Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just a fucking nerd trying to calm my nerves during this trash fire of a decade. So, y'know, don't sue me. I don't have any money, and I'm already dead inside.

We're Meant For This

Note: Set six months post-TYBW, before "Change Is In Everything."


Today it rains, and the newly promoted lieutenant silently bemoans his status.

It has little to do with the workload that comes with the position. He's been managing that for years with tremendous success. The war itself, however, has done much to instill within Akon a sense of dread and apprehension that, as the fresh lieutenant of an entire division, he may well be drawn into a fight he can't navigate his way out of.

Akon is not a practiced fighter. He is a researcher, gifted enough to speak the language of numbers and abstract concepts as opposed to that of the sword. But as a member of the divisions, he has been through the mandatory training – academics and practical applications alike – but the true nature of one's zanpakuto is still very much a mystery to him.

Mayuri is obviously the last person he can approach with questions, and Akon can already hear the man's derisive tone as the captain chastises him over interrupting his work with something so unimportant.

"Why would you ever think to ask me such a thing?"

He smirks wryly at the thought. Best not to go there at all.

The lieutenant's eyes dart back to the wall of screens, widening slightly as the machines hone in on a lone figure crouched against the outer wall, dripping wet from the onslaught of rain. The unusual visitor is one Lieutenant Ikkaku Madarame, who has made it well known in the past just how little he cares for and trusts a division full of, in his exact words, "scalpel crazy fuckers."

Really, it's not an unfair assessment, though it does beg the question as to what prompted this visit.

There's a heavy breath as he slumps back into his chair, knowing that the captain will not be pleased if word reaches him of the Eleventh's members lingering on the grounds. But the captain, he recalls, remains in recovery with explicit instruction not to disturb him with anything unnecessary. This, to Akon, qualifies as unnecessary, and thus it is to be handled at his discretion.

Akon moves, winding his way through hallways and corridors of stairs until he rises to ground level, doors hissing open just enough to grant passage at his approach. As the chilled air assails his senses, he curses himself for not thinking to fetch an umbrella, instead spreading his lab coat above his head to block out some of the downpour.

"Hey!" He crosses the courtyard to the gate, scowling as rainwater trickles down his back. Great. "You gonna sit there all day, or did you want to come inside and dry off?"

Narrowed eyes glance up at him through sheets of rain, and Akon knows just how ridiculous the offer must sound to this man. He loathes the Twelfth and their methods above all else, so what must he think now that the lieutenant of a band of cruel misfits has invited him into hell?

A smirk, and the tattooed man stands, dashing for the doors with an eagerness Akon had not anticipated. He stumbles behind, securing the doors with the push of a button once the pair of them are safely inside.

"Uh, thanks," Ikkaku mutters, looking a bit more perturbed at the realization that, yes, the Twelfth does shunt the majority of their electricity downstairs to the labs, making the rest of the place look rather gloomy by comparison. "I think..."

In the dim light, Akon rolls his eyes. Poor man probably expects to be drugged and dissected now. He really does wish that the captain would stop threatening people with such things.

"Commons are this way," Akon says absently, and begins navigating the halls with Ikkaku very close behind.

Uncomfortable silence lapses between them, a pair of towels fetched off a rack in passing as one lieutenant leads the other to yet another dimly lit room, littered with cushions and a few poorly-spaced tea tables.

The uncertainty in Ikkaku's usually collected appearance is noted as he takes a seat with his back to one of the walls. He's got his head on a swivel, probably expecting to be jumped and gagged at any time.

Goddammit, Mayuri.

"Any particular reason you're hanging around the Twelfth in a storm like this?" Akon quirks a brow. "I can't imagine there's too much that interests you around here."

Damn, he thinks, and bites back a grimace. Just then, he sounded far too much like the captain for his own liking.

"Not really..." Ikkaku hesitates – Akon doubts anyone has ever truly seen this man hesitate – and overcorrects to save face. "Nah, I mean, I was... I jus' wanted to know how, uh..."

