Warning: physical descriptions of PTSD, not too graphic.

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Chapter Four: The Lawyer, The Healer

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The courtyard between the cells and the visitation room was cloudy when Ichigo arrived that morning. He was walking with his head down, behind the lines of other prisoners, when a flash of auburn caught the corner of his eye.

Only a few paces ahead, Orihime was travelling along the narrow passageway, too. She was still in her scrubs, but judging by the way she was fishing through her purse, Ichigo assumed she was headed somewhere. A couple of inmates wished her a good morning as they moved along.

She greeted them all cheerfully, each by name. Then, her eyes traversed across the line, eventually locking with his. They widened for a moment, then brightened with her smile.

"Good morning, Kurosaki-san!" she exclaimed, slowing her step so he could catch up with her. "I'm glad to see you're still wearing your chest brace." She pointed to the peek of the fleshy-white strap she could see behind his collar.

"Yeah, it's helping," he said, kneading the back of his neck uncertainly. He jerked his head towards her as they walked. "You headed out?"

"Hmm, just thought I'd take a little walk, make some phone calls, maybe," she rambled. "I don't get out a lot, so I figured I'd get some sunshine on my break!"

Ichigo noticed how she used her hands a lot when she talked, her dainty fingers clean and well-kept, if not a little reddened by her work in the infirmary. There was something different about her this morning, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then, he realized her hair was half-up, half-down, unlike how she tied it up in her office. Her ears were out, with tiny studs pierced in. It made her look...different. Pretty.

Objectively, he reminded himself.

"So, are we still on for today?" she was asking as they came up on the mouth of the tunnel.

Ichigo blinked. Today? "Oh," he said slowly. "My check-up. Right." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not like I got anywhere else to be."

She let out a peal of laughter, throwing her head back. When she regarded him, there was a shiny mirth pressed into the arcs of her eyes. "Was that a joke, Kurosaki-san?" she breathed, her hand on the base of her neck in mock-amusement.

"Maybe," he said, trying to reign in a grin of his own. He allowed half his mouth to raise anyway – the half that was on her side, obscured to anyone else around them. "Don't tell anyone though. It'll ruin my cred."

She laughed again, shaking her head. Ichigo wondered if the room had just gotten a little sunnier, then shook the thought out of his head as one of the women in the visitation room got up at the sight of him. She waved, a little too buoyantly for a place like this. A couple of guards and other visitors shot her strange looks. He groaned.

"Family friend," he answered, to Orihime's questioning stare. She didn't ask, but he felt this need to tell her anyway. Clear doubts, if any. "She, uh, represented me a couple of years ago." He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering who he was. Where they were. The guard watching them casually, but carefully, from behind them only confirmed as much.

"That's nice," Orihime said kindly, as she prepared herself to head towards the exit. "I shouldn't be holding you up then, Kurosaki-san. Have a nice day!"

He nodded. "See you."

He watched for a second, as she walked away, then headed to the table waiting for him.

"Hey, Rangiku," he said, sitting down. "How've you been?"

"The usual." Rangiku waved dismissively, her eyes fixed on Orihime's retreating figure. When she turned back to him, she appraised him with a teasing gaze. "I see you made a friend," she said, tapping her well-manicured nails idly on the edge of her briefcase.

"Sure," he said easily. He leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Been a while since you drove up here. What's going on? Are Dad and the girls okay?"

"Sheesh, Ichigo." She held her hands out. "Chill out, will you? They're fine. I wouldn't be so casual if they weren't."

Ichigo relaxed, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "Okay."

Rangiku regarded him pensively. "How've you been?" Her eyes drifted to his chin and then dropped to his collar – the areas of his body that held incriminating scratches and bruises from his attack.

"Fine," he grumbled, crossing his arms a little petulantly. He tried changing the topic, brain swiftly carding through things they could discuss that weren't him or his so-called life in Seireitei. "Have you got a chance to talk to Yuzu? She hasn't been writing to me lately."

Her eyes hardened. "She's worried, Ichigo."

He huffed an annoyed breath. "Then tell her not to be–"

"Her brother is serving 25-to-life for a crime she knows he didn't commit, forgive her for being a little miffed," Rangiku interrupted, crossing her arms. "Seriously, Ichigo, I've always known how stubborn you can get, but this is pushing it. Why won't you let me help you?"

