Chapter Seven: Watching it All Go Up in Smoke

It was difficult to explain to Miki why the kitchen was in a state of such disrepair. All Retsu could offer was that Sajin really didn't like cats. She was relieved in some ways that the girl wasn't too bright and took what was fed to her at face-value. Though the way she trembled nervously when she saw Komamura's handiwork for herself left the Fourth Captain with doubts that she was going stick around after this. Unfortunately, Miki's fragile psyche was the least of her priorities at the moment.

Isolating the Seventh Captain in his room and giving him a fierce lecture was the first thing she crossed off the list in her head. And Soi Fon giving her the OK after confirming Retsu was successful in breaking her fall and saving her from injury was yet more progress. Next order of things was to retrieve the quivering Yoruichi who was latched onto the ceiling. She had to employ Kenpachi's aid – his towering frame allowed him to easily reach the traumatized creature, though Unohana had to supervise the operation for fear he'd accidentally crush her in his strong hands.

He was shockingly gentle as he plucked the cat off the ceiling and transferred her to Soi Fon's comforting embrace. The older woman's chest burned with guilt, realizing that her notions about the Eleventh Captain were a little prejudiced. She'd sometimes forget that his course and menacing appearance was often offset by the presence of a cheery toddler hanging off his shoulder. And brushing aside all the questionable things he inadvertently exposed her to by bringing her along everywhere he went, the fact that Kusajishi could only gush over her "best friend" was proof enough that he knew how to be caring. So Retsu took a pause from fretting over the mess all around her to thank him deeply for his help, catching the blush in his cheeks before he turned his head away with a harrumph. She couldn't help but laugh inwardly at his boyish awkwardness.

'Back to business,' she thought, taking a deep breath before heading into the living room where the real victim of today's debacle awaited. Retsu knew that this wasn't how she was supposed to triage, but in her current situation it was best to leave the absolute worst for last.

Seated in the comfy chair, Kurotsuchi was hunched over his lap with a pack of frozen peas pressed against his crotch. He was in a world of pain as evidenced by his muffled groans that were making Shunsui uncomfortable, either because he'd been in a similar situation before or seeing the Twelfth Captain's predicament made him worry for the safety of his own set of family jewels. Whatever the reason, the bearded shinigami chose to keep his distance together with Jushiro.

Sajin had managed to knee Kurotsuchi's nuts when he'd accidentally tackled him to the floor. They only found out when Toshiro splashed the insensate Mayuri with a glass of cold water and he promptly jerked to life, only to double over at the pain between his legs. The characteristic limp in his walk as he was led off by Jushiro confirmed that the extent of damage he had suffered was far more than what she had initially thought.

"How are you doing there?" Byakuya queried as he entered the room and stood beside the Fourth Captain. Mayuri said nothing. Instead he pulled out the bag of melted peas from under him and dropped them on the carpet. Their gazes followed his hand as it slowly retreated back to cradle his throbbing gnads.

Unohana was, more or less, wary about how she could possibly go about this. She had seen and treated all kinds of patients in her lifetime, but never a soul from the Twelfth Division. After all, she never had a reason to, seeing how they were all well-stocked with the necessary (and sometimes unnecessary) equipment, drugs and organic parts to curb all ailments and injuries on their own. Or perhaps it was the higher ranking officers that had that privilege while the grunts were used as test subjects. She didn't have enough knowledge about how the Twelfth operated for her to make any judgment.

But there was no SRDI here, and no miracle procedure, medicine or contraption attuned to Kurotsuchi's curious biology that would mend him in a manner of seconds. His healing, unfortunately for the both of them, was in her hands now. She squatted down in front of him so she was even with his eyes, although he was hanging his head over his knees so she was only presented with the back of his neck.

"Alright, look up," Retsu coaxed, surprised at herself for actually feeling bad for the guy. "Let's see what we've got on our hands here."

