A/N: After January ended, I looked back to a very productive month writing-wise. That was a lot of words produced in a short amount of time compared to my other fics where it took months or even years to get them updated. And I found myself pretty exhausted, so I decided to take a week's break from writing. I have to say it was really hard to get back into the groove once that week was done, and that's why this new chapter was only finished now *lol*
I just, as always, want to thank you all for your continued enjoyment of this fic. Receiving and reading your comments gave me a boost to continue on, so thank you all very much :)

Incidentally, have you guys seen episode 309? Wasn't that uber awesome? I only wished that they stretched the scenes with Mugetsu!Ichigo and made him appear for another episode or something.

Flashback order: 2, 9, 3, 11, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 10.
The emboldened number is the current chapter. They're not written chronologically because I make this fic up as I go ^^;

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.

Chapter 11: Root

The village was quiet, nary a soul to be seen in its fields or its streets. The once lively flowers that decorated its square were left to decay along the gables and roofs, on its dry fountain and stone statues. Shriveled petals and leaves scrunched beneath his feet at the display of the death he brought forth for the Goddess of Autumn.

The game that gods played was a simple one: a mortal's life was the pawn to do with as they pleased. The humans were their marionettes, their chess pieces, their toys. Theirs to control whether to grant death or let live. The reason for their game was usually out of petulant pride, deeming that that mortal had insulted them and therefore must be punished for such an affront. Most of the time, the gods meted out their punishment based on their power. If she had so wished, the Goddess of Autumn could have had the village's crops wither and have none of their farming to have borne fruit for the fall harvest, and in the end they would have died either from starvation or from the cold of the coming winter.

But that wouldn't be quick enough for her. And so she had come to him, implored him for his assistance and power, and he had sent the plague upon the village in her name.

Behind him came the sound of rapid footsteps. He turned. A young woman with auburn hair rushed through the square, the clop-clop of her shod feet against the cobblestones the only sounds that disturbed the silence. She passed through him as if he were smoke, intangible, invisible, and even so he felt as though she had touched his heart, his hand reaching out to grasp the ends of her hair, feeling them slip through his insubstantial fingers as she ran.

Since he'd first seen her through the goddess's mirror, he had felt something lurch inside his chest; his heart, long dormant, awakened. He had frowned at the sensation. Him? For a mortal? A being of death, love was not something he had ever thought could even apply to him. Even as a god, he was beyond it. Gods came together, and sometimes they even married each other...but overall, the cycle of life was something they merely imitated from mortals. As immortal creatures, they really had no need for something that would place them ineffably closer to their human reflection. Dallying with mortals was a fruitless endeavour. Some gods would pursue affairs out of boredom, like a cat playing with their rodent prey. Seldom would it ever result in something more.

And now here he stood, pining, desiring. Even if his heart lay in the sky, he could still feel its beat, a rhythmic tattoo of yearning he couldn't bear to deny or ignore. It became such that he didn't know anymore whether he came here to Karakura out of the fulfillment of his duty or to see and be close to her. All he knew was that he wanted so much to become more than what their stories made him to be: the proud usher to their final peace. He wanted her to see him. The one that only the other gods ever got to see: his most human form, that somehow, now, felt very human indeed.

He stalked the streets in her wake, alighting upon the open doorway of a small house. At the entrance, he heard her voice, tearful and loaded with denial, and he watched as she fell to her knees at the bedside of a dead friend.

"Tatsuki!" cried she as she clutched a lifeless hand to her cheek, body shaking with grief. "No...Tatsuki."

A soul with spiky black hair knelt beside her, ghostly arms wrapped around the still-living girl, and her voice was rife with disbelief as she muttered, "Orihime, I'm dead...I'm dead...You're crying, Orihime, because I'm dead..."

"Tatsuki...first Keigo, then Mizuiro and the others...my brother is sick too, and now you're gone."

"I can't...I don't know...I'm dead, Orihime. I was just sleeping, about to wake up, and then...I'm here, outside, beside...not in there."

He stood behind them, the golden eyes beneath the mask impassive, hiding the sorrow he felt at what he had caused. The black-haired girl heard his footsteps and turned to look at him.

"You? You're real?" she asked in wonder, standing, and then her brows furrowed as she gazed at her body on the bed, at her friend on the floor, and at the chain over her heart.

She ran to him, her fists beating at his chest. "Why did you do this? Why did you send us the plague? What have we done to you? How have we offended you?" She slid to her knees, an uncustomary sob wracking her body. "Because of you, I have to leave Orihime. Because of you, her brother is dying too. Because of you, all our friends are dead and our whole village is perishing. Because of you...Because of you..."

