piggledy and sideways. Din't even leave a message, did ya. Din't call, din't write..." The words trailed off into silence and Ichigo was starting to suffer some serious emotional whiplash here. Okay Hinamori had warned him, in her own way, but Ichigo hadn't expected it to be quite this bad. Ichimaru's reactions were all over the place. Though at least she'd tried to tell him. No-one else had said anything, and it left Ichigo wondering why. It wasn't like being mentally unstable was an issue for a captain; everyone knew about Ukitake-taichō.
A moment later Ichimaru let loose an odd barking cough, that could have been either a laugh or the beginnings of pneumonia, and a second after that, the fake smile was back. The captain turned in his chair, propped his elbows on the desktop and fixed Ichigo with focused, laser-like attention over the top of steepled fingers. "So what was it ya wanted ta know, Kurosaki-kun?"
"Ah..." Ichigo stalled, wondering if it wouldn't be safer to just do a runner at this point. But no, then he'd be right back where he had been, with no answers and no one to turn to except Byakuya. Although Byakuya's control freakishness was looking more and more normal compared to Ichimaru's whack-a-mole act.
When Ichigo didn't immediately leap in with a question, Ichimaru answered anyway. "Ya said ya wanted to know about that night, so what ya really asking is, did he kill 'em or not?"
"Did he?" Ichigo shot straight back, because that wasn't an opportunity he was going to let walk past without exploiting.
"An' if I tell ya, 'yes', ya gonna be like the rest of 'em and write him off as a murderer?" Ichimaru asked, and Ichigo got the sense that his loyalties were being examined here. The trouble was, not knowing where Ichimaru's sympathies lay, Ichigo couldn't chose the right answer to get the information he needed. All he could do was be honest and hope that was enough to bring Ichimaru round to confide in him.
"No," Ichigo said, because even if his dad had killed all those Kuchiki's, he had to have done it for a reason. Despite everything – the secrecy, the lies – Ichigo didn't believe his dad would kill people that he respected in cold blood. That was the act of someone who was either mad or evil, and Kurosaki Isshin was neither. "So, did he?" Ichigo asked again, holding his breath for the answer.
There was a pause, ominous, Ichigo thought but didn't say anything, then the smile widened and Ichimaru placed his hands flat on the desk top, fingers spread wide. "Afraid I jus' can't say. Ya see, like I told the judges at the time, I weren't there that night. Just at the estate, doing me paperwork like a good lieutenant should be."
"But-" Ichigo began, only for a knock to come at the door and for it to open, revealing Hinamori on the other side; her head down, eyes lowered.
"You're needed, Ichimaru-taichō."
Ichimaru stood in obvious dismissal. "Looks like ya time's up, Kurosaki-kun. Been nice meeting ya. If ya think of anything else ya want to know... Well, there ain't nothing, so don't go worryin' at it."
Shooting glances between Ichimaru and the waiting Hinamori, Ichigo tried for one more answer. "If you don't know anything more than you told the judges, how come your fukutaichō thinks my dad's innocent?"
Under other circumstances, Ichigo might have felt bad for the shocked gasp that came from the doorway. But since he was looking at Ichimaru, he had the satisfaction of seeing what he suspected was the first genuine expression on that face instead. The corners of the unrelenting smile turned down, the lips tightened, and Ichimaru hissed his displeasure, moving fluidly around the desk, his right hand heading towards the wakizashi at his waist.
Ichigo stepped back, half convinced he'd pushed the captain too far and getting ready to draw Zangetsu. But it never happened. At the last minute, Ichimaru raised his hand, bringing it down to grip Ichigo's right shoulder instead, his bony fingertips digging into muscle and tendon with surgical precision. Ichigo's arm went numb almost immediately and he had to brace his knees against the unforgiving downward pressure. Then cool, sweet smelling breath gusted over his cheek as the captain leaned down and murmured in his ear, "Lemme ask ya somethin', Ichigo-kun, and I want ya ta think real careful about this. When ya met up with Aizen Sōsuke, did he have his zanpakutō on 'im?"
And with a final, hard painful squeeze, Ichimaru stalked away.
Ichigo stared after him, mouth gaping. He knew he was doing it but he could no more have stopped himself than he could have halted the thoughts and emotions flooding through his brain. What the hell was Ichimaru trying to say? Of course Aizen couldn't have had his zanpakutō, the thing was under lock, key and twenty-four hour guard.
But why say something like that if it was impossible? And if it was possible...
The exact details of his encounter with Aizen near the shrine were still mostly fuzzy. Ichigo hadn't pushed himself to remember, hadn't wanted to, really. Now though, he did, closing his eyes and forcing his mind back, de-constructing the scene, piece by painful piece.