As expected, he refused to comply, awkwardly shifting away from her despite his odd posture. She had to stifle the exasperated sigh that nearly escaped her. Tough patients didn't really come her way owing to the fact that Unohana could simply scold just about anyone into behaving like good little boys and girls when under her care. Then again, she never once found herself in a situation where she had to treat the psychotic clown from the Twelfth until today. It had to be now of all times (on her break, goddammit) that she was going to have her first ever patient from hell.

Or maybe she was overthinking things, she told herself. The way he was right now was the most pathetic she had ever seen him. And that was saying something considering the Twelfth Captain hardly ever let up his veneer of being an annoying and tough-to-kill bastard in front of everyone. If anything, a crushed and utterly humiliated Kurotsuchi was probably the easiest version of him that she could deal with.

"Captain…" she warned, and watched with relief as his shoulders drooped in defeat. Sheer stubbornness was the only reason why he hesitated to obey her command. Retsu chose not to repeat herself a third time, knowing that he'd heard her and was likely mustering the courage to display his humiliating markings to her. When he finally lifted his head, she heard Byakuya wince audibly and then clench his fist over his mouth, shaken by Yoruichi's handiwork.

"Oh, that is…" he trailed off when he couldn't find a suitable word to express how nasty the wounds were. Their curiosity piqued, Kyoraku and Ukitake joined Kuchiki and reacted in much the same way as their younger colleague. There was something that was both repulsive and awe-inducing in the perfectly straight rows of split skin, the blood (now dried and congealed) painting his face a deep and dark red. There was so much blood that anyone could have missed the fact that he'd spilled even more from his crushed nose.

"You look like someone used you face as a chopping board," the bearded shinigami said, his mouth pulled down in an uncomfortable grimace. "Like you slipped and fell face-first on a cheese grater, or got run over with a lawn mower. You look like the Shin'o Academy used your face as a dummy for swordsmanship classes. You look like–"

"I get it," Mayuri seethed, already suffering from the pain of having to contort his facial muscles and flap his injured lips to talk. He then grumbled something along the lines of "Lesions, burns, what's next? Face-huggers?" but they weren't too sure.

Retsu signaled the others to back off and they wordlessly obeyed, albeit still hanging about so they could gawk at the remains of the Twelfth Captain's visage. Taking advantage of the fact that he was still (barely) cooperating, she reached out but he recoiled from her before she could even graze his skin.

"Stop being a child," she chastised him, feeling her patience wearing thin. He winced, almost as if he was expecting to get punched in the teeth when her fingers held his scruffy chin. She gently turned his head either side, observing that the cuts (though numerous and stretched across nearly the entire circumference of his skull) weren't deep enough to warrant stitches.

Kido healing would of course get the job done in a matter of moments but the reiatsu it normally produced would attract all manner of Hollow to their abode. She could however perform a considerably weaker version of it but it would take a while to completely mend the rent flesh, which was a problem since she'd have to physically maintain contact between her hands and the affected area for an awkward amount of time. Of course, the alternative was sticking a shitton of bandaids to his face for a day or two until the wounds would start to scab. And it was definitely going to scar, but she didn't think it would matter much since he'd be out of the gigai and back to normal life in a matter of days.

She sighed inwardly, forming a mental image of the King so she had someone to demand answers as to why she'd been thrust into such a sitiuation.

"First, we need to get all this blood cleaned," she began, picturing the King shrugging at her as if there was an even higher force that had dictated she'd be treating the scourge of Seireitei today. She dearly hoped that Mayuri would agree to the less-optimal course of treatment, and she could get out of having to sit around uncomfortably with her palms covering his face for 5 minutes too long. "I would suggest kido healing but the procedure would take slightly longer than normal when in my gigai. If you're hoping for a more conventional approach, we can simply disinfect and then cover up the cuts. Your choice, Captain Kurotsuchi."

"Neither," he said pulling away from her. "I have a better alternative… that I'll go fetch as soon as I'm able to walk."

Guess she did overthink everything. Hearing that was a bigger relief to her than it supposedly was to Kurotsuchi, and she felt a tangible burden being lifted off her shoulders. Smiling, she got up on her feet, rubbing the flakes of dried blood off her fingertips.

