The sound of a door swinging open interrupted the flow of conversation around the table, announcing the arrival of the long-awaited dinner. Rukia felt herself take in a breath of relief as two waitresses in white uniforms strolled in pushing one cart stacked with plates of food each. The two girls, who looked to be fresh in their teen years, set about delivering each plate wordlessly, setting each order before its rightful recipient without flaw.

One of the girls, who wore her dark hair in pigtails that somehow did not match the deep set of her eyebrows, placed Rukia's parmesan chicken in front of her, then did the same for Mr. Aizen. Unlike the rest of the table's occupants, the brown-haired man did not ignore the waitress, and he turned to her with an ever-charming smile.

"Thank you, my dear Menoly." he spoke in a suave voice, his eyes meeting the girl's but betraying no real emotion.

The girl nodded and took a hasty step back; Rukia wondered if she had imagined the way it seemed like the girl had actually jumped away from Mr. Aizen's unnerving gaze.

"My pleasure, Mr. Aizen." The girl -Menoly- replied a bit too tightly, but if she was feeling any uneasiness, she hid it well under a serious mask.

Nothing else was said as the two waitresses made their retreat, disappearing through the same door they had come through as if they had never been there. Fleetingly, Rukia felt a flicker of envy for them.

"Everything looks perfect." Mr. Aizen's voice called her back from her thoughts.

Rukia nodded without enthusiasm, going for her silverware despite her utter lack of appetite. She reminded herself that, appetite or not, it was better for her and everyone to be too engaged in eating to be able to carry any conversation longer than two or three words. With that in mind, she dug in.

It seemed the food was not enough to keep everyone quiet.

"Excellent." Mr. Aizen remarked as he took a single bite with a show of finesse that she couldn't tell whether it was meant to impress or somehow intimidate. "Tonight's chef must be congratulated." There were some grunts of what she assumed to be general agreement from the others, but no one else seemed too eager to make further comment. Mr. Aizen was, however, a very persistent man, if nothing else. "Rukia," he turned his attention towards her yet again, and she had to resist the impulse to groan audibly. "Would you not say so as well?"

Gulping down a bite with a bit more effort than necessary, Rukia assented. "It's very good."

"Indeed." He nodded, clearly pleased. "But this meal is not the work of a single chef, you know. A kitchen needs many in order to function properly, and manage such satisfactory work."

Rukia's hands slowed in the middle of the process of slicing a peace of tender white meat as she listened, his words beginning to edge into something recently familiar.

"Even if one of the waitresses who brings us our food were to disregard her duties," he continued. "Our enjoyment of this dinner would be sullied. You understand what this all leads back to, don't you?"

"Ah, the principle of the working clock."

She had started to open her mouth to answer, but one of the men sitting near the opposite end of the table beat her to it. It was another of the group who stood out for his rather conspicuous hair color; in contrast to Grimmjow's electric blue, however, this man had bubblegum pink hair that contrasted with his nearly yellow eyes. He was, Rukia decided, probably the strangest in this group of oddities.

"Quite an appropriate metaphor, if I may say so, Sir." The man continued, smiling with almost sly enjoyment as he seemingly mused over Mr. Aizen's words.

Mr. Aizen did not look quite as pleased at his contribution, but the flash of irritation was hurriedly buried as he returned his gaze to Rukia. "Tell me, Rukia. Do you see how a single person can affect an entire body of people?"

Her hand tightened involuntarily around her fork. She hesitated for a moment before finally looking up to meet Mr. Aizen's eyes directly. "Forgive me, Sir." She spoke in a clipped voice, no longer trying to lace any semblance of politeness into her tone despite her careful words. "I don't see why you must insist on this so persistently."

The way the corner of his mouth curled upwards just a fraction could have been enough to send a shiver down her spine, but now it did not affect her. She countered his smile with hard eyes and sheer refusal to allow him any more power over her.