He remembered parts of it, like snapshots. Turning and seeing the guy for the first time, and thinking he was hot. Wondering how he'd react if Ichigo asked him out. And the expression on his face when he'd sensed the searchers and come at Ichigo with intent. That was the bit Ichigo needed. That moment, or the one just before it.
The image formed in his mind as slowly as thawing ice. Aizen, eyes narrowing, right hand rising to cast the kidō. And his left... Had there been a sword? Had his left hand been on the hilt of his zanpakutō?
Ichigo's eyes flew open.
Green wrappings. He remembered green hilt wrappings!
Damn it, Ichimaru was right; Aizen had been carrying his zanpakutō!
But that was supposed to be impossible. It was supposed to be under guard unless they were at war. And yet if he was carrying it, if he'd used it to put Isshin under his 'complete hypnosis', it would explain everything. The fact that the Kuchiki and Kyōraku massacres were so much alike. And the reason his dad had fled.
Shit, no wonder the old man had never spoken about Soul Society. If the same thing had happened to him as had happened to Kyōraku's brother, he would have been gutted when he realised what he'd done. And no one would have believed him, because Aizen's zanpakutō was supposedly locked away.
He had to tell Byakuya. Let him know that after all these years, he could finally stop blaming Isshin for his family's deaths.
The trip back to the 6th took no time. Hisana was sitting in her usual place and Ichigo caught a glimpse of her starting to move as he shunpo'd past, heading for Byakuya's office.
Her voice followed him. "The captain's busy. You can't-. Kurosaki-sanseki, please, you can't go in there!"
Ignoring the yells and crashing of furniture from behind him, Ichigo took the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. All the way back he hadn't been able to think of anything except getting Byakuya to listen. If Byakuya believed him then everyone else would have to as well, then they'd have no choice but to clear his dad, let him out of jail, and Ichigo... Ichigo would finally have managed to protect someone important to him.
He was shouting an explanation even before he reached the door. "Byakuya! I've got it! It was that fucker Aizen! The bastard put the whammy on dad!" The door flew open under his thrusting palm and with a final, "Byakuya? Byakuya!" he barged into a room that had way more people in it than he was expecting. He stopped, shocked, and stared at the meeting he'd crashed in on.
The sōtaichō dominated the room from his place by Byakuya's desk, gnarled hands gripping the top of his equally gnarled staff, his eyebrows wagging as they drew together in a deeply disapproving frown. Beside him, and the only one seated, was Kyōraku-taichō, who raised his head when Ichigo entered, his expression dark and haunted. The little negator stood next him, unmistakable in that pink trimmed shihakushō. And finally Byakuya, over by the bookcases. Ichigo sought Byakuya's eyes desperately, and failed to make contact. They were downcast, his face angled away as if disowning Ichigo and everything he stood for. Well fuck him, Ichigo thought. Even if Byakuya wouldn't listen, maybe these others would.
But before he could say a word, the sōtaichō snapped, "Idiot boy! You think that wasn't the first place we'd look? Given the similarities between the two cases, of course it was. I carried out the interrogation myself and it was deemed impossible for the man to have done it."
"But-!" Ichigo began, because they had to be wrong. They had to be. It all fit. And it meant his dad was innocent.
"Who's been putting these foolish ideas into your head, anyway?"
"I believe Kurosaki was visiting at the 3rd, sir, with Ichimaru-taichō," Byakuya said in a voice so bland it could have passed for disinterested. Ichigo knew better and glared at him, feeling more than betrayed. This wasn't personal, wasn't about taking sides.
The sōtaichō harrumphed. "I might have guessed. Isshin coddled the boy, gave him far too many privileges considering his age and background." He fixed Ichigo with a narrow-eyed glare. "And what did he say to you, eh? That Sousuke has his zanpakutō? Scaremongering fool, I should bring him up on charges. Treason should do it this time."
Could they, just for that? "No, he didn't say..." It came out as a panicked croak. Ichigo stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Sir, it wasn't like that. He just asked me if I'd noticed whether he was carrying it when we met." Ichimaru might not be the friendliest, or sanest, guy Ichigo had met, but there was no way he was going to dump him with a charge of treason.
Another harrumph, this one accompanied by the sharp tap of his staff on the floor. "Like I said then, putting ideas in your head."
"But I remember seeing it!" Ichigo protested, only for Kyōraku to say, "Hanatarō here told us the memory kidō was still in place. Are you saying it's worn off?"