"She's feeling – fuck!" Soi Fon exclaimed as she walked into the den with Yoruichi purring in her arms and saw the devastation that had been wrought to Kurotsuchi's face. The shock had made her forget the good news she was about to announce to everyone and stop in her tracks, mouth agape as she stared at him in horrified wonder. Byakuya directed his attention to her and noted how relaxed the feline the looked, as if she never had been chased by a were-dog in a man's body in the first place.

"You were saying?" he prodded, surprised at Shihoin's quick recovery although his expression didn't show it.

"I was? O-oh yeah! I found a way to cheer Yoruichi-sama up. She's doing so much better now. "

"What did you do?" Jushiro too was curious now and leaned forward so he could make sure he didn't just mistake the blissful look on the cat's face.

"Well," she demonstrated, one hand slipping out from under Shihoin so she could rub her fingers at the spot where the beast's tail started. Yoruichi's golden eyes flew open and she sang in a voice that was a disturbing cross between a meow and a purr. "I scratched this spot here, you see, and–"

"SOI FON, NO!" they all cried out in unison.

Akon slowly and deliberately inhaled the smoke from the lit cigarette dangling precariously from his loose lips. He had to stick himself behind the pillar-like power units, the only spot in the entire sub-lab where he could find the necessary peace and quiet to get his hourly intake of tar and nicotine. He was painfully aware that the "No Smoking" signs plastered on every wall and notice board weren't there for aesthetic purposes, yet he still chose to commit this lone violation so he wouldn't have to walk nearly a mile out of the labs and into the open for a couple of drags.

The stiff, piercing taste of tobacco was an added indulgence to the rare solitude he was afforded in the SRDI. Of course the lab was often quiet, but it was the frustration that naturally came with maintaining exactitude at every minor interval of a grand project and expelling every thought or sentiment that had nothing to do with numbers, liquids and compositions that made the atmosphere in the labs so loud. With the addition of Captain Kurotsuchi, it would have been all that it would take for Akon to completely lose his mind.

He didn't discredit the fact that he did have a little bit of a crazy streak in him. After all, how else would he explain why he stuck around under the direct command of Seireitei's most notorious nutcase for well over a century? Or that Akon was usually the first one wholeheartedly on board with the multitude of his captain's ethically questionable endeavors (all in the name of science, of course)? But if he had to be honest, he was possibly the sanest scientist the SRDI had since its inception, a reality that ever so often came under threat of being flipped over its own head. He credited his current Captain with 99% of all accounts where Akon came this close to finally losing his mind and being forced to live out the rest of his miserable days in a padded asylum cell.

That was where the nicotine came in, dulling his senses but also keeping his mind awake enough for it to function at satisfactory levels. Although he wouldn't say it was what made him want to keep going back into the abyss of insanity that was the SRDI every morning. He wouldn't lay his bets with the thrill of discovery and invention either, since the only exciting parts about it were when questions were raised and the answers to those questions were (in part or whole) found. All the stuff in between – the tests, repeated tests, adjustments, mistakes, explosions, chemical burns, recovery, retests, filing taxes, readjustments, trial runs, failures, retests, getting rejected by Lieutenant Ise again, more explosions, reworking the insurance policy for injuries and deaths at the workplace, trials, retrials, readjustments, and crunch-period madness – wasn't something he looked forward to.

Truth be told, the only thing holding him and perhaps the rest of the Twelfth together was Lieutenant Kurotsuchi.

He had nursed legitimate concerns back when they'd initiated the Nemuri Project that the resulting creation would be an exact replica of her creator. And Akon swore to himself if that turned out to be the case, he'd throw himself into a vat of acid. Two Mayuri Kurotsuchis was plain overkill. Maybe, he figured, Fate knew that the very existence of the realms would be jeopardized if such a thing were allowed to happen, and wove it so that what came of the Project was the docile, quiet and well-mannered Nemu.