"You've done enough for us," Ichigo said, voice low and rough. He didn't look at her, just stared at the table. "And I'm grateful for that, Rangiku. But I don't want my family's money going into this when it should be going to fund Yuzu and Karin's college education."

Besides, I'm guilty, he thought, but didn't say. He knew it wouldn't be received well by his father's long-time friend.

Rangiku rolled her eyes, tossing a chop of hair impatiently behind her shoulder as she glared at him. "We've been over this before! I said I'd do it for free, didn't I? The most your dad would have to do is be the designated driver for one weekend so I can get my shit rocked." She grinned. "That's a doable sacrifice, even for Isshin."

He scoffed, but said nothing.

"You've got one last appeal, Ichigo," Rangiku pleaded, her voice trembling, but firm. "Use it. Let me help you." She leaned forward, resting both her arms on the table. "Tell me what happened that night."

"Hey, how's that neighbour kid of yours anyway? Toshiro," he said suddenly, knowing full well Rangiku wouldn't take bait, but trying to steer the conversation that way anyway. "He still a weirdo? Hitting your law books a gazillion years early like some kind of kiddie-attorney?"

Rangiku pursed her lips in disappointment, but indulged him anyway. "He's ambitious, let him be," she justified, then regarded him solemnly as they stared at each other in silence. "This doesn't mean you're off the hook yet, Ichigo. You don't have to give me an answer now, but I want you to think about this."

"I have thought about this," Ichigo insisted.

"Well, then think some more. God knows you could use some more of that, anyway," Rangiku muttered under her breath, grinning at his scowl. Then, she brightened completely, her tone becoming airy and light. "Now that we've got business out of the way, let's talk basics! Your dad sent over some brand new underwear after your last call." She began taking out and unwrapping clear bags of underwear loudly.

"Rangiku," he hissed, looking left and right as his face sped from red to purple in seconds. He quickly snatched the package and let it drop into his own lap, where no one could see it.

"Wha-at?" she imitated, blowing a raspberry at him. "It's prison, honey. It's not like anyone in this room hasn't seen your hiney before." She winked at one of the guards in her peripheral.

"You're an animal," he muttered bluntly.

"All right cons, visitation time is over! Wrap it up!" one of the guards back at the tunnel yelled.

Ichigo and Rangiku stood up. Rangiku gave him a tight hug, which he returned by patting her head awkwardly. When they pulled apart from each other, he said, "There is something you can do for me, actually, Rangiku."

"What's that?"

"We're gonna get the phone booth up and running again next weekend," he explained, running his hand through his hair. "If Karin's done being mad at me, can you tell her to receive my call?"

Rangiku sighed. "She's not mad, she's upset and she's scared because she misses you and she doesn't know when she'll ever see you again outside of a visitation room."

The raw pain in Ichigo's eyes was obvious enough to anybody.

"Come on, Kurosaki, move it!"

"I'll let her know," she assured, waving at him to go. "Call me if you change your mind about the appeal."

"I'll think about it," he said noncommittally. "Drive safe."

Within her short time here, Orihime had figured that her schedule didn't allow for a lot of socialization, save for the occasional inmate and the prison staff. Hanataro was in the clinic for most of the day, but he usually left two hours before she did. And Renji was only ever free enough to come around for dinner every alternate day. He mentioned something about shifting up his schedules, now that he had a wife and kid, so she couldn't begrudge him too much for it.

Lunch, though. Lunch was a lonely affair. While she was free to join the other day doctors at the staff canteen or even Hanataro back at her office, she often felt dull at the prospect of seeing the same locations day-in and day-out.

Luckily, she'd managed to find reprieve in the prison library. On her first day there, she'd found out that lunch time for medical staff overlapped with the inmates' reading hours. That had led to some light ogling and strange looks, but she'd quickly found a quiet corner away from peering eyes soon enough.

I am never nothing if not resourceful! she thought victoriously, as she set down her books on the table in front of her. Guards were stationed at every three shelves, standing with their arms in front of them silently. Apart from the occasional murmurs of inmates – or even a cacophonic sound here and there when they got rowdy – it was a quiet and sunny place. The books were awfully dull, so she often brought her own, but it made for good reading time nonetheless.