"N-not exactly." The stammer made him sound dumb, but he couldn't help it. After their last encounter Ichigo felt entitled to be a bit nervous of the guy and his twin zanpakutō. This time Kyōraku looked less likely start imminently stabbing. Did that mean the alliance was fixed? Was that why he was here? It didn't matter, Ichigo decided. Even if this fucked things up again, he had to take this chance to clear his dad's name. "I can remember bits of it," he argued, "and I'm sure I remember him having a zanpakutō."
Kyōraku tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Describe it to me, please."
"Ah, green hilt wrappings, those I know for sure I saw," Ichigo said, racking his brain for anything else that might help prove his case. "The guard's a hexagon, a prism shaped one, a kind of brassy-gold colour. The scabbard..." This was more difficult. Ichigo forced himself to remember. "I think it was light brown, with... with black ties?"
A heavy, tired sigh came from Kyōraku. "I think I'll stop you there," he said, lowering his head to look at Ichigo. "The brown scabbard is the one Aizen used many years ago. His current choice is black. I presume you showed him photographs?"
This last was aimed at Byakuya, who nodded. "Indeed, one of which showed Kyōka Suigetsu in the old scabbard."
Kyōraku turned back to Ichigo. "Your memory is playing tricks on you, Kurosaki-kun, as is Ichimaru. Aizen was in Hueco Mundo when Isshin murdered the Kuchiki. I know this because at the time both Hirako and I were there with him."
"In Hueco Mundo?" The situation was slipping through his fingers, Ichigo could feel it. In desperation he demanded, "How can you know for sure? You've been exposed to his shikai, he might have put the whammy on you too!"
"That is quite enough, Kurosaki!" Byakuya snapped. "You will apologise immediately!"
Kyōraku lifted his hand, "It's okay, it's okay. Let the boy ask, Byakuya, he has the right. This is his father's freedom we're talking about." Intense dark grey eyes rose to meet Ichigo's. "You're absolutely correct, I have suffered Aizen's 'complete hypnosis', however young Tōsen was with us during that week in Hueco Mundo, and as you know, he neither has nor can be thus compromised. I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun, there is no chance that your father was forced into killing his friends. Whatever his reasons, it was most certainly done of his own free will."
Ichigo stepped back.
They couldn't deny this. He wasn't wrong. He had definitely, definitely, seen Aizen with his zanpakutō.
But, he realised, even if he argued, it would get him nowhere. Looking at them, at the pity in their eyes, they didn't believe him. Worse, they felt sorry for him, a stupid naive kid, believing Ichimaru's lies.
The room closed in around him, shame a heavy heat in his chest. He had to get out of here before he said something, did something, brought everything down around their ears. He could feel his reiatsu stirring.
If nothing else, that finally got Byakuya's attention. He lifted his head, his frown a warning of dire consequences if Ichigo failed to control himself, and Ichigo struggled to comply, to pull his reiryoku back inside. The air around him thrummed at the effort and a slow steady burn began in his hands. Fuck, fuck, he didn't mean to do that. He only wanted his own reiryoku back, that was all, no one else's. But once it was out there, it was almost impossible to separate from everything else, especially in close quarters like this.
He was on the verge of just walking out when the sōtaichō thumped his staff on the floor again and said, "Since the boy is here, Kuchiki, we will move on to the real purpose of this meeting." With a sharp look at Ichigo, he added, "Show me your hands."
The timing couldn't have been worse. Ichigo held them out, aware that the burning was getting worse as nerves piled on shame piled on frustration and anger. Shit, why was he such a fuck-up. He couldn't even do something this simple right.
"Control yourself, Kurosaki," Byakuya's voice, cool and calm, came from the other side of the room. It helped some but there was another who'd help more. Zangetsu? Ichigo whispered silently. You there, old man? I could really really use your help right now.
Byakuya's office and the rest of the real world dropped away, sending him spinning upside down to land a moment later on juddering legs in his internal landscape. Zangetsu was waiting for him, blade in hand, and they met as they always did, across a rapid and vicious exchange of blows. It was exactly what he needed. The old man always knew.
Ichigo grinned manically, and when he saw Zangetsu's answering smirk, the gloves, both literally and metaphorically, came off. Reiatsu thundered out around them, peeling the landscape to pieces and obliterating it as it went. Steel rang, lightning sharp, as they clashed and clashed again, sacrificing edge for that single momentary advantage, that extra ounce of power and strength that might sway the direction of the fight. For an eternity they battled, so well matched that neither had the upper hand for more time than it took their hearts to beat. It was good, so so good. Muscles burned, breath sawed through his lungs and throat, his ears rang with the joyful sounds of pounding blood and clashing blades. The rage and shame that had threatened to consume Ichigo from the inside out, seared away, leaving only clear rational thought in its place.