"You are a smart woman, Rukia." he said, gleaming eyes not once leaving hers. "You are correct in dismissing my riddles, we should be above such things. I do have a reason for speaking to you of this so, persistently, as you said."

She felt her shoulders tense with the turn the conversation was quickly taking. When his next words came out, she felt as if a cold hand had gripped her heart, but she was not surprised in the least.

"How much do you truly know about Ichigo Kurosaki?"

-x-

Ichigo bounded up the stairs to Rukia's apartment two at a time, not pausing to catch his breath even as he cleared the three floors in record time. He all but slammed his body against the exit door and he was bolting down the hallway before it had so much as managed to swing shut.

It felt good to be able to run. He had spent too long in that plane, too long inside the cab afterwards, helpless to the slowness of it all. It had seemed to him that the yellow car was going in slow motion as it moved with the traffic, and he was sure that if not because he had thrown at least three quarters of the contents of his wallet at the driver halfway there, he would have been kicked out onto the road long before he ever made it to his destination. The moment he had exited the cab had felt like being released from chains, and he had sprinted away without even knowing if he took a second to throw the car door shut behind him. He hadn't cared enough to look back and notice. All he knew was that he had to move, and so, he did.

When he reached the door with the '342' on it, he pounded on it so harshly that, had the person that lived inside been there next to him, she would have scolded him and probably hit him for practically blowing it off its hinges.

No such scolding came, however. And with the silence that seemed frighteningly empty on the other side of the wooden door, Ichigo felt a weight drop into his stomach.

He did not stop to let it take its toll though, and without another spared thought, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shortly after produced his greatly emptied wallet, and from it, the flat little rectangle that had gotten him out of countless situations before. Wasting no time to reminisce, he bent over and set to work sliding the credit card into the slight crack between door and frame and employed some of his less noble skills. Maybe a minute later, he heard the satisfying click and allowed himself a quick grin as the door creaked open to Rukia's modest apartment.

The grin dropped from his face as fast as it had come though, as his eyes roamed over the place. It didn't look much different from the last time he had been there: small, almost bare of decoration, clean but almost sterile. At first glance, it didn't look like Rukia at all. But now, he could see her; in the carelessly thrown blanket on the couch where she would sit and watch television late at night, and in the magazine left open on the coffee table to a dog-eared page displaying a series of that rabbit cartoon's merchandise, even in the couch cushions that were tilted just so for her to recline back with the maximum level of comfort by her standards…

But for every place he saw her in, the sense of foreboding emptiness only grew within him. He scanned the area, going over to her room, having retained a glimmer of hope that perhaps she had gone to bed already and was out like a light; only to have that hope extinguished like a flame when he walked in and found her bed perfectly made, clearly not slept in tonight. He slumped against the wall, running his hands through his hair as he tried to quiet down the racing thoughts that threatened to quickly overwhelm him.

Taking deep, steadying breaths, he let his eyes inspect his surroundings. He paused at the sight of the open closet, where the hangers had been pushed to the side as if to search for something. Straightening, he looked around the rest of the room and found that her jewelry box had been left open on the dresser, and there was a hanger left on the floor.

She left, he gathered rapidly. Wherever she was, he realized with reassurance, she had gone of her own volition -if he was correct in reading the signs around the room that he was almost sure meant she had been getting ready for something-. But where could she have gone?

He thought of all the restaurants they frequented, the stores she liked to visit -did she have anything she had needed to buy recently?-, or perhaps she was visiting someone -was it any of their friends' birthdays? He was always so bad at remembering…-.

The question frenzy in his mind was brought to a halt by the sound of a phone ringing, piercing in the silence of the apartment. He didn't hesitate to rush out of the room and bound across the living room where the home telephone was ringing with consistent urgency. Ichigo all but yanked it out of the receiver and pressed it against his ear with his eyes going wild with eagerness.

"Rukia!" He yelled before he could allow logic to remind him that it was pretty unlikely that she would be calling her own home.

There was a beat of ominous silence on the other end before a deep voice asked commandingly, "Who is this?"