"That's a diverse set," said a familiar voice from across the table. Orihime lifted her head to see Ichigo, standing with a book clutched under his own arm. She followed his gaze to where it was resting and suddenly felt embarrassed. She could see what he saw, and it was...kind of an eclectic sight. The book in her own hand was some sort of time-travel adventure that had more emphasis on exposition than adventure, but among the two other books, one was an action manga and the other was a shoujo.

How juvenile, she thought, her cheeks pink.

"What - what are you reading, Kurosaki-san?" she recovered, leaning forward on elbows to try to peer at the title.

He showed it to her, one hand shoved in his pocket. De Profundis, it read, in faded silver-gold letters across the tattered cover. "Oscar Wilde," he said simply.

Orihime beamed. "I'm aware of Oscar Wilde!" she said happily. "My brother was a fan."

"I'm more of a Shakespeare guy myself," he replied, with a shrug. Then, he fixed her with a curious gaze. "Was?"

Her face fell, momentarily, but she strained herself to smile again. "He passed two years ago," she said. "It was around the end of my residency."

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. When she looked up at him, she was surprised to see a similar sorrow reflected in his eyes.

His mother? She wondered.

"Come sit down, Kurosaki-san," she said suddenly, kicking the leg of the rackety chair in front of her. "I've got time to kill before I head back and I- I wouldn't mind the company."

"Y-you don't have to do that on my account." He cleared his throat and turned to one of the nearby guards. "Besides…"

She turned, too. Then grinned. "Oh," she said, catching his drift. "Prison staff and inmates are allowed to socialize in recreational areas within five feet of each other!"

He raised his eyebrows.

"I've been reading the workers' manual," she said proudly. "Told you I was going to do better, Kurosaki-san!"

He smiled a small smile, sinking down to the chair. He checked with the guard once, then relaxed when no one came hurtling weapons or yelling obscenities at him. "You're already doing great, Inoue."

She giggled lightly, her chest feeling warm at the compliment. In the time that she spent around him, she noticed that Ichigo never said anything for the sake of saying it, always deliberating his words to be precise, blunt. Yet, there was an honesty there that she appreciated.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-san," she said, then she appraised him curiously. "Not that I mind, but you don't use honorifics much, do you?"

"I guess not," he said simply. "I don't mean any disrespect to you, it's just a habit."

The way he said it sounded like it was disrespect to the others. She laughed again, despite herself. "You're funny, Kurosaki-san."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a first."

"Oh?" She propped up her chin in her hand, intrigued. "What are some of the others?"

Ichigo took a deep breath and puffed out air through his cheeks, like it was a tedious task. "Well, there's 'orange-top asshole' – Abarai likes that one. Let's see, ah…'stupid piece of shit' is Iba's favorite. Kenpachi called me 'runner' once, but to be fair I was running from him, so maybe we can count that one."

"Your frenemy," Orihime whispered, like it was some kind of inside joke with herself.

"Yeah, I guess you can call him that," Ichigo replied, with a lazy shrug. His eyes fell on her book, so he leaned forward – carefully maintaining his five feet distance. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, exchanging her book with his own. She hooked her finger around the place he'd been holding it, flipping the book open. On her opposite side, Ichigo seemed to be reading the back of her own book with a curious frown. Perhaps the most fascinating part of him was that, while he was usually all-frowns, each one had a specific connotation. Like he had some kind of armory of frowns that he fired off depending on the mood.

She pictured him with a bazooka, shooting off mini-faces of himself with different scowls, and she had to quickly look down at her book to keep from laughing again. If he noticed, he didn't mention it.

That's when a little post-it caught her attention, innocuously stuck to the side of one of the pages. It seemed to be a quote copied directly from the book, judging from the way a scribbled arrow pointed to the specific line it was taken from. It read:

'Eternal love is to be given to what is eternally unworthy,' in simple, long-scrawled handwriting. Her heart lodged in her throat, as she ran her fingers tenderly along the letters.

Did Ichigo really believe that?

Her eyes felt suddenly very, very misty.