He had seen Aizen's zanpakutō, that was fact, but since no one believed him, there was nothing he could do with that information except add it to his arsenal. Like his hakuda, his lousy kidō and Zangetsu himself, knowledge was just another weapon. Currently it was weak, but Ichigo could add to it, build it up, and when it was strong enough, he would wield it the same way he wielded Zangetsu, with power, commitment, and deadly accuracy.
Then, and only then, would he rescue his father, and tell the whole of Soul Society where to shove it.
Realising that, embracing the reality of his decision to succeed, released something deep inside Ichigo's soul. He parried an incoming blow and for the the first time saw his opening. A single step and the thrust slid home, piercing Zangetsu through and through. The zanpakutō spirit grasped Ichigo's wrist as hilt met flesh, his fingers as steely as the blade itself, and power pulsed between them, all of Ichigo's out of control reiatsu finding its natural home within Zangetsu's resilient form.
Well fought, Ichigo, Zangetsu said, his body beginning to disperse. His voice lingered on, wise and compelling. Now go. But return here soon. You are almost ready to advance once again.
The sōtaichō's face replaced Zangetsu's and Ichigo huffed out a relieved breath when he realised that the effects of his little sojourn inside had carried over to the real world. Not only was his reiryoku down to normal levels again, but his head felt clearer. Whatever stupid these guys wanted with him, he'd be able to deal without exploding, for a while at least.
Thanks, old man, he thought and let himself relax.
A small surge of kidō saw the gloves released from his hands. Rather than let them drop to the floor, Ichigo took them off properly, reaching out to place them on the desk. As he put them down, he raised his eyes and his gaze met Byakuya's. For once the man looked pleased with him, and Ichigo offered a tentative smile. They might have fallen out but they weren't enemies, and never could be.
Beneath the cloth, his hands were blistered again and sore. Ichigo flexed them slightly, enjoying the sensation of having them open to the air, and wondered how long it would last this time.
"Hanatarō," Kyōraku said, and Ichigo glanced over to see the negator lowering his hood. What was left of his face still made Ichigo feel faintly nauseous, but he forced himself to look anyway. It put his complaints about his hands into context, that was for sure.
Here in Byakuya's office, in the full light of day, it was easier to see what had been done to the kid. His eyes were gone, even the sockets – Ichigo assumed he 'saw' with reiatsu like Tōsen-fukutaichō must do – but his other features were still there, if drowned by folds and folds of skin and saggy flesh. He even had hair, though it was a bit straggly and patchy in places. So, yeah, it was revolting, but Ichigo had seen worse in his father's mortuary. And Hanataro seemed to be reasonably happy with his life, so honestly, who was Ichigo to judge.
None of which excused the bastards who'd done this to him, of course. The 12th, probably, sick fuck that Kurotsuchi was. Or Urahara. He made monsters. He'd freely admitted that much to Ichigo up there on the hill. Was this the type of monster he made? And then there was Aizen. He'd been the one to put those eyes in Hisagi. And those were just the scientists who might have done the work. Someone must have ordered it to happen, commissioned a negator, knowing that a kid was going to be tortured and disfigured to make it happen.
Soul Society was just crawling with creeps.
The little guy came and stood in front of Ichigo, his head tipped back as though actually looking up at him. "I need you to use your Quincy powers, Kurosaki-sama," he said. "Could you please absorb a kidō for me?"
What the hell? Ichigo cast a sharp questioning glance over at Byakuya, who for once actually explained rather than just giving orders. "Given the damage the gloves are causing to your hands, Kyōraku-taichō has agreed to some of the restrictions being lifted, so long as the negator is able to identify your abilities and raise the alarm should you use them in an unauthorized manner. Thus the negator requires a demonstration of your capacity to absorb reiryoku and reishi."
"Oh, okay." Ichigo grinned down at Hanatarō, who was waiting patiently. "Give it your best shot."
It was just possible to see the corners of the kid's mouth curl into a smile. Hanatarō cupped his hands and said, "Shakkahō." The red kidō ball that formed between them was tiny compared to most offensive uses of the spell. "Will this be enough?" he asked a bit doubtfully. "I'm not very good at kidō and I didn't want to risk it hurting anyone."