Although she'd picked up on no small number of traits from her "father" and was just weird enough to be at home with the rest of the circus at the SRDI, her existence was like the cool shade of the only tree in an endless desert. Irrespective of the madness that was routine in the Twelfth, of the abuse she constantly suffered by the hand and words of her tyrant parent, of the knowledge that she was nothing more than a measure for her maker's genius, she was the only thing that resembled an actual shinigami in mind and heart than most anyone in the Twelfth.

So how was it that when the SRDI was currently the most slow and stable it had ever been in its century-long history, owing to the absence of the fountain of insanity that was its president, that Nemu was losing her trademark cool?

Akon entertained the idea that the captain and lieutenant had a symbiotic relationship of sorts, where if the two were separated, they'd begin to fall apart where the other couldn't make up for the deficit. Silly as it was, the longer he dwelled on it the more he began to believe his own crackpot idea. Because if he could tell from observation alone, it really did look like Nemu didn't know how to function without her captain screeching at and kicking her around all day. And since most of their projects had come to a standstill ever since their monthly budget had been redirected to fund said captain's dumb vacation, there was little that she had to preoccupy her time and mind with.

The girl was a mess, misplacing reports, tripping over wires, forgetting to carry out simple orders and spacing out for uncomfortably extended periods of time. After watching her pace back and forth between a tool cabinet and workbench, failing to remember what tool it was that she needed to fetch every time she'd slide open the cabinet's doors, Akon decided an intervention was in order. Dropping the cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath his shoesole, he slowly made his way over to the disoriented Kurotsuchi who was now staring emptily at the workbench. Suddenly lighting up again for the umpteenth time, she whipped around but was met with Akon blocking her way.

"Akon-san, smoking within premises is strictly forbidden," she said in her typically monotone voice. Of course she had noticed him huddled behind the power unit; it was common knowledge that he used the spot as his personal smoking area although for some reason the Captain was the only one who was kept out of the loop about this. And although Nemu would incessantly point out the restrictions on smoking inside the labs every time he did, he'd take his next break in the exact spot again simply because she never snitched.

"Keep at it and one day I might listen to you," he waved away the warning. "What's the problem?"

"I do not know what you mean."

"You've rummaged through that cabinet fourteen times already only to run back empty-handed. You know what I mean."

The girl stared at her own feet, lips thinning into a frown. He'd never seen her make such a face before, a concerning surprise considering Nemu kept a perfectly neutral expression regardless of the state of her emotions. Save maybe the few rare occasions where she'd been subjected to such intense pain that she couldn't help crying out, it was nearly impossible to spot the slightest facial tick in response to, well, anything. Akon grumbled something that sounded incoherent even to him. He wasn't dense enough to fail to understand that the problem wasn't some internal malfunction that he could hot-glue and call it a day (not that Kurotsuchi would design her so poorly that she'd experience malfunctions in the first place). Nemu wasn't a machine, she was a conscious and intelligent organism that thought and felt like all the other shinigami bustling about her. And like her fellow shinigami, she too wasn't immune to the horrors of feeling.

Oh god, how was he supposed to handle this one?

He was no therapist, nor was he great with giving personal advice. If he were, he'd have convinced himself to seek recruitment in a less dysfunctional division a long while ago. As he was now, his apathy combined with the barest hint of loony in his system made him the absolute worse choice as Nemu's emotional support here. But he had to try, didn't he? With the only emblem of sanity within the Twelfth Division falling apart, and her forgetfulness possibly setting back the handful of projects that weren't currently on hold, he couldn't let things go on as they were. After all, he needed to make sure there was a functioning SRDI for his captain to come back too, unless he awaited being carved into pieces and submerged in preservation liquid.

"Akon-san, smoking within premises is strictly forbidden," she repeated when he had fished the pack of cigarettes out of his coat pockets and slipped one between his teeth. He stilled, eyeing the irritation that had yet to leave her countenance.

"Lucky you, today's the day," he drawled, producing a lighter from another pocket. "How about you accompany me outside and we can talk a little."

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever we'll eventually wind up talking about."