Ichigo blanched. That voice, that tone that was so bitingly cold that it felt like dry ice… He had heard that before. He could never forget it.

"B-Byakuya?"

The man on the line made a sound that was something like a grunt, that he took as confirmation, before repeating, more sharply this time, "Who is this?"

It took Ichigo a moment to gather his wits and form the appropriate response. "It's Ichigo Kurosaki. We've met before." His tone of voice was tight, though he kept it up to the proper level that he was sure would most likely irritate the other man faster.

"Of course." Byakuya said. "I remember you." The way he all but spat that out made it quite clear that he wasn't what the rich man considered a pleasant memory.

Ichigo scoffed. "Look, I don't have time for your show of noble pride, or whatever," he dropped the semblance of propriety. "I have other matters to take care of, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Kurosaki," Byakuya's voice cut him off like shards of ice. "I will look over your unsolicited presence in my sister's apartment for the time being, if you would allow me to speak with her immediately."

Ichigo's voice was stiff as he replied to that. "She's not here."

There was another beat of silence, this one feeling eerily still- like it was just barely covering a brewing storm beneath the surface. "I see. Would I be correct in assuming that you know of her whereabouts?"

His fist clenched almost painfully at his side. "No."

He waited for a response for a long time; he had started to wonder if Byakuya had hung up at some point, when the man's controlled voice spoke again through a slight cackle of static.

"Stay where you are, Kurosaki."

"What?" Ichigo sputtered, a flurry of refusal on his tongue instantly and nearly spilling out before Byakuya went on with disturbing calm.

"You will do as I say." He said in a way that left no room for discussion whatsoever, with the practice that could only come from years and years of having hordes of others ready to obey your every whim.

Ichigo was not so easily commanded. But he had barely managed to open his mouth to voice this, when Byakuya's next words made him shut up for once.

"I will find out where Rukia is."

He was left blinking dumbly as the line went dead without another word.

-x-

Mr. Aizen sat perfectly still, not so much as an eyebrow twitching as he waited for her to answer.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean." she replied, keeping her voice calm.

Mr. Aizen tilted his head, eyes glinting bemusedly. "Is that so? Come now, Rukia. There is no need to play dumb. How much do you truly know about this man?"

Sensing a push behind his words that would not allow for more evasiveness, she finally settled for shrugging. "I know all I need to know."

Mr. Aizen did laugh this time, and he was joined by some of the more boisterous members of the party.

"Ain't that sweet?" Grimmjow remarked, grinning as he eyed her again. Mr. Aizen shot him a silencing look, and all laughter seized as people returned to their meals.

Rukia's dinner was left to get cold. Her eyes remained locked to Mr. Aizen's, unwilling to back away.

"What a shame, that someone like you would be so easily swayed by a man." Mr. Aizen said in what sounded like mock regret. "Have you truly never been curious about him? Did he ever tell you about his past, Rukia?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she stayed quiet.

"I see." Mr. Aizen nodded to himself, as if confirming something. "I suppose he has told you some things that would, perhaps, reflect badly on others, such as myself. It's understandable that you would be suspicious of me. You have been left with little choice in the matter. Am I correct?" he looked at her, his expression fixed into that calm, almost kind façade that she was all too used to seeing on him. "But tell me, Rukia. Has he ever spoken to you of his own past deeds? Or has he mislead you to believe in the whole goodness of his person?"

Rukia's eyebrows knitted closer together, perspiration beginning to form on her forehead as her thoughts whirled together, trying to read the course that the man before her was trying to take her on. Despite his questions, she was not allowed a chance to reply before he continued in the same, deceivingly easy demeanor.

"Mr. Kurosaki had joined the police academy before entering the world of journalism, did he ever share that with you?" Mr. Aizen looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"He did, in fact." She answered with a small trace of smugness in her voice, that she was sure Mr. Aizen detected by the way both of his eyebrows went up now.