"Don't know," Ichigo replied. "Let's give it a go, shall we." He flexed his fingers again, and carefully, gently, brought one down so it was just above the kidō ball. Then he 'felt' for it, letting the power of it call him. It wasn't easy, not when there were other sources of power in the room. The sōtaichō called him almost as strongly as the arena barrier had, pulsing hot and fierce. On the other side of the room, the familiar blood and steel flavour of Byakuya leapt out from the bland reishi background of the bookcases, and between them shivered Kyōraku, all dark shadows and intriguing. The only blank spot in the room was Hanatarō and yet again Ichigo was struck by the weirdness of the negator. Whatever it was that made negators sensitive to others' reiatsu completely hid their own. To Ichigo's Quincy senses, it was like he simply wasn't there.
But the kidō he held was. Ichigo focused on that, letting its small power signature dominate the others until it was the only one he could sense, then he opened to it. It was kind of like inhaling, except he did it with his hand. The power rushed in, and kept rushing, way too strong for such a small source. No, not strong, pure, that was it.
"Woah!" Ichigo gasped as his legs wobbled. A chair hit him in the back of the knees and he sank onto it gratefully, reeling from the high. "That's some good stuff. Holy crap." He opened eyes, watched the room spin once, and closed them again in a hurry. It was kinda like he'd felt last night after all the sake, but with more nausea. Which wasn't a good thing. He didn't want to throw up in front of the sōtaichō. It wouldn't look good. "Heh," he snickered as a thought suddenly occurred to him, "Wonder if I puked on Aizen after I ate his kidō?" And fuck, but he was flying high.
"Drink this," Byakuya's voice said just as a cup was pressed into his hand.
Ichigo blinked down at it. Tea, yeah that'd be good. He tried to grip the cup and failed, his hands more like lumps of meat than anything useful. Byakuya's fingers wrapped around his own, helping him lift the drink, and Ichigo found himself leaning into the guy. He just smelt so good, and he tasted better, and all that power was right there. So close. All he had to do was reach out and take -
The cup flew, spraying tea everywhere as Ichigo shoved Byakuya away. Far away. Far enough that Ichigo wouldn't touch/taste/smell him with these fucking Quincy senses. "Don't- " he choked, "Just don't." And then, "Okay, really gonna puke now." He folded up over his knees, breathing slowly and carefully as his stomach threatened to rebel. Crap, that had been too close. And this time it wouldn't have stopped with a shallow wound on face or hand. He'd have gone for the real thing.
It was the gloves, he realised. They were making it worse, like his body was starving, so when they came off, everyone around him turned into an all you can eat buffet.
Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed frantically, staring at his feet until his eyes felt like they might drop out. He tried to eat Byakuya, like a hollow ate a plus. That was so far beyond wrong, he couldn't even think of an excuse. What the hell was wrong with him?
Slowly the high began to subside, and with it the worst of the hunger, thank god. Ichigo hung on to his knees, his mind and gut both churning. Would he get to the point where he couldn't take the gloves off at all without hurting someone? That would suck big time. Having just discovered how to do touching stuff properly and how much fun it could be, he'd didn't want to have to stop.
Even if it meant he might hurt his lover?
A vivid memory of Ise's blistered face and Byakuya's bloody palm came back to haunt him and he shuddered. No, if there was any chance at all of him accidentally doing that, or worse, he rather cut his own hands off.
"It seems your theory was right, Kuchiki, though what we do about it is less clear."
The sōtaichō's gruff voice penetrated Ichigo's gloom. Carefully, Ichigo raised his head. "Sorry about that," he said, a bit blearily, turning to peer at Byakuya who was leaning against the desk looking a little pale even for him. "You okay?"
Byakuya nodded, and the interaction seemed to get him working again. He stood up and brushed at his haori. There was a wet patch, Ichigo realised. The tea. Had he knocked Byakuya down? He didn't remember.
"He did manage to stop himself. I don't think that achievement should be underestimated," Kyōraku said, and Ichigo couldn't help feeling a bit grateful that someone had noticed that. Despite being off his gourd, he had realised what he was about to do, and he had stopped himself. That had to count for something, didn't it?
"Hm," the sōtaichō grunted non-committally, leaning harder on his staff as he stared at Ichigo. "Well, boy? What do you think?"
Lies or honesty. Ichigo didn't think he could get his head round a lie at the moment and keep it straight. He opted for the truth. "I think the gloves are making it worse, sir."
The sōtaichō's eyes narrowed even further than their normal slits, and Ichigo wondered for a brief moment if he'd made a horrible mistake. Then Byakuya spoke. "He has been wearing them almost non-stop for over twenty-four hours. They were never designed for such usage."
And a moment later, Kyōraku joined in. "Agreed. Kurotsuchi said this might happen if his body wasn't allowed to recharge naturally. Some Quincy souls simply can't absorb all the reishi they need through normal means like shinigami and it seems young Kurosaki is one of them."
