Oh man, what a week.

I broke my ankle on Saturday, and just had surgery on it yesterday- hence the late update.

I am on an imense amount of pain killers at the moment so please forgive any bad grammar or things of that nature!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.

Lets jump right in-

It was a long walk back to the High Courts. Through gate after gate I walked, pretending with all my might that I did not ache in my very bones. Head high, shoulders back, and even though I had not even one weapon on me, it was clear in my face and long stride that I was not to be approached.

I had debated when leaving the warehouse if I should head to the wall, thinking maybe the cool night air would be enough to clear away the last of my foggy thoughts. Yet, when the moment came, I found myself wanted nothing more than to be home, in the warm light of my bedroom, left alone to sleep the remainder of the night away.

I had never really thought of the High Courts as a home. It was where I lived, and slept, but very much different than a normal home. An average house was filled with laughter instead of silence. Where your father sleeping right down the hall would be a small comfort instead of a lingering torment.

But even with all those things considered, I was still all too eager to walk into the cold castle made of marble. To be among everything I've known my entire life.

I felt secure within the dark halls and I found myself relaxing with every echoed step. Even with all the pain and sorrow I'd experienced in this place, I felt an unmeasurable amount of relief.

And when I entered my room, it felt as if there was a thousand pounds of weight on my shoulders. My body completely exhausted; So tired in fact that the moment the door closed I could only stand before it, shoulders slumped.

I took three deep clearing breaths.

Clark knew of the rebellion, but if he knew how deep the betrayal went was yet to be known. And that did not sit right inside my chest.

Sighing deeply, I took one fateful step, ready for this worthless day to be over at last. A crunch of paper beneath my boot caused me to pause, and I lifted my foot slightly as I investigated. A folded piece of bright white parchment laid in bright contrast to my dark floors. Completely clean despite the print from my muddy boot.

I plucked it from the ground, brushing off the thicker flecks of dirt. Unfolding it, I wondered to the blazing fire still lit in the fireplace, and struggled to read what was written in a clumsy male script:

You are a bolder

Beneath a setting sun

Uncurl your fists

And let the hate be undone

A fire can destroy

Everything in its wake

Yet your flames,

I sense are fake

You burn, you bleed, you quake

Look at me and tell me I'm wrong

But I'll only accept it,

If it's written in song

I stared blankly at the poem, beautiful in words, yet written in such an ugly script. And as I was so focused on the page, I noticed, very faintly, more scribbles on the back, bleeding through in backwards sentences.

Don't worry, Princess, I only slipped it under your door.

I'm not very good with words or apologies, and

I spent my time without your sparkling presence

working on this small step to repair our broken trust.

I look forward to your reply.

Yours, most enthusiastically,

Ichigo

Dumbfounded was the best way to describe the blank emotion running through me. And also a little shocked by the amount of confidence Ichigo must possess. Every move he made was the exact opposite of what I expected. I did not like that I couldn't predict his movements.

I held the note out, fully intending to drop it into the harsh flames below, but something, unknown to me in that moment, made me hesitate. I stood there, hand growing increasingly hotter above the fire, staring at a small piece of paper, for what could have been as long as twenty minutes or as short as thirty seconds.

But in that time frame a thousand and one thoughts entered my mind. I thought of why Ichigo had left such a note here. I thought of when he'd had the time to come here without me. And I thought of all the possible ways to make him regret what he'd done to me.

I had let my guard down, for the first time in many years. I had began to trust a person, began to enjoy the carefree feeling in my chest whenever he was near, and now that was a feeling that had been ripped out. Stomped on and thrown away.

I allowed that emotion to over power all the others, as I dropped the poem in the flames, watching as the ink dissolved into nothing but smoking ash.

I slept through the night, and through breakfast.

I stayed in bed even after I woke up, to two new young maids bursting into the room. They had not noticed me, lying beneath mountains of blankets and sheets until they threw open the thick curtains, allowing the sunlight to stream in. I may have hissed at the brightness, and popped my head out from my cave of darkness.

They stammered out apologies, running out of the room before I could even utter a word.

And once they were gone, I found myself without the strength to emerge from my cocoon of safety and warmth. I did not care if I kept Clark waiting in the dining hall. I did not care if Ryley was waiting outside my door. I laid in my bed, and decided today would not be lived for them.

I curled myself around my fluffiest pillow and kept my eyes closed for hours and hours. It was magical.

And it wasn't until late afternoon, when it was time for the evening training, did I slip out of my bed chambers. Fully dressed, no longer exhausted, and ready to fight. In fact, there was an astounding excitement with every step I took towards the Center. Sometimes the only way to make yourself feel better is to make someone else feel worse. And training with the recruits, hitting them until they bled… I wasn't proud of how much I longed for it.

I'd grown up in a world of blood and broken bones, and like everything else, I was comforted by its familiarness. It was not right, but it was true.

Some fights had already begun before I arrived in the training quarters. It looked like the men had been there for hours already, though I thought I had arrived right on time. Hisagi and Juanca were both on the ground, bruises marking up their exposed flesh, and Hisagi's nose dripped with crimson. I looked on as I descended the stairs, feeling a swell of pride as he threw himself onto his friend, fist striking hard and true.