The lieutenant hesitated, unsure if she wanted to reveal or even affirm his suspicions about her inner turmoil. Within seconds it had seemed as if she'd processed the pros and cons as rationally as was possible where feelings were concerned, because when next she looked up at him she gave him a resigned nod.

'Can't fuck this up,' he thought to himself, fingers tightening around the lighter and leading the way out of the sub-lab and to the outside world.

Mayuri realized his gigai's feet had a tendency to get sore easily. Or perhaps it was also the case in his actual body but his work would have him so thoroughly absorbed that he'd never noticed. Whatever the reality, it didn't do him any good mulling over it because his feet were definitely hurting right now and he really needed to sit down.

He'd walked out of the house without any real plan or reason other than being overcome with an intense need to get as far away from everything as possible. In his haste, he'd left his wallet under his pillow (that thieving wench handed it back to him when she showed up for breakfast) and had even forgone wearing something a little more suited for long walks than flip-flops. His denreishinki was the only exception, mainly because he had it on him since late morning when he and the others were witnessing the smear campaigns being carried out against them on the Seireitei Communication website.

Ah yes, and then he'd been mauled by two different breed of animal, one of which was parading around in a human gigai about the same size and mass as that deranged Zaraki. Kurotsuchi had seriously debated using the flesh supplement already, but his sheer befuddlement and anger at suffering so much bodily harm within the span of barely 36 hours convinced him it was a good time as any. He didn't administer a full dose though – just enough to repair the claw marks and mace burns, though it could do very little to curb the pain in his groin. At least that meant nothing had torn or been ripped off down there, thankfully.

By the time he decided to return downstairs, everyone except Kuchiki, Hitsugaya and Zaraki were nowhere in sight which was a temporary relief to the blue-haired shinigami. The Sixth Captain provided that Kyoraku had gone to fetch some beer, the only piece of information Mayuri received warmly since that meant he had a chance to get so stupidly drunk so as to be rendered incapable of remembering if this day ever happened. The rest apparently had gone out shopping under the revived Yoruichi's insistence. That only left Komamura who Mayuri was aware was moping in his room.

What little respite he'd gotten from the absence of a good chunk of his fellow officers was bogged down by Hitsugaya's decision to return to broadcasting the Seireitei Communication website on the television again. Why? Because squad members were now sending in videos and pictures they'd taken at the barracks over the course of their placement in their respective divisions. The Sixth and Tenth Captains had been threatening others in the comments all this while but at some point the Commander intervened, prompting that captains could not exert command while they were officially off duty. Of course not many were stupid enough to believe they'd go unpunished for when their captains returned, but some brave/stupid souls from the Eighth, Tenth and Thirteenth Divisions were having a field day.

The stuff from the Thirteenth could be discounted because it was mostly happy, wholesome hijinks that made Mayuri want to puke. The rest however was one trashfire after the next. He didn't know if videos of Kyoraku being physically reprimanded by his lieutenant or him doing a suggestive dance on his desk before passing out from alcohol would even illicit a response from that buffoon. It wasn't like he wasn't aware of his own moronic antics. If anything, Shunsui would probably laugh and reminisce about how cute his lieutenant looked or how much fun he had shooting that clip.

Most of what was being posted on behalf of the Tenth was what Lieutenant Matsumoto had personally contributed. And maybe save a stray few, not a single one of them was something that could be viewed without raising suspicions that she might have possibly ripped them off some incredibly questionable sites. Zaraki was having a hoot, and Kurotsuchi admitted that he might have also laughed along if it weren't for the fact that there was the slight possibility that his own squad might make the grave mistake of contributing to this shitfest. He didn't believe his subordinates were that stupid, even if he would tell them otherwise, but some of them were stupid enough to not comprehend the agony they would be subjected to should they pull such a stunt. Rin in particular worried Mayuri the most.