Kurotsuchi? That sicko was behind the gloves? Ichigo stared at them in horror, letting the full implications of Kyōraku's words sink in. If the bastard knew that, he had to have done research. And to do research, he had to have had experimental subjects.
His family weren't the first Quincy he'd tried to get his hands on. There'd been others. Fuck, Ichigo really hoped and prayed they were long dead and gone.
Kyōraku was still speaking, his voice sonorous and quietly full of authority. "Despite my initial reaction to Nanao-chan's injuries, I think it would be unfair to blame the boy entirely for this turn of events, Yama-jii. And you told me yourself, many years ago, that a hurt caused accidentally, even a grievous one, should not be measured against the same scale as those deliberately wrought."
He was talking about his family, Ichigo realised, and his own failure to be there to stop his brother. The fact that the guy would use that event to help Ichigo so close on the heels of Ichigo dragging the whole thing with Aizen up again, gave Ichigo hope. He'd thought the guy was pretty decent the first time they'd met, and only the thing with Ise had changed that. And in retrospect, if someone had done something like that to Karin or Yuzu then Ichigo would probably try and cut their head off too. He should definitely cut the guy some slack. Forgiveness went two ways.
The sōtaichō's frown only grew deeper and Ichigo started to get the really bad feeling that even Kyōraku wasn't going to be enough to save him this time.
"Kurosaki may be an officer of the Gotei, but as head of a noble house, unless some criminal act is suspected, Shiba Ichigo must be exempt from judgement by any but his peers," Byakuya pointed out, with impeccable timing. "To proceed otherwise would be to disregard the sovereign rights of all noble houses."
The threat was implicit but it worked. With a loud harrumph, the sōtaichō finally released Ichigo from his burning stare. "You have a point," he conceded. "However I will not let this continue indefinitely. If there are any more incidents, I will bring the matter before the Central 46."
"Fine, fine," Kyōraku said, gesturing placatingly, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Now, Hanatarō, were you able to get a reading on Kurosaki-kun?"
Damn, Ichigo had forgotten all about Hanatarō. The little negator appeared from behind the sōtaichō, his hood back up and his shaking hands clasped in front of him. "I-I think so, taicho-sama," he said, bowing deeply. "It's not like anything I've seen before but I'd definitely know it again if I sensed it."
"Excellent! Then I'll leave Yamada in your capable hands, Byakuya. Look after him well," Kyōraku boomed, slapping his hands on his thighs and standing up, towering over everyone. The office, which had seemed spacious, suddenly felt very small and cramped, and Ichigo realised why the captain had been sitting down all this time.
Byakuya nodded a bow at him. "I shall treat him as one of my own, Shunsui," he said, escorting the two visitors to the door and following them out.
Since he wasn't invited to go with them, Ichigo took the opportunity to slouch back in his chair, let his eyes slide closed, and puffed out a relieved breath. Talk about dodging a bullet.
A moment later, the sound of someone quietly clearing their throat reminded Ichigo he wasn't alone. He pulled himself upright and blinked sleepily at Hanatarō, who was standing clutching at his hakama as if he was scared they were going to fly off. "Guess it's just us now, yeah?" Ichigo said, trying to put the little guy at ease. "Sorry you got dragged into this."
"I don't mind, Kurosaki-sama," Hanatarō replied, his bobbing bows deep and repetitive. "It's no inconvenience to me. Serving you is an honour."
"Just 'Ichigo' is fine," Ichigo told him, knowing he was likely to be ignored. "Or at least drop the sama. It makes me feel like Byakuya."
The little guy stopped bowing and 'looked' at him. "You are both heads of noble houses, sir."
Ichigo waved a dismissive hand at him. "Yeah, but he's like, the head of a real one. I'm just a Shiba. We're chicken feed compared to the Kuchiki."
"But only to feed the Soul King's chickens, surely." The smile was audible in the little negator's voice and Ichigo couldn't help but echo it, saying. "Yeah, okay, maybe you've got a point. There's no getting away from being a noble in this place."
An uneasy silence fell between them after that, Ichigo wondering what the hell you talked about when someone was assigned as your personal alarm system, and coming up with nothing. Maybe Hanatarō would be like Take and the other escorts. Ichigo had tried talking to them at first, but they'd kept it all pretty formal despite his best efforts to get them to relax. Looking at Hanatarō, Ichigo hoped the little guy wasn't the same. They were likely to end up in pretty close quarters in the future, and he'd rather they became friends.
He was just about to try asking about hobbies, since favourite bands and TV shows weren't an option, when out of nowhere Hanatarō asked tentatively, "Sir? Did you really see Aizen-fukutaichō's zanpakutō?"