It was with deep regret that he raised the materialized sword over her head, and gently brought the tip of its hilt on her forehead, her voice fading as her soul vanished. As he lowered his hand, the weapon dissolved, evanescent into the air, and he could only hope her soul would find a measure of peace.

He crouched behind the crying girl, curving his body over hers and wrapping her in his embrace, even though he knew that she wouldn't be able to feel the weight of his arms.

This was as much as he could give as he watched her world continue to crumble around her.

Back in their chamber, it was with a tired sigh that Ichigo laid down on the bed, slung an arm over his eyes and tried to let the troublesome day escape him with a deep exhale. He felt the shift of the mattress as Orihime settled beside him, and sensed her on her side hovering over him worriedly. Peeking at her from under his arm, he watched as she gnawed at her lower lip, sensing the thoughts that fluttered incessantly within her mind. He raised his arm and pressed his palm against her neck as his thumb stroked her cheek, her eyes flying to him momentarily before being veiled by her lids. She sighed as she leaned into his touch.

"I meant it earlier," begun he, voice hushed. "The choice is all yours. You don't have to make the decision now."

Her hand encased his arm, squeezing as she stroked up and down. He felt her tremble, and more than anything, he wanted to ease her troubles, seeking his own thoughts for anything that would give her an ounce of solace.

As a notion took root in his mind, he weighed its possible consequence. Maybe it would be selfish of him to utter it, but having her to himself all these weeks...it was all he could do to prevent the words from bursting free. All the time he spent with her seemed like a precious wish-fulfillment. Everything he had come to desire had come to be in his grasp, regardless of the circumstance of how it came to be there. He was filled with encompassing and indescribable joy...and yet―every time he held her in his arms, he could feel every second of her mortal life ticking by, reminding him that this was ephemeral, and that she was destined to slip from his hold. And no matter how much he wished to force the impending situation otherwise, the last thing he would ever want was for her to become a caged bird. It was torment even as he felt his chest expand, bearing the furious beat of his heart, all of him ripe and ready to burst with love for her.

His thumb made its way to her lips, feeling the evidence of her life puffing out of her in even breaths. "Orihime," he whispered desperately; he could stay himself no longer. "I love you."

Her eyes flew open and locked on his, her grip on his arm tightened and he felt her pulse jump beneath his palm. And steadily he held her gaze and willed her to see, to believe, the naked emotion exhibited in his very being. He lay, open and vulnerable, for her to do with as she pleased: to reject, to crush, to raze―a part of him fervently hoping for the opposite. Even if she harboured resentment toward him and her current situation, he knew she was too tender-hearted to express them.

The minutes stretched and they were held suspended. The sudden rapping at the chamber door made them both jump, the spell between them broken. He sat, releasing his hold on her, her own hand falling away, strength-less. After being held down and held fast by that seeming eternity of silence, he swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat and managed to give her a small smile before making his way to the door.

Ichigo wasn't at all surprised to find Sado there, sent down by his father to summon him. He didn't realize how grateful he was for the interruption, shaking his head at the quiet question that lay in the other man's eyes. He nodded and closed the door, citing that he would meet his father shortly. As he turned back, each step he took toward Orihime was heavy and instilled with despair. She sat in the same position, unmoved throughout this whole time, and he masked his thoughts and feelings with his blackening eyes, his lengthening hair shielding his gaze. He reached out, his claw barely touching the tendrils of her hair, rueful at the thought of that monstrous hand that dared to touch such beauty, that sullied something pure. His own obsession and selfishness brought him to this. Just because he loved her didn't mean that she reciprocated his feelings.

He curled his hand into a fist as the other brought his mask down over his face, turning abruptly and making his way back to the door. "My father calls. It might be a while before he'll let me go. You should rest. I'll make sure they won't disturb you."

For a few short heartbeats, he waited for a reply that never came, disappointment and ache heavy in his chest as he turned the handle.

"Goodnight," he said as he crossed the threshold, and closed the door.

Inside the God of Life's council chamber, the God of Death examined something given to him by the God of Invention and Knowledge. Within a small vial was a viscous liquid in a sickly green colour. Ichigo held it up to the light, and it seemed to emit a radioactive spark. He glared at it, then at Kisuke. More than anything, he wanted to crush the vial between his claws, but that seemed like it would do more harm than good as it could leave a garish green stain on his white skin for all eternity, and he wouldn't doubt that Kisuke would be devious enough to concoct it that way.

"You can't be serious," said he incredulously, flicking a glance between the vial and the maker. "This can't be right. This can't be what Orihime will need to drink to attain godhood. You fucked up real good and fobbing off your own vomit or something―"

Kisuke flipped his fan open and demurely peered at him from behind it. "I assure you, Mr Death, sir, that I did no such thing. It is one-hundred per cent pure ambrosia and nectar. Just because they have pretty names doesn't mean they have to look pretty." His eyes roved the ceiling as he thought for a moment. "Or taste nice."