"But he never told you why he left." He said knowingly, and she cursed the fact that she could say nothing to prove him wrong there. "We only share that about ourselves which serves to craft the reality that we want others to see of us."

"I don't see your point." she said flatly.

"Ichigo Kurosaki has done things that would go against the idea that you have constructed for yourself of him." He explained with exceeding serenity. "People were hurt because of him, and that is something he is only running away from with this meaningless goose chase he has set himself on, careless of those he drags down with him."

That made Rukia snap. "That's absurd!" She declared, forgetting her place, and the current situation. Whatever her rational mind was telling her was drowned out by the anger boiling her veins at the implications that Mr. Aizen was making. "Ichigo would never-!"

"What makes you so sure?" The man cut her off smoothly, unperturbed by her outburst. "Admiration, Rukia, is the furthest thing from understanding."

-x-

Ichigo paced inside of Rukia's apartment so furtively that he was sure he would be leaving tracks beneath his feet soon enough. It was a wonder he hadn't already fallen through to the floor bellow.

For the past half hour, he had been using every last bit of battery left in his phone to call every living soul that he thought might know of Rukia's whereabouts. Rangiku, Orihime, Kaien… Hell, he even called that white-haired shrimp and his gossip-central girlfriend. Not one damn person had the slightest idea of where she was, other than some very unhelpful (and irritatingly recurring) "Did you check in her apartment?"

Equal parts frustration and desperation had eventually driven him to where he never would have gone under any other circumstance, and he called Urahara. Which, of course, led to absolutely nowhere more productive than each of his previous calls.

He was just on the verge of simply grabbing his coat and taking off to search every last damn corner of Karakura town himself, when the landline rang in the living room for the second time since he had arrived. It didn't get to ring twice before he answered with a far-from-polite "You better have some very good news for me or so help me God..."

A long, heavy pause went by before, "I believe I have news, though whether they are good or not is undecided. But speak to me again in such a manner, and I can promise you that you will be needing divine assistance."

A bolt of irrational terror at that voice, then deep annoyance mixed with defiance at the threat, and finally a blossoming flower of hope as the entirety of the other man's words settled in all flashed through Ichigo in the miraculously short amount of time it took him to reply. "What is it?"

"Come down."

His eyebrows furrowed, his neck twisting to look around him in senseless confusion. "What are-?"

"I said to come down," the voice interrupted coolly. "I will not repeat myself again."

Choosing not to question the mildly frightening voice again, Ichigo did something he rarely ever did: swallowed back his pride and ego and did as he was told. Two minutes later he stood on the sidewalk right in front of Rukia's apartment complex, and he only had to look around for a moment before the proverbial sore thumb stuck out to him.

A long, sleek black limousine was parked in the middle of the otherwise modest street -very illegally so, but then again, who would question the person able to afford transportation like that?-. He walked up to the vehicle and stared at his reflection on the dark tinted window for a second before it mechanically rolled down and revealed the much more disconcerting face of Byakuya Kuchiki.

"Get in."

The simple command left the pristine man's lips as effortless as they were irrefutable. Any other time, Ichigo's immediate, knee-jerk reaction would have been to scoff and snap at the man who dared speak down to him like that, but circumstances called for an adjustment of attitude. It wasn't without great -Herculean, in his opinion- effort that he managed to take in one deep, deep breath and, without a word, made his way around to the other side of the ridiculously out of place car and let himself in.

Ichigo remembered that only a few hours ago he had experienced what he had then believed to be the most torturous minutes of his life in the cruelly confined space of a backseat with Gin Ichimaru. Now, despite the considerably larger spaces of a limousine as opposed to a cab, he fancied himself wrong on that original impression.

Because, without a shred of a doubt, sharing a backseat with Byakuya was truly the most cruel and unusual punishment a man could ever experience.

"Hn." The silence was first broken, shockingly, by Byakuya's grunt. "Truly, what manners. Has no one taught you to greet people upon entering their property?"