Considering the way the conversation with the captains had just gone down, Ichigo thought he probably should say no, but lying to the kid seemed wrong, even if it did end up causing trouble. "I think so, yeah. Why?" he added suspiciously. "D'you think I'm imagining things too?"
That garnered him a frightened squeak and another series of rapidly dipped bows. "No, sir! Of course not, sir. I'm sorry for doubting you, sir. Sorry, sorry."
Crap, he hadn't meant to scare the guy. "Hey, no, I'm not mad, okay," Ichigo said trying to diffuse the situation. He leaned forward, thinking to pat the little guy on the shoulder, only for him to flinch and kind of roll up like a terrified hedgehog. Damn it, Ichigo thought, asking about hobbies probably wasn't going to cut it now. What else could he try? Well, there was one thing they had in common. "I'm guessing you've seen it too, huh?" he asked, and okay, 'see' might not be the right word, but screw it, that was all Ichigo could think of. If Hanatarō didn't like it, he was going to have to come up with alternative himself.
At least the cowering stopped. Hanatarō cocked his head inquisitively. "The zanpakutō?" he asked.
"Ah. What's it called again?" Ichigo knew full well what its name was, but using the subject as an ice breaker might get Hanatarō to relax at bit. "I'm lousy with names," he added. That much was true, at least.
"Kyōka Suigetsu, sir," Hanatarō replied, standing up completely. "And I was exposed to it twice. Once while it was sealed and without Aizen-fukutaichō present. Then later with him there while it was in shikai." He shuddered. "It tastes very strange, flat."
"Like water left out in the sun," Ichigo finished, the memory of the flavour returning to him. Crap, did that mean he had seen the shikai?
"Yes, that's right," Hanatarō said, "but that's only when its sealed. In shikai it gets sweet, like honey."
"All the better to lure in the stupid ants, I guess," Ichigo replied with a relieved chuckle. He'd never smelt that, so maybe he was safe. "And his reiryoku tastes of green tea. Surreal, right?"
"You can taste reiryoku too?" Now he really had the kid's interest. Hanatarō shuffled towards him and dropped into seiza at his feet, staring up at him. Okay, no eyes, but the principle remained.
Ichigo grasped at the opportunity to put his experiences into a bit of perspective. There had to be some kind of an upside to wanting to eat your friends. "Sure, when I do the Quincy thing, it kind of leaves an after-taste. Yours, hmm..." He had to think about this so as not to insult the kid. "It was kind of two tone. The kidō was fiery, which I guess, yeah, it was shakkahō, so it would be. And some of the reiryoku was edgy, a bit medicinal," which he guessed came from the way Hanatarō's body had been fucked about with. "But the rest of it, wow. You're packing one hell of a punch there. It was... clean, pure." White, though that seemed like the wrong word for a flavour.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that bit probably wasn't me," Hanatarō said, bobbing his head down again. "Kyōraku-taichō gave me a sample to feed to you along with my own reiryoku."
"A sample? From where?" Seriously, what was wrong with these guys? Were they all mad scientists?
And they were back to the cringing. Hanatarō grovelled, saying, "I don't know, sir. Unohana-taichō maybe? Healing reiatsu would be very pure."
Ichigo huffed, furious at being slipped a mickie, but not wanting to take it out on Hanatarō. It wasn't like the captains were going to let the negator in on their plans; he was just a tool, just following orders. "Well, whatever it was, it was strong," he said. Dangerous. Addictive. Even now, sitting here, he wanted more of it, though the other hunger had subsided. Absently he added, "Plus it was kind of white, though how the hell it managed that, I don't know."
His hands tingled, and when he glanced down at them, he realised the blisters were almost completely gone. Huh, maybe it had been Unohana's reiryoku then. Ichigo found that idea a bit of a comfort. He'd been a bit worried that it might have been Kurotsuchi's. No, that would be dark and corrupt.
Hanatarō giggled, hands over his face to try and contain the sound. "Ichinose, the fourth seat of the 11th, has a zanpakutō that tastes of rainbows," he said. "I think it's because it manipulates light. But you're right, sir, it does seem strange that a flavour should be a colour. Tōsen-fukutaichō's Suzumushi is black and gold, and Hirako-taichō's a clear sky-blue. Maybe it's because they confuse the senses, thus their reiryoku is a confusion as well. But then again Aizen-fukutaichō's doesn't, so maybe I'm just wrong."