Naturally, Kurotsuchi decided he too should threaten his squad if they so even dared to think about sending any incriminating pictures of videos about their division. He couldn't however when he saw that his pager had been squashed, likely when Komamura had speared him earlier. He had taken a good few minutes to stare at the broken piece of equipment in his palm in dreadful silence, wondering if he could swallow a couple of bottles of rat poison and end his miserable existence there. When he finally emerged from his dark thoughts, he turned on his heel and walked right out the door to wherever the roads would take him.

Wherever turned out to be the general hospital in Karakura.

Spotting an empty bench, he sighed with relief and took a spot at the far end, stretching out his legs. The sky was now transitioning from the vibrant orange of sunset to the cool blues of dusk, and Kurotsuchi had only realized it when he wondered how long he must have been walking for. He'd thought about getting tools and parts from some phone repair shop several times during his pointless meandering, only to recall that he'd left his wallet back at that demons' cavern he was forced to occupy. And he didn't bank on leaving his pager with a repairman who wouldn't know what to do with a piece of technology that may look a lot like a typical cellular device but was far more complicated than what his means and intelligence would allow.

The only other option, much to Kurotsuchi utter horror and disgust, was to turn to the only soul he was aware of who had what he needed to get the pager in working order. And he loathed having to solicit that abominable man's aid, enough to want to put faith in the biggest screw-ups in his division that they'd resist the temptation to get their 5 minutes of fame before they'd be strapped to the dissection table.

There was one other reason why he wanted his pager fixed as soon as possible that Kurotsuchi would, for the life of him, never admit. He'd convinced himself that he only wanted to get a direct report from either Akon, Hiyosu or Nemu on the state of the labs as well as the projects currently underway. The truth however (and it was something Kurotsuchi knew but refused to acknowledge) was that every single project that required his direct supervision or involvement had been stalled for until his return. And what the SRDI was working on were minor schemes that even the interns could return decent results on. There was absolutely no logical reason for him to contact his subordinates so soon or at all while on break.

Mayuri wanted a functional denreishinki because he wanted to talk.

With Nemu.

And he wasn't ready nor was he willing to accept that fact.

"Having a rough day?" an unfamiliar voice fell upon his ears and Kurotsuchi suddenly became aware of the smell of burning tobacco surrounding him. He turned his face slightly to stare at the suited stranger on another empty bench next to his, taking a deep drag on a lit cigarette. Kurotsuchi could only catch the profile, but he noticed that despite having never seen this man before in his life, there was something eerily familiar about that face. Not that that he needed to wrack his brain about why he felt that way – the shinigami instantly recognized that subdued but telltale aura the moment he was alerted to the man's presence.

And it was apparent that he likewise recognized Mayuri's aura.

Just his luck. And in his gigai, there was nothing much that the Twelfth Captain could do should the "stranger" decide to shoot his ass full of Heilig Pfeil. After all, whether this guy was aware of it or not, he had a personal beef with this particular shinigami he was chatting up tight now. Then again, nothing about his posture or expression indicated any apprehension – distrust and disgust perhaps, but nothing that indicated he felt like killing a death god today.

"No bueno," Mayuri affirmed, tilting back his head to stare at the streetlight above him that had just lit up. Fuck it, if the Quincy preferred being cordial in this conversation then he could afford to push his luck. Besides, that alluring smell of tobacco was making the Twelfth Captain really miss the nicotine patches he'd left back in his room. He'd have to go get them and stick as many of them as there was space on his forehead. "Can I bum one of those?"

Kurotsuchi was mildly shocked when the white-haired man hesitantly complied, holding out his pack and a lighter he pressed against it with his thumb. Mayuri scooted over and wordlessly took the kind offering, putting one in his mouth and lighting it before handing both items back to their rightful owner. He tried taking a long drag but the smoke caught in his throat, inducing a coughing fit that made his eyes water.

"Fuck this gigai," he sputtered, tossing the cigarette on the grass and stamping it out with his flip-flop.

"Why are you here?" the Quincy questioned after he'd seen Mayuri regain his composure.

"I've been trying to answer that question myself," Kurotsuchi narrowed his eyes at the darkening horizon and sunk lower into