Ichigo, who already sat as tense as a statue on the leather seat, grit his teeth against the sharp reply that was at his tongue in an instant. Instead, he settled for a much less obscene, greatly courteous -given everything-, "You didn't ask me here to reprimand my poor manners, did you?"

Eyes as gray and hard as steel flickered on to him; there seemed to be a retort built up in those scalding irises as well, but the older man managed to retain his own composure. "I did not."

Ichigo's annoyance grew minimally at noticing how refined and dignified Byakuya Kuchiki had managed to sound despite his obvious distaste, as opposed to himself, who had just barely managed to keep a reign on his quickly growing temper.

"Where are we going?" Ichigo asked just as the vehicle began moving without his consent. Daring another glance at the dark-haired man beside him, he suddenly wondered if perhaps he was driving him to a secluded area where no one would hear him scream.

"To get Rukia." Byakuya's simplistic answer cut off his morbid train of thought and snapped him into attention like flipping a switch. "I was under the impression that you were interested in her whereabouts, am I wrong?"

No longer caring about the man's mightier-than-thou attitude, Ichigo now fought to restrain himself from jumping out of his seat as he whirled on Byakuya. "Where is she? Did you talk to her? Is she-?"

"I would appreciate it," Byakuya interrupted with another chilling gaze. "-if you allowed me to finish explaining before speaking."

Though the urge to kick that superior attitude right off his face made Ichigo's fingers twitch, he managed to stay completely silent this time as he nodded for him to go on.

"I have been informed that Rukia is attending a dinner tonight with one Sosuke Aizen, chief editor of Seretei Daily." Byakuya's words made quick work of confirming the fear that had been bubbling up inside him but that he had managed to hold at bay ever since his conversation with Ichimaru. He kept his reactions firmly under control though, and listened on. "It seems the man picked her up at her apartment earlier tonight and, if my source is correct, they are already at the Hogyoku restaurant."

After a pause that assured him he was free to speak again, Ichigo jumped to the question at the forefront of his mind. "How far is it?"

Byakuya's steel gray eyes searched his own, unrelenting gaze for a moment, though Ichigo couldn't tell what he was searching for, if anything. When he looked away, he thought he had seen something like approval flicker in those implacable orbs. The man spoke in a voice that betrayed no emotion when answering him. "We should be there in twenty minutes."

Knowing that it was no use to demand anything faster than that -and that, by himself, he probably had no better chance either- Ichigo settled into a more comfortable position as he accommodated himself for the ride. Despite the excess room, he felt stifled and restless; he was no longer entirely sure that it was all due to the presence of the businessman with him.

It could have been five or ten minutes of awkward fidgeting later, which felt like at least half an hour to Ichigo, that he couldn't take the silence anymore and asked something else that had popped into his mind along the way. "Who is this source of yours that knows about Rukia?"

Sure enough, Ichigo had reasoned, Byakuya Kuchiki certainly did not lack the connections or the means to get basically anything he ever desired, but as they had rode on, the question had kept prodding him. He had asked the people most likely to know about where Rukia would be, and not one of them knew. Who else could Byakuya possibly have found?

"Kaname Tosen." He answered without turning to Ichigo, whose jaw fell at the name. "I believe you have met him already."

"How did-" Ichigo's brow furrowed deeper. "That's impossible! We went to talk to him and he wouldn't say a thing!"

At this, Byakuya did turn to look at him, raising one perfectly trimmed black eyebrow. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Kurosaki. But you are an amateur when it comes to handling a situation such as this. It all comes down to the art of good negotiation."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at him with a note of accusation. "You bribed him?"

Byakuya looked away, unruffled. "As I said, it is mere negotiations. All in good business." He pulled on his tie as he spoke, as if fixing it despite the already spotless condition of his entire outfit, and if Ichigo didn't know any better, he'd have said he saw the corner of the man's mouth twitch ever so slightly.