Like she could somehow feel the years' worth of loneliness and guilt and repentance by touching the very letters. Like she could picture Ichigo, bent over his bunk bed and religiously copying the words – internalizing them. Her throat began to ache in that familiar way it did whenever she was about to cry.

"Oi!" he said, snapping her out of it. "I asked you a question."

Orihime raised her eyes to meet his, hiding a sniff while she tried to focus on what he was saying.

Oh no! Her body snapped into attention suddenly, seeing as he was holding up her very self-indulgent shoujo about vampire romance in a desolate castle.

"Didn't take you to be the 'enemies-to-lovers' type," he said, raising an amused eyebrow.

"Don't tease me, Kurosaki-san," she huffed, feeling deeply embarrassed. She'd always said shoujo was a window into someone's soul after all, and it just felt like he'd practically ripped her open – just for him to see. "It's just a little something to pass the time." Her defence sounded weak to her own ears, but she adamantly raised her chin.

"Sure," he said, like he didn't believe her. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to speak again, when one of the guards called out for the inmates to line up. Two men emerged from the historical fiction, both their eyes fixed on Ichigo as they arrived for line up.

Ichigo stood up as they came to him. "Inoue," he said, gesturing at them. "Ishida, Chad. My cellmates."

"Nice to meet you!" she cheered, giving them a friendly smile.

"The pleasure is ours," Ishida said, bowing down.

"Hmm." Chad said, from behind him, giving her a small smile. Then, he turned to Ichigo. "Time to go."

"Right." Ichigo nodded at him, jerking his head towards the line so they both could carry on without him. They exchanged amused smiles with each other, then left him to join the line-up. Ichigo turned to Orihime, holding his hand out to take his book back. When their fingers brushed, she vehemently ignored the jolt that ran down her spine. "Thanks. See you at check-up?"

She beamed. "Of course! Will do."

"Do you like her?" Chad asked quietly, as he watched Ichigo pace around their cell. It was nearly evening, the usual time for his check-up. The only thing unusual about this was that Chad had never seen him actually waiting to go. He'd usually just be lazing around the room, picking fights with Ishida until a guard came to pick him up.

He was still barking insults at Ishida, every now and then, but he seemed relaxed. His shoulders were loose, his eyes didn't seem to be carrying the weight of what he was thinking. Hell, it was recreation time and he didn't even seem mad about missing the basketball play-offs between B-Wing and C-Wing.

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Ichigo froze mid-walk. "Who?" he asked, even though Chad had a hunch he knew who they were talking about.

"Dr. Inoue," Chad replied, watching him carefully. Unfortunately, the jig was up, because once you struck at Ichigo by surprise, he never made the same mistake twice. He was an exceptionally fast learner, in that regard.

"Don't be stupid, Chad," he snapped. "You don't like people in prison. You either pack a punch at them, or leave 'em alone until they beg you to pack a punch at them."

Or sit and have full conversations with them in the library, Chad thought. "I liked Ishida," he said, instead.

Ichigo didn't reply to that. Didn't reply at all, really, until the guard came and picked him up an hour and a half later. Chad half-regretted saying anything, because Ichigo was hyper-aware now. Moody. Chad felt guilty about sending Ichigo like that to see the sweet doctor. Like he'd inadvertently messed it up for them in some way.

When he voiced his concern to Ishida, the latter just snorted, without lifting his head from his book.

"You don't court Kurosaki without being readymade with a handful of patience," he said lazily. Then, he considered his words. "Not that I wish for the poor doctor to court him anyway. I think she deserves far better, strange as she may seem."

Chad disagreed with that bit, but he did agree that she would need patience. As he watched Ichigo's figure retreat around the wing's corridor, he silently pleaded with whatever force that was out there that she had it.

Later that evening, Orihime was just about setting up shop for Ichigo when Hanataro came up to her, nearly done winding up for the day.

"Is that for Kurosaki-san's follow-up?" he asked, peering at the notes over her shoulder. "I can handle it, if you want to call it a night. I know you're meeting up with Dr. Isane and the guards later. This is the kind of stuff I'm here for, anyway."

"That's okay, Hanataro," she excused. "You've had a long day, I can handle this one before I clock out for dinner."

