Author's blurbs: Yeah, yeah. I realize it has been a long long time. I'm back from my deployment and had a few...issues to deal with. I'm glad to say I'm back, though a bit worse for the wear. Personal problems aside, I'm glad to be back. Not much story progression going on in this chapter, since I feel the need to take it slow.

You can insert some generically witty statement here about how I don't own Bleach.

Chapter 10: The Peanut Gallery

"Hey, King, what do ya think you're doing here, eh?"

Ichigo's eyes snapped open. Once again he was in the inner world of his sword, Zangetsu. The vertigo that went with the realization never failing to make him sway despite this becoming a regular habit as of late.

The sky was the same azure blue, along with the same nimbus clouds slowly moving in their constant route over the endless sea of skyscrappers. And here he was, defying gravity and standing on the side of one of the buildings, and right in front of him, almost close enough to lick, was the same black-white mirror image of himself. His inner hollow.

The maniacal grin of his clone just deepened as Ichigo finally grasped his surroundings. "Boo!" the hollow deadpanned, seemingly delighted in his own personal joke. As always, this angered Ichigo enough to swipe at the offensive creature. And once again, the hollow had jumped back before the arm had even moved.

They both noticed that the strike wasn't nearly as fast as it was before. In this world resolve and mental strength translated to real physical strength. This was as much a duel of the minds as it was of sword and steel. And Ichigo was weakening. They both knew it.

"Get the hell out of my way!" Ichigo fumed, "Where is the old man?"

"He had to go shopping!" the hollow cackled before mysteriously disappearing.

Ichigo's eyes widened in surprise as the pale mockery of his own hands were suddenly clasped tightly around his head, as if to crush it. The flesh was cold to the touch and the feeling seemed to almost spread out, as if the heat the orange haired boy possessed was being slowly drained to fuel the sick machinations of his inner hollow.

Ichigo's feeble counter attack was stopped before it even really began by a simple squeeze, causing him to cry out in pain. He was briefly aware through the flashes of lightning that danced before his eyes that he had dropped his sword as his hands grasped the hollow's wrists in desperation to lessen the vice-like grip. Ichigo didn't care at this moment.

The hollow buried his nose in Ichigo's hair and inhaled deeply, seeming to almost savor the scent. Ichigo's stomach curdled at the thought. "Ahhhhh...the smell of your body! I can't wait until it is mine!" Of course this caused the substitute Shinigami to start thrashing violently, anything to shake the malevolent grip of this...thing.

The creature lowered his cold dead eyes level with Ichigo's, smirking at the boy's attempt to throw him off before giving one large shove, pushing with an unresistable strength that had Ichigo flying back several feet to the ground.

"Really, King, this is the best you can do? Perhaps I should claim what is mine now, eh?" humming a little tune, the hollow casually unsheathed his weapon, walking over to Ichigo, who only stared at his own weapon, several feet behind his attacker. Ichigo's limbs had gotten heavy, weary. The hollow was winning this mental battle.

Raising the sword high above Ichigo's head, the hollow only breathed one word, "Die!"

Ichigo shut his eyes...but surprisingly no deathblow came. Seconds passed before he dared to open them. A hazarded glance from one forced him to open the other. The tell-tale black katana of his Bankai was jutting from the chest of his assailent. Instead of anger or surprise, his hollow only looked annoyed. "Hey! Old man! Can't you just let me have a little fun for once?"

"No." Ichigo at once recogized the silent nobility of the voice that answered. Zangetsu.

"Bah! You got lucky this time, King!" the fading voice of the hollow taunted as strips of its flesh began to almost melt away into the wind. "I'll see you very soon!" with that final warning and a quick tweak of Ichigo's nose, the hollow disappeared, with only his otherworldly laughter remaining behind to ring in Ichigo's ears.

"Thanks, old man."

"Ichigo. You must become stronger."

"I know. But he is wearing me down." Ichigo's stomach fell, he didn't know how long he could continue to do this. If Zangetsu hadn't intervened...

"Excuses. Rise and fight, Ichigo. With my power, there is no need for his. He exists because you allow him to."

"Easier said than done, old man."

"Then do."

With those final words, Ichigo's grip on reality and his literal grip on the side of the building gave out, and he fell with a soundless scream...

"Is something wrong, kid?" the deep voice of Yoruichi penetrated the thick haze of Ichigo's inner thoughts.

The man shook his head, both in response to the cat woman's question and to clear the muddled gel that his day dreams always reduced his mind to. Secretly though, he was worried. The daydreams, if could he really even call them that, were becoming more frequent and this was the first that he had ever blanked out in the middle of the conversation...