The orange-haired man did not fall silent with that. Folding his arms over his chest, he asked, "And how do you know we can trust what this guy says? Last time I checked, he was still Aizen's loyal puppy dog."

Gray eyes flashed with barely subdued annoyance. "Rest assured, that my methods of investigation are nothing but thorough."

"How do you figure that?"

"Would you like to test their effectiveness yourself?" Byakuya looked at him with the challenge shining in his eyes. "I would be nothing but happy to arrange it."

Ichigo fell quiet with that, but not before twisting his face into a hard scowl and sliding down his seat like a petulant boy. He didn't say anything for a long time, but finally, almost quietly, he asked, "Why did you tell me?"

Byakuya's face didn't change, and he showed no visible signs of having even heard him. Ichigo was pondering just acting like he hadn't said anything, when the man said, "Despite your uncouth attitude and questionable manners, your concern for Rukia is genuine, is it not?"

"Of course!"

"Then I suppose you are a necessary nuisance."

Ichigo blinked, his mind somewhat fuzzy from Byakuya's roundabout way of explaining away his streak of solidarity. He scoffed, caught between annoyance and gratefulness towards the man. He didn't bother breaking the silence for the rest of the ride.

It was an unspeakable relief when, after what felt like ages, the limousine pulled up on the side of a street into a full stop. Ichigo was already reaching out for the door handle when a sudden thought stopped him.

"Are we parked at the entrance?" He turned to look back at the stoic man.

Byakuya, in turn, gave him a look that said 'Where else would we be?'

Ichigo's hand retreated from its trajectory. "Tell your driver to go down the street." Upon seeing Byakuya's expression already preparedto deny his request, he added, "From the sound of things, wouldn't Aizen be looking to keep this whole dinner as something discreet?" The dark-haired man looked at him expectantly. "I don't think two random people just walking up into the restaurant he's in will go unnoticed. No matter how much you bribe them." He gave the other passenger a pointed look, hoping that he wouldn't have to waste much more time with explanations.

He didn't. Without a word of scorn or a single nod of agreement, Byakuya slipped a slender cell phone out of an inner pocket in his suit and relayed Ichigo's instruction without ado. Ichigo felt himself relax slightly as the car lurched forward once more.

"What do you propose we do?" Byakuya surprised him by asking as they slowly moved away between the scattered cars lining both sides of the street. A few restaurants and stores took up the sidewalks, the latter flaunting their merchandise behind large glass lit up windows. The place looked like one of the less busy streets in town, and during a weeknight, it was close to a ghost town at that hour.

Ichigo, after recovering from the shock of having Byakuya essentially hand over the reigns to him -and of his own will too-, focused on taking in what he could make out of their surroundings through the dark window with closely knitted eyebrows, pensive as he mulled over the question that he had, of course, asked himself before Byakuya ever did.

"I have an idea." Was all he said, glancing over at his unexpected accomplice.

-x-

"Do you know why I'm telling you all this?" Mr. Aizen inquired suddenly.

Rukia blinked in surprise at the question. She didn't get a chance to conjure up an answer though.

"It's because I want your help." He said, and it was certainly not what she was expecting to hear; she couldn't help the slight widening of her eyes. "Ichigo Kurosaki… He is, how shall I put it?" He paused as if to ponder his own question, then settled on, "Misguided. He seeks atonement, but he is merely on a road leading him back to his old mistakes. And it has already led to innocent people getting hurt."

Her mind flashed to that day at the hospital. Ichigo's friend who had been shot; Ichigo's guilt.

"I am only trying to save him and those around him from his own mistakes." Mr. Aizen's voice reached her ears, even as her mind was filled with the images his words had invoked. "I want to prevent more unnecessary harm. I want to help him." His face returned to focus just as his smile broadened. "You care for him, don't you? Don't you wish to help him?"

The question lingered and Rukia felt as if she had been put under a spotlight. The silence that followed it was thick, filled with expectation and anticipation, and her own, too loud heartbeat. It was broken by a short, raspy kind of sound. It registered belatedly as someone's laugh.