"Are you sure?" Hanataro hesitated. "You work too much, Dr. Inoue. You should take breaks, too, you know."

She smiled, ruffling his hair. "I'll be fine, Hanataro, don't worry about me."

The ward door rattled open, a guard shoving Ichigo in before heading back out again. Ichigo seemed a little tense, compared to how he was earlier that day, but Orihime gave him his time and space to get adjusted on the bed.

She handed instructions to Hanataro, brought equipment back and forth from the closet, and ticked off her mental checklist. Outside, she could hear the cheers and shouts of inmates playing basketball. The weather was perfect for it, so she took a minute to stand by the window and smell the fresh, outside air.

When she finished up, Ichigo seemed to have visibly calmed down a little, so she dragged her chair to sit by him. "Hi," she said, trying for a smile.

"Yo," he replied evenly, and even though there was no smile, there was no hostility either. He seemed comfortable, if not a little grumpy.

"I'm taking my leave, Doctor-san!" Hanataro called out, already halfway out the door before she could say anything. That seemed to catch Ichigo's attention.

"He seems awfully keen on leaving things up to you," he observed gruffly.

"And that's a good thing, because things are up to me in here," she said lightly, laughing at his frown. "He's a really hard-worker, Kurosaki-san. I don't mind giving him breaks."

Ichigo nodded, letting her run the cool metal of her stethoscope down his chest. His bruises didn't seem as fresh as before, but she made a mental note to replace his chest pad. She clicked her pen on and slowly scribbled down some updates, before setting the clipboard aside.

"So," Ichigo exhaled lightly, as the metal left his skin. "What do you do on breaks?"

Orihime blinked in surprise, a little taken aback by the fact that he seemed to want to know what she did. "Well…" she started, trailing out the syllables. "As you know, I read."

He smirked, clearly still not over her shoujo debacle. She hurriedly carried on,

"I eat a lot. I like experimenting with different kinds of food, even if people say it's a little unconventional – like adding wasabi to things, or eating a whole lot of ice cream until my tongue goes numb." She tapped her chin. "Let's see, what else? I liked hanging out with Tatsuki before I came here. She was my best friend in the whole world, kind of like the sister I never had. And she was very strong and tough! Kind of like you, actually! I think you two would get along like a forest on fire."

He raised his eyebrow at the simile. "I hope you don't think of me as a sister," he said carefully.

She swatted his arm, laughing in short, pretty gasps. Like bells. Or ocean waves – drawing you in, retracting too soon. "Of course not, silly."

"Hmm," he murmured, resting his head comfortably on his arms.

"What do you do in your free time?" she asked.

He inhaled heavily. "Well, I stare at the wall. Read. Work-out. Stare at the wall. Might get into a fight and make the nice doctor worry about me sometimes. Stare at the wall. Sleep."

She ignored the light compliment veiled in bundles of sarcasm, smiling as she spoke softly, "I meant outside. Before. What were you like?"

Happy, he thought immediately. He frowned. Time was wonky in prison and he suspected most of the inmates measured it in terms of 'before incarceration' and 'after'. For Ichigo, however, whenever he thought back to the little vignettes of his life, it always measured up to before and after 'Mom'. The only metric valid of measurement. He closed his eyes, pained.

"I hung out with my baby sisters," he said instead, when he opened them. At her questioning glance, he explained. "Twins. Four years younger than me. One's married now, the other one working a sports tech job in Nagoya. Heard she comes home to see my sister and my old man on the weekends."

It was always easy talking about Yuzu and Karin, even before. Strained as their relationship might be now – with Yuzu frightfully upset and Karin pissed to high Heaven – he would never, ever know where to stop with those two.

When he looked at Orihime, her eyes were glassy too, like she could relate. He supposed she could, in a way. Her brother was dead, physically; he was dead to his sisters, to all intents and purposes.

"Do you still see them?" she asked softly, kindly.

"Saw them on their last birthday, seven months ago," he replied automatically. "Yuzu would write up until last month, but that kinda stopped. Karin's mad at me, so I don't think she's gonna call me ever."

"She'll come around," Orihime assured, like she knew for a fact what Karin was like.

Ichigo raised his eyebrows dubiously. "How do you know?"