I came up behind Sam, who was, shockingly, still wearing his own shirt, crossing my arms as I stepped up onto his right.

"Sleep well?" He jabbed. "The children missed you this morning."

"Oh yeah?"

"No, not at all."

I elbowed him in the gut before working my hair up, securing it back. "You want to scrap?"

He laughed, shaking his head, "Sorry, Hime. My knee is acting up again."

I nodded in understanding. I was no stranger to war time aches and pains that follow you long after. Much like my left shoulder- which had been broken in my trials- Sam's right knee had been twisted, every ligament torn to shreds, and ever since there were days where he could barely walk, let alone fight. It wasn't often, mostly on cold mornings or rainy days- both extremely rare in the desert.

I surveyed all my other likely opponents, most were already in the middle of sparing, and the few that weren't, were either tending to their scrapes and bruises, or looked too inexperienced to make it any fun for me. And then I saw the recruit I'd chosen to accompany us to the merchant's home weeks ago.

Then, I'd been so preoccupied with everything else, that I had not bothered to observe him too closely, and so I took him in from across the room. He was large, tall and broad, yet slightly pudgy around the stomach. His hair was a light blond, with small streaks of red that gleamed. His size would be enough of a challenge. Like most of my opponents, he was much bigger than I, and had long arms and legs, his reach would be my biggest challenge.

If Sam could not fight today, he would have to do.

I made my way over to him, watching the others, stopping a few times to perfect some stances. And when I was before him, he bowed his head just slightly in respect.

"I don't believe I ever got your name?" Probably because I never asked for it.

"Thomas Lowell."

I looked him up and down. "Well, Thomas, I seem to find myself without a sparring partner." Thomas looked a little nervous, but then seemed to think better of the opportunity and shrugged a shoulder.

Our fight began quickly. Men of Thomas' height and build usually have the habit of charging in first. No plan, or strategy, believing their size was all they could possibly need. But I'd never had the luxury of going in fists first, surely not if I wanted to leave the match alive.

For I do not fight with my body, I fight with my mind.

And in that regard, I am always better equipt.

Thomas used his first move, by trying to make it his last. His big fat fist aimed right towards my temple. I shifted back, and felt the gust of wind at my cheek as his hit passed. I locked away the knowledge that he was left handed, same as I was once, before my shattered shoulder caused me to switch dominate arms.

And with that knowledge, the foundation of my counter attack was formed.

I was told once that left handed people are natures fighters, their stances very different then their right handed counterparts. And I watched as Thomas regained his stance, and it was strong; sure.

I smiled. I would have some fun with him.

The next time he charged, he attempted to throw his whole weight at my chest, to get me on the ground. I threw myself to the left, sweeping out my leg quickly to take out his legs. My tibia bone connecting powerfully with his ankles, caused quite a crack.

Though it was the sound of his nose, breaking against stone, that seemed the most painful.

I looked down on him as he shoved himself up, blood spewing from his nose, his eyes already swelling. And when he re-stanced, it was not as steady as it should be.

"Root your feet," I instructed. "Lower your elbow, your liver is exposed to me."

Thomas took my guidance easily, fixing more attention on everything I remarked on. And in doing so, showed me a great amount of trust and respect.

And so the next time he swung at me, I allowed the blow to connect. It snapped my head back, but did not send my head spinning. "You throw a lot of your weight into your punches, boy. But it matters not, if you don't hit me where it counts." I brought my own fist up, slowly so he knew it was not in violence. Pressing my knuckles between the edge of his chin, keeping them stiff against his ridge-line. "When striking the face, if the temple can not be accessed, keep your aim on the jaw." I glanced at his gushing nose, "The nose is a sure fire way to piss them off, but the jaw has all the pressure points needed to inflict the most damage. You can easily knock them out with enough force applied here," I pressed deeper. "But this can also be lethal, so avoid it with your comrades."

Once I gave him all the education I felt he most needed, we continued on. And this time, I did not hold myself back.

Thomas Lowell had good form, and plenty of spirit, but he was no match for the amount of training and viciousness I'd been taught since I was very young.

He limped away, with the help of one of his friends. His right knee most likely bruised, possibly twisted, struggled with his weight. It had been a clean blow, honorable, but still I felt a tiny amount of guilt as he stumbled away with labored breath.

And even though he lost, he had put up enough of a fight for me to have sweat dripping down my brow, my hair no longer tamed.

The next man to step up did not fair so well.

Nor the next.

I was growing bored with just being an instructor, a teacher. And I was looking for Sam, to see if maybe now, after the few hours that had now passed, he felt well enough for just one small little fight to the blood. But it was not him I found, making his way towards me.

Ichigo, looking fresh and excited, walked right up to me, a smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.

"You up for another round, Princess?"

His face, right before I blacked out last night, snapped in front of my eyes, and a wolf like grin swept over my lips and I growled, "If there is ever a time I say no to that question, Soldier Boy, then you should be prepared to see me drop dead from exhaustion."

Ichigo returned my beastly smile, with a smirk of his own.

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I hope you all enjoyed,

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Till next time-