Rukia turned away from Mr. Aizen's appraising eyes to look down the table in the direction that the sound had come from, and her gaze landed on a figure that she had paid no mind to up until that point. In the midst of all the loud voices, bright hair colors and overall eerie appearances, the man hunched up on the far corner of the table, three seats down from hers, had gone almost entirely unnoticed. Leaning forward to be able to look past the people between them, she could get a pretty good idea of the man's bulky build, but most of his features were shadowed in the dimmed lighting, and his curved posture only hid his face further from her sight. Even so, a spark of familiarity shot through her when she glimpsed his hard profile, and the chestnut-colored hair brushing against tanned skin… The feeling was almost like that of déjà vu.

She wanted to stare more closely at him until she could place that familiar feeling, but Mr. Aizen clearing his throat returned her attention to her left.

"Rukia." He looked at her with an expression of utmost sincerity, almost profoundly searching for the answer he wanted. "I would be so glad if you could just cooperate. All I need is a simple 'yes'."

She swallowed forcibly. The way he looked at her… The way everyone else pretended to look away, but glanced from the corners of their eyes… The room had gone terribly still at some point in the conversation, and Rukia could recognize it for what it was: the calm before the storm.

Everyone was waiting for her answer. But she knew, with the certainty of the most primal instinct, that her answer would not matter in the end.

Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, a feeling of irrational claustrophobia tightening like a noose around her throat. "I-"

She wasn't sure what she was about to say, but she never got the chance to say it. In that instant, the door leading to the kitchen burst open and one of the waiters clad in white wheeled an empty cart in and started grabbing the emptied plates from the table, unceremoniously piling them unto the cart. Grateful for the temporary reprieve, Rukia switched her attention to the waiter's movements, unspeakably glad for any sort of distraction.

The waiter was a man this time, instead of the two girls from before, but he worked just as silently, if a little more clumsily while he let the plates clatter loudly every time he tossed them on top of each other. She wondered if he too was as young as the girls had been, but his face was mostly hidden by a scarf that, judging by their previous waitresses, was not part of the regular uniform, and he kept his gaze downcast, where she couldn't see his eyes; even his hair was hidden under a tight cap.

When he came around to her side of the table, Mr. Aizen fixed his gaze on the waiter. "I was not finished." He spoke coolly, in a wholly different voice from the one he had used with her just seconds prior, and his brown eyes were narrowed as he looked at the man who had been reaching for his half full plate.

"Sorry." The waiter mumbled almost unintelligibly, the sound warped further by the scarf and the fact that he kept his face lowered as he spoke. He made an awkward gesture that somewhat resembled a bow as he retreated and moved towards Rukia. He muttered something that sounded like "Done?" and started to grab her still mostly full plate.

She moved to slap his hand away reflexively, vexed at the sudden thought of having what would soon be her only remaining form of stalling taken away, when the waiter raised his face at an angle where the light caught his eyes and she could get a proper look at them for the first time.

The words she had been about to say died at her throat and her hand, previously poised to smack him, froze in midair. She would know those eyes the color of dark honey anywhere.

His gaze met hers for a split second, and all she could see was herself reflected in the depths of those painfully familiar irises. Then he broke the contact and went about finishing his task without another word. Rukia didn't even protest when he took away her uneaten dish.

He did not look at her again, but her gaze never left him as he finished rounding up the last of the plates with meticulous slowness. When he was done, she waited with baited breath to see him exit back through the kitchen door.

He was agonizingly slow, and that was why it was possible for her to realize what he was doing just a moment before he did. He moved around the now filled cart and made as if to push the door open with one seemingly casual movement; but his arm, having been brought around in a what appeared to be a careless gesture, in an arc that was just a little too low, never made contact with the surface of the door.

Half the pile of stacked up plates and glasses went tumbling down in a mess of crashing sounds, soon joined by the cusses of some of the more easily startled men in the room.