"I had a bull-headed brother, too," she said teasingly, standing up. "The thing about guys like that is that you never give up on them, no matter how badly they made you want to pull your hair out and scream."

He snorted. "You make me sound like some kind of criminal."

She giggled, making her way to the store closet to retrieve his new chest pad. As much as she wanted to spend time with him, she suspected the guard wouldn't be too pleased about having to wait so long. Outside, the inmates were being a little noisier than usual, screaming obscenities at each other. "Wow, they're being loud today," she murmured, mainly to herself.

Suddenly, there was a loud 'bang!'. It ricocheted off the walls, making her heart accelerate in fright. Then, when she saw smoke coming from the watchtower through the window, she let out a relieved sigh. It was just one of the huge, smoke guns that the guards deployed whenever they noticed fights break out in the courtyard.

It wasn't until she heard a 'thump,' – followed by a pained whimper – that she decided something was seriously wrong.

She whirled on her feet to see Ichigo crumpled on the floor, full fetal, as his hands cradled his head. He rocked back and forth desperately, his entire body trembling. Somehow, it had seemed as though the trickshot that the guards had taken outside had triggered something.

Orihime gingerly set down the chest pad on the medical table and inched two feet forward. From the arch of his body, the pained groans he was letting out through incomprehensible words, she suspected he was having some sort of emotional reaction or a flashback.

She got down, balanced herself on the balls of her feet. "Kurosaki-san?" she called out.

"Nrgh!"

She took a deep breath. "Kurosaki-san," she said, gently, knowing he was listening to her. "May I touch you, please?"

"No, don't!" he yelled suddenly, jerking violently back until his back hit the leg of the bed painfully. "I could hurt you, Inoue! Argh!" He curled up within himself again.

"I-if that's what you're bothered about," she said bravely, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Her heart seemed to be beating a thousand times a minute, but still persisting in its goal to reach his. "then you have no reason to worry, Kurosaki-san. You promised you wouldn't hurt me, remember?"

"Yeah," he rasped, chest heaving as he looked up at her.

"And I said I believed you," she confirmed, hand getting closer to his heated skin. "I do. I know you won't hurt me, Ichigo. So please, let me help you."

He didn't say anything, but when her hand came down to touch him, he tensed. Then, he relaxed, letting his rigid muscles loosen up with the contact. "I can't," he tried, but that was all he got out.

"Shh, it's okay. It's going to be okay, I promise." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and to her luck, he went bonelessly into her embrace. The position was nowhere near comfortable, but when his face jammed into her shoulder and she felt tears, she wordlessly brought her fingers to stroke his hair. "It's okay. Ichigo, it's okay."

"Is everything okay in there, Dr. Inoue?!" the guard outside hollered. Ichigo flinched, a quick back-and-forth shudder of his spine. Orihime ran one hand along it, smoothing out and massaging the area he'd hit earlier. He whined quietly into her shoulder.

"We're okay, guard-san!" she reassured, firmly. Turning back to Ichigo, she tried to peel his head off her shoulder and make him look at her. When her hand touched his cheek, it felt warm. His eyes were bloodshot, hazy. "Listen to me," she said, gathering all the calmness she could muster. "Focus on this room, okay? Focus on being here with me. Breathe with me, Ichigo."

She talked him down, alternating between giving him reassuring words and touches. She felt his muscles begin to sag, his entire body coming down from wherever it had driven itself to without his permission. He breathed heavy, even breaths with her. In. Out. In. Out.

It could have been minutes or even hours later, when the first dregs of reason started to hit him again. "Shit," he muttered, drawing back from her embrace. "Shit, Inoue, I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she shushed him gently.

She wasn't touching him anymore, but he felt the weird in-between of safety and caginess in the ghost of her touch. That liminal feeling was a lot better than reliving his worst nightmare again, so he'd take it.

"I - I don't know what to say," he croaked, feeling an overwhelming amount of relief and guilt in the same breath.

"We don't have to talk about it tonight, Kurosaki-san," she said, in the same, kind tone she'd used earlier. Had Ichigo been half-alert, he'd have noticed that her hands were trembling too.

For now, he just settled on the gentle feel of her hand stroking his.