Disclaimer: Still don't, and never will, own it.


In the end, it was the routine that saved Juushirou. He could safely call both Urahara and Shihouin his friends. Close friends, really. All that had happened in the space of a mere five days. Fortunately for him, the tumult gave way to an easy schedule. Several weeks later it was usual for Kiyone to set out tea service at close to seven o'clock in the evening, three cups for three men. And the bottle of sake they consumed without fail every night, talking and laughing until the late hours.

Ukitake Juushirou had become a hub of an intellectual round table. He did not know who advertised it, but it also became normal for others to join in the discussion from time to time. Eventually, every Saturday night was spent at that bar in Rukongai, flanked by Shunsui and Kisuke, discussing anything and everything. Aizen Sousuke had become a regular and often brought subordinates with him. Even the eleventh squad captain, the rarely serious Kurosaki Isshin, turned up more than once. When Yoruichi joined them it never failed to turn into a party. It was almost like being in the Academy again.

Other captains, who used to treat him with awed deference, now were comfortable calling him by his given name and joking with him. Vice-captains and seated officers, whose trust had always been implicit, now gave him their affection as well.

Particularly, he noticed with chagrin, the women. The first and most obvious change was Kiyone. Where there had once been a shy, quiet girl there was suddenly a vivacious, fawning young woman. Her infatuation manifested itself in flattering reports and sudden—sometimes violent—retorts to Sentaro, who had also noticed and could not resist teasing her for it. Ukitake was so flabbergasted by the development that he was at a loss for a solution.

Other women, a few even seated officers, seemed to gravitate to him; he marked a sharp increase in the number of females graduating from the Academy applying for acceptance into his squad. They were skillful, every single one of them, and the one real standout had immediately engaged in an almost unfriendly competition with the shocked Shiba Kaien, who had quickly reached sixth seat. Within weeks, however, they had put their differences aside and faced discipline on one occasion for getting caught in a bad position in the middle of a hunt. Had they not married later, Juushirou was certain the reputation of the thirteenth squad would have never recovered. But the whole thing just made him smile despite himself.

He seemed to be doing that all the time. He didn't notice until Shunsui pointed it out one day over lunch. "You're glowing like a pregnant woman," he had told Juushirou.

"What?" Ukitake nearly inhaled his sake.

Shunsui declined to elaborate, only smiled and clapped his friend on the back. "Whatever it is you're doing differently, don't stop."

Long after Kyouraku was gone, Ukitake mulled it over. He was doing everything differently. But he suspected the newfound glow had nothing to do with his new social status and everything to do with the two whose friendship had brought it about. Brilliant, he had called them. And slightly deranged. Feral. Kisuke was imaginative, open, playful. Yoruichi was adventurous, candid, and—he looked up at her. "No cat form tonight?"

She stretched. "Not tonight. I managed to stay in form for seven days, longer than I have before. I wanted to give it a little rest."

"It's been almost a year since you first started. I'm surprised you're having a hard time with it," he chuckled. He handed her a glass of milk. Her frown became a grin in an instant, and as she quickly drank it, he sat, cross-legged, across from her.

She put down her empty glass. "It's an old skill that's been lost for centuries. I translated the text myself. I haven't breathed a word of it to Kisuke. Haven't you ever struggled trying to lean something by yourself?"

"I have. But I'm not the clever Shihouin Yoruichi."

"Heh. First, I was mysterious. Then I was exasperating. Now I'm clever?" She tilted her head. "How many more adjectives before I get to be beloved?"

No matter how much he wanted to, he could not frown at her. He settled for merely not smiling. "Beloved comes a while after appropriate."

"Ah. So I take it you enjoy one hundred year courtships."

He had drawn the line early. Partially out of respect for her position, but partially out of sheer, crippling terror. She could end him without a thought. He would be an idiot to even try to keep up with her. He had come to this conclusion without even adding Kisuke to the equation. But she seemed determined to needle him into action, one way or another. His only defense was rhetoric. "I never said I was courting you."

"I know you're not. Why haven't you told me to go away?" She stared him down with hard golden eyes.

"I enjoy your company," Juushirou said. "Besides, you'll get bored eventually anyway."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Of all the men in the world, why do I get stuck with the hard cases?"

"You love drama. And you love a challenge. If you wanted a man who would simply roll you, no questions asked, you'd be at Shunsui's right now." He had her, at least tonight. He was completely relaxed. A year of clandestine conversations with her had given him just enough ammunition to keep her at bay. He knew his heart was safe. He had been secure for months now, armed with that knowledge. It dawned on him that it was entertaining watching her try to worm her way out of the traps he laid for her. It was then that he let himself smile at her.

And she, stubborn idiot that she was, could only smile back at him. She made it clear she had accepted the challenge that first night, when he discovered her naked outside his room. He had questioned her the next day; she had answered honestly. When she asked him to remain quiet about it, he did it without hesitation. A secret is a bond. This is the bond that only they shared.

It was easy to simplify it this way, to dance around it the way a moth would dance around a flame. The bond gave them reason enough to see each other alone. The bond made it possible for him to let her to brush and braid his hair on occasion and not think about the implications. The bond created a space in which he could listen to her talk about her work, take delight in her passion, and never once consider whether it was proper that she spent hours in his presence—in the middle of the night, no less—without any kind of chaperon.

In a way it was very much like the conversations he had with Kisuke and Shunsui over sake. He forced himself to recall the similarity when she would let her fingers graze his neck or he would touch her shoulder without meaning to. She was a very close friend.

He spent a good century lying to himself that way. Even though he was glowing with the giddy joy of a smitten man. He carried this joy with him until the end, when Kisuke's inspiration became reality and the world shattered.

"It wasn't Kisuke's fault," he tells her.

"It wasn't your fault either," she says.

They regard each other for a long time in the candlelight.

"I fought you too hard," he says finally.

She looks down at the table. He knows she wants to tell him something soothing, comforting. He can't blame her for not having the words. He's been trying to find them himself, and after all this time they're still eluding him, too.