He tried to remember what it was that he was doing before this last attack..."Anyway, kid, you're a overeager dunce with too much energy...buuuuuuut I might be willing to not kill you." Yoruichi continued, the incident seemingly forgotten. Oh right...I was being threatened...

With the way Yoruichi pratically purred the statement and was waiting expectedly, no doubt she was waiting for him to pry as to what her forgiveness required. "What must I do to live?" he sighed, his mood throughly shattered.

The cat's yellow eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. I guess you can start your repentance with some milk. And not the skim crap either, but the good stuff. Grade D. A saucer before I go would hit the spot."

Ichigo grimaced. He hadn't explained what Kisuke told him to do. "Ummm...yeah...about that. You kinda are stuck here."

"What?" Ichigo couldn't help but notice the claws were unsheathed now. They looked pretty sharp.

He took a deep breath, pinching the brow of his nose. It was all a bit much. "Look. You have a concussion. Apparently I hit you a bit harder than we all thought. When you passed out I got worried and got Kisuke to look at you. He told me that you needed a week or so of bed rest. I sort of got voluntold to watch you."

Ichigo held his breath as Yoruichi digested what he said. "Well," the cat began slowly, "I guess I can take a vacation. Your bed is pretty comfy. And it'd be a good way for you to learn to not hit random animals over the head."

The orange haired highschool student practically did a facevault, "Bullshit!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the cat, who had settled quite comfortable looking on his sheets, "You just want an excuse to be a lazy bum! And you're not a cat! You're a...half-woman...cat...thing."

"Oh, is that so, Ichigo?" Yoruichi oozed smoothly, "Did I look like a half-cat, half woman thing when you first saw me? You did get to see all of me, if I recall."

Ichigo did a one-eighty, his face turning bright red. "Hey that wasn't my fault! You poofed right in front of me and started jiggling all over the place!"

Yoruichi started licking her paw, "Didn't seem like you minded..."

"Bullshit! Of course I minded! You don't just go around doing that shit! I was hurt at the time! I didn't need to lose more blood!"

"And now I'm the one that's hurt. Shoo. Go get my milk."

For a second Ichigo stood there, as if debating to continue the arguement. He didn't like being dismissed like a servant. Reaching a decision, the grumbling highschool student finally turned, muttering things like "unpredictable woman" and "royal brat" under his breath. Still, as he closed the door, he thought it didn't turned out too bad. His face wasn't clawed off and the arguement had distracted him from the ever stronger nagging of his inner-hollow. The free-spirited woman had taken her impromptu confinement with surprising calmness.

Now if only he could make it through this nursing period without killing his patient...

Yeah...

Yoruichi stared at the sleeping face of Ichigo from atop her perch on his bed. He had quite adamantly refused to share the bed with her, protesting that it was a perverted thing to expect, even if she was a cat in this form. She personally found it quite humorous that he'd give an entire bed to her just because of one small incident.

The orange haired teenager was snoring quite loudly, managing to take up far more space on the floor than he should have with his nighttime tossing and turnings. She had to admit she preferred him like this instead of that over energetic loud mouthed boy he presented while awake. Yoruichi still found it a bit weird to see the calm side of Kurosaki Ichigo, as she did this morning; to not see his face contorted with some extreme of an emotion. He was almost cute, in a shiny new novelty toy sort of way.

Unfortunately for him, she didn't intend to stay in this form for the entire stay of her charade. The transformation was quite a strain on her reiatsu over a long period of time and she needed rest periods between each long stint. Plus, she mentally added, the look on his face the first time she showed him her true form was priceless. She found herself enjoying her teasing of the naive highschooler. It'd be worth it to do it again.

Silently she lept of the bed, padding lightly onto the carpet. With a quick poof, she felt the familiar realignment of bone and muscle, her original form. She sometimes felt like a stranger in her own body with the amount of time she spent in her cat body, so the effect was a bit disconcerting. Shrugging it off, she opened Ichigo's one dresser, since she didn't think Rukia would appreciate her poking around the closet for something to wear.

She found the dresser surprisingly neat and organized, and it took no time at all to find an oversized T-shirt to wear and a pair of boxers. Yoruichi always was a bit of a tomboy anyway, so the clothing came as no drastic change. She had to give the kid credit in one thing, he had a good taste in clothing.

Right as she pulled the shirt over her head, she felt a flare of power and a bonechilling scream that echoed to very core of her being. It was a familiar feeling. Her yellow eyes flashed briefly in warning before she disappeared from the room, the whipping of the curtains from the open window the only farewell as she sped toward the appearing hollow.