He sounded so defeated that Ichigo tossed out, "It could depend on who's tasting them too. Bet you pick them up different to everyone else." He leaned back in his chair again, stretching his legs out, and folded his arms behind his head. This was interesting. And fun. He didn't think he'd enjoyed a conversation quite like this since getting to Soul Society. Everyone was always so tied up in challenging each other all the time. Hanatarō, the poor bastard, couldn't challenge anyone, which made him relaxing company.
Two familiar reiryoku signatures were heading towards the office. Ichigo grinned, waited till they got close enough, and said, "Renji always reckons he can smell cherry blossom when Kuchiki-taichō releases Senbonzakura. I just get blood and steel."
"I suspect Abarai is something of a romantic," Byakuya said from the doorway, followed by Renji's offended, "Hey!" from behind him.
As the pair swept into the room, Hanatarō cowered, and Ichigo shot him a reassuring grin. He didn't know how things worked at the 8th, but this was what passed for normal around here, and the familiarity of it was almost enough to drive away the stress of the past few hours. Ichigo felt like he'd been through an emotional wringer, a bit of sniping was exactly what he needed. He sat up and squinted at Renji, who looked wrung out too. And grubby. "You been gardening?" Ichigo asked him, pointing at the streaks of dirt on his face.
Renji swiped at them ineffectually. "Been cleaning the new quarters," he said. "Turns out the lieutenant's rooms've been empty all these years. I never even knew we had any."
"You could have requested staff from the estate, Renji. I wouldn't have minded," Byakuya put in and Ichigo was struck by how hard they were all trying to make things seem normal. Like Ichigo hadn't just tried to eat Byakuya, and Renji wasn't talking about moving out.
Renji shrugged and sank into another chair. "Eh, I wasn't doing anything anyway." He fixed Ichigo with a sceptical look. "Certain people had other plans for this afternoon and training alone didn't sound like much fun. Least this way we'll have a proper bed tonight."
This was the point at which Ichigo always fetched tea. He stood up automatically saying, "Didn't stop you sleeping last night. Snoring like a chainsaw for most of it, you were." And as he spoke, he just happened to be looking at Byakuya, who was half turned away from them, examining some papers on his desk. A hurt expression skated briefly across his face and Ichigo realised his eyes were bruised as though he'd hardly slept at all. Apparently the break-up wasn't treating all of them equally. He tried to feel bad about it, and failed. Byakuya had brought it on himself by being a control-freak asshole.
But when he glanced back at Renji, he could see the sentiment wasn't shared. Renji was staring at the captain like a drowning man looked for land. Honestly, the guy was so besotted it was pathetic. No matter what Renji said, Ichigo suspected he'd be back with Byakuya sooner rather than later. And he'd be on his own in doing it, Ichigo decided. Unless things changed beyond all recognition, and knowing Byakuya, they never would. The guy was never going to climb down off that high-horse of his and Ichigo was fed-up with getting a crick in his neck just trying to relate to him. So fuck 'em, they were on their own. He'd find himself someone else.
"Yeah, sorry, you're out of luck this evening as well," he said to Renji, changing his mind about getting drinks. "I've got more errands to run. But I'll be back later. Where're the rooms?"
Renji gave him brief directions; second floor of the third barrack block, north end; and Ichigo was about to leave them to it when Byakuya said, "Before you go, Kurosaki."
When Ichigo glanced over, he was holding up the damn gloves, though he at least had the decency to look uncomfortable about it. "Seriously?" Ichigo said, and jerked a thumb at his shadow. "I thought I just had to drag Hanatarō around with me now."
"If you're leaving division grounds, you must wear the gloves," Byakuya said, "However if you don't wish to learn the sealing kidō yourself...?" He let his words trail off, as if the subject was of no importance.
Ichigo glared at him. Bastard, winding him up like that. "And you didn't think to say that before?" he groused, stomping back to the desk and sticking both hands out. "Go on then, show me how it works."
It turned out to be as easy as feeding a little of his reiatsu directly into the seal. The first time he and Byakuya had to do it simultaneously, and that primed the kidō to accept Ichigo's alone.
"A great faith is being put in you, Ichigo," Byakuya instructed as Ichigo played with the gloves, sealing and unsealing them till they were both happy he could do it easily. "Do not abuse it."
Ichigo raised his eyes to meet Byakuya's deadly serious gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I know. And I won't. The sōtaichō'll jump on any infringements, I got the message." Plus Byakuya and Kyōraku had put themselves out there for him, and he wasn't about to screw them over for it, even if they had been dumb-asses about Aizen's zanpakutō.
"Good, then you have my permission to leave the division grounds. Have a pleasant evening, Ichigo, and please try not to break any laws this time."
The grin and bow Ichigo gave him were as unrepentant as they were sincere, and with Hanatarō on his heels, he headed for the door and freedom.