The researcher smirks a bit, knowing damn well that the next words to leave Ikkaku's mouth are ones the man never expected to speak. Not even in his most outlandish dreams. Not even if he were drugged.

Leaning back on his elbows, Akon sighs, wishing he'd thought to grab a cigarette or two to calm his nerves before venturing into this mess of a conversation. Whatever. They'd have just gotten wet anyway.

"He's fine," comes the reply, matter-of-fact as he stares up at the ceiling. "That's the one thing you can always count on: Whatever shit the captain gets himself into, he comes out of it well enough."

He needn't look to know that the other man nods, gaze averted in obvious embarrassment. It's pointless to press Ikkaku with questions, for he already knows the answers. He knows about the monstrous Quincy that tried – and failed – to kill their captains, that strength alone had been useless during the match. That his captain – long regarded and proven an incorrigible, morally bankrupt bastard – had bothered to preserve the life of Kenpachi Zaraki, a man whom he hated above all else. That Nemu had...

That's right. Nemu had openly defied him, perhaps undone years of work with her death. It would be stupid to think that Mayuri wasn't the least bit bothered by that. Even more so by the idea that someone might have figured out he had developed any real feelings about it.

"Don't overcomplicate things," Akon sighs. It's a reflex, one acquired from years of experience working with a man possessed. "And don't mention it to anyone. Those who need to know already do, Ikkaku. Let the rest think what they will."

"What about you?" Ikkaku seems to have regained his composure, eyeing the fledgling lieutenant with open suspicion. "You gotta be complicatin' a thing 'r two. Heh. Yer the man in charge. For now, anyway, right?"

Yes, he is, and that fact scares him. Akon is prized in the division as a researcher, a trusted confidant, a sounding board, but he fears the gap between himself and his predecessor will inevitably prove too great. Akon functions best behind the scenes, not in the heat of battle. He can't be expected to–

"Look, 'f it means anythin', 'm sure you an' yer captain'll figure somethin' out." Ikkaku grins knowingly. "Ya know, since... he's such a schemin' bastard 'n all."

He doesn't mean to, but Akon snorts at that, and loudly.

"How fares Kenpachi?" he says, quick to turn the tables, and pleased that it shows so readily. "Still giving you lot a run for your money, hm?"

The walls rumble as thunder echoes above their heads, causing the already dim lights to flicker repeatedly. Ikkaku seems to be lost in thought for the moment, less nervous than he had been initially, and Akon finds some relief in that. He swipes the back of a hand across his mouth, pulls knees to his chest and delivers a halfhearted sigh and a shrug.

"Well enough. Got 'is mobility back and all. Just..." A pause, eyes meeting Akon's for a long moment, a hesitation lingering therein. The paranoia seems to have returned, bound itself about his tongue. The silence lasts but a few beats more before Ikkaku again finds his courage. "He's not exactly happy Captain Kurotsuchi had to save 'is ass."

The act of slapping a hand over his own mouth is not only unbecoming of someone in Akon's position, but incredibly rude in the face of company. He snorts, a last-ditch attempt at stifling a laugh. With his eyes clamped shut and downturned toward the floor, he can still feel the other man watching him, the stark shock on his face at this uncharacteristic display.

"Uh... what'd I say?"

"N-Nothing," he chokes, a chuckle hanging fast to the end despite his best efforts. Akon finds himself smiling and shakes his head. "It's... Mayuri wasn't terribly pleased that he had to be bothered with Zaraki in the first place. It's all he bitched about for days."

As the pair of them lock eyes again, they each double over with laughter loud enough to challenge the intermittent roars of thunder from the storm. The irony that two men who so deeply loathe one another are so incredibly alike has not escaped their subordinates, and has at long last erupted into a fit of side-splitting laughter that their lieutenants can no longer contain.

The cracking of electricity can be heard plain as day, a brief precursor to the end of flickering bulbs and the start of complete darkness. Akon, wiping tears away, breathes deeply as the humor of the moment dies with the dull sound of Ikakku's head falling back against the wall.

"What the hell... are we gonna do with those two, Ikkaku?"