"My bad." The waiter muttered with a slight shrug, and started to bend in order to clean up the mess. Still in a half squat, the amber light in the room glinted off his eyes as they lifted and found hers. They locked gazes in a moment of what seemed like slow motion, when unspoken understanding flashed between them.

Just as suddenly, her senses burst back into speed as she all but jumped to her feet. "I'll help with that!"

She didn't wait long enough to hear the immediate response that Mr. Aizen would surely give, and moved swiftly to cross the distance to the kneeling waiter, whose cap had shifted ever so slightly by then and allowed just a glimpse of orange hair to peek through. She felt as if she were moving through a tunnel, and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out when she was only a couple of feet away…

But she never made it. A noise of strangled surprise escaped her throat as she felt an iron grip on her arm tug her back so sharply, for a moment she thought her arm would come right out of her socket. She stumbled backwards from the surprise and the force, and fell right into what felt like a wall of stone.

"Where do you think you're going, girlie?" A voice that rumbled from the chest behind her like a mounting earthquake made her twist around to find herself facing the man that had remained partially hidden in shadows throughout the duration of the dinner. His chestnut hair fell around his face and just over his eyes, but she could see him clearly now.

Beady dark eyes, scars running over the length of his prominent cheekbones and marring the brown skin, those thick lips curved into a smile that held no easiness… Of course he was familiar. She had seen that man at least a hundred times before; on television, in newspapers, on ripped up flyers. He was nothing short of famous.

"Rukia," That was Mr. Aizen's voice, but she couldn't see him, or anyone, past the fortress that was her captor. "Pardon me for not having introduced you earlier, but I believe you are familiar with the man they call Grand Fisher."

Ice shot through her veins as the man, Grand Fisher without a doubt, looked down at her with a widening smile, his eyes gleaming like those of a wolf: bright with hunger. A shudder ran through her just as she heard what could only be described as a roar behind her.

She turned just in time to see the waiter lunge himself towards her and Grand Fisher, arms already extending in preparation for a confrontation that never came. In the blink of an eye, Grimmjow and the dark-haired man with large green eyes were behind him, restraining him by the arms. The man struggled for a moment before something silver glinted by his neck. Rukia barely choked back a shout when she saw the knife in the green-eyed man's hand, pressed just under the folds of the scarf.

"Ulquiorra?" The muffled voice came from under the scarf as the waiter stared up at the dark-haired man with wide eyes, his voice portraying something between recognition and awe.

Rukia shoved hard against the hold that Grand Fisher had on her, but instead of loosening, it tightened until she was sure she could feel her skin bruising, and his other arm came around her to press her back against his body and pin her in place. She couldn't move and didn't dare speak as Mr. Aizen stepped into her line of vision, walking just past her and towards the immobilized man, whose eyes, still the only feature clearly visible of his face, now burned holes into the approaching chief editor.

"Ichigo Kurosaki." Mr. Aizen spoke in a clear voice. He stood between her and the man he addressed, his back to her so she couldn't see his expression; but she didn't detect even a small hint of surprise in his tone. "How nice of you to join us. I would be grateful though, if you could behave in a civilized manner for a moment. We're all adults here, after all."

A/N: Another little bit of a cliffie... Bear with me, we're almost done! Oh and as this turned out longer than I expected, this story will reach 23 chapters, which is my favorite number, which means YAY! Umm, please excuse the randomness. Lack of sleep, end of college semester, and the climax of this story are taking their toll xD

To my beloved reviewers: Rukie Martinez, OnepieceX3, FacingLoveEmbracingMelody, Ilyana Irvine, pamianime, mafiea, TruantPony, KurosakiCrystal18, SuperRukia, Cisusi, Luna21VW, KitElizaKing, SamanthaEscalante, Shaybo27, shnizlefritz, chineschopsticks, gahby, Mokimoki-chan, novicestar, and MushroomNatsu- Thank you all very much!

I hope this chapter was to your enjoyment :)