"How did you get this ready so fast anyway? Doesn't it usually take a while to brew?"

"Fortunately, I've had the foreknowledge of anticipating that such a concoction would be required, so I made it ahead of time. It's best to be prepared should such an occasion arise, after all."

Ichigo sighed with resignation. He should've known. He stared back at the brew held between his forefinger and thumb. It was making him feel sick just looking at it. He was really loath to give it to Orihime. He shook his head, feeling all the more like a fool. Seldom had regret ever filled him, but lately it seemed to be his constant companion ever since he accepted his father's invitation.

"I don't recall Renji's looking like this," said Ichigo.

"Renji's was different because he's already immortal," explained the tow-headed god behind his fan. "His cellular construct didn't need to be restructured, hence the unnecessary addition of such an ingredient. But the madam, on the other hand, is mortal."

"Is there any particular time that she needs to drink this?"

Kisuke shook his head. "Anytime between now and the future birthing should be good. But the sooner taken, the better. Since the dram affects each drinker differently, and it's not everyday that mortals are made gods, the possible side effect is currently unknown, especially in regards to her present condition."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the end result is still the same: she'll become one of us. However, the in-between of how she'll get there is the most exciting part."

Ichigo glared. "For you, you mean."

"For everyone, Mr Death, sir," corrected Kisuke. "Although it might be wise that she drink that while still here so that we may examine the variables, just in case."

With a sigh, the Death God pocketed the vial within the folds of his robes as he exited the chamber. He felt restless, nerve-ends itching. He found himself outside, back in the labyrinth garden, pace brisk as he wandered aimlessly. After a while , he broke into a run until he reached the clearing where he had found Orihime earlier, facing the white gate across from the bench where she had lain. With a touch it opened, revealing the vast desert that bordered the domiciles of each god.

The gate closed behind him as he stepped through the threshold, letting the emptiness of the night and the sand fill him.

For a long time before the present circumstance that he now found himself in, he was a god detached. He went about his duties as the God of Death like an automaton, treating all the souls he ushered equally, not getting himself involved. Although he took the form of a man, his existence had been as bleak and lifeless as his house. It was just the way he'd wanted it, a most welcome reprieve, after having been raised by the God of Life and surrounded by the other gods. Perhaps, seeking out that kind of peace had been the outcome of having his mother be the first witness to his power. He was alone, and he preferred it that way.

When love and her brother's subsequent disapproval came to Rukia, she sent the Death God a message to ask for sanctuary. She told him she needed space to think of her next course of action, to plan a way to earn the God of Night's acceptance of Renji, and he had plenty of room in his house. He had been puzzled by her earnestness, by the passion that flared in her eyes, the way she softened as she thought of her lover. To him, it was a curious spectacle, and out of their longtime friendship, he welcomed them both into his home.

It was only later that he'd learned that his father had been worried for him for shunning the company of the other gods, and had recommended Rukia his house for her situation as well as to keep an eye on him.

It wasn't that he was envious of the bliss that now filled his friends' lives and wished the same for himself. Love applying to him was unexpected, especially in light of the circumstance that brought it. All he knew was that he had found something that had suddenly become the core of his being, and that he would do anything to keep it, to protect and cherish, even if he hadn't known exactly how to go about achieving those. And at the root of it, he also knew that he wanted Orihime to want the same things.

But what would she do, Ichigo? His conscience spoke, and oddly in the voice of the Goddess of Autumn. How would she feel when she learns just how deeply entrenched you are in the plot that brought her to you? How you've manipulated events so that the village chose her to be the one who came to you?

He clenched his fists at the grain of fear he felt at that thought. He had been blinded by his own desire that he'd done everything he could to prevent her from perishing from the plague. He did the only thing he knew that could protect her.

Hopelessness pervaded him as his footsteps left a long trail in the sand. The Death God had walked so far that his father's house could not be seen beyond the sand dunes. He sighed as he alighted upon an oasis, long dried up with only a lone, gnarled tree to keep it company, lowering himself onto a jagged outcrop of rock as he stared up at the night sky, the clouds covering the first quarter of his moon-heart.

His eyes roamed over the expanse of desolation before him, his own feelings mirroring the forlorn surroundings. His frown deepened as he stared at the tree. What he had taken for another of its sharp branches were the long horns and the wings of the God of Despair.

APPENDIX

Ichigo - God of Death and the Moon
Urahara - God of Knowledge and Invention
Mystery Man (2) - God of Despair and Visions

Thanks for reading :)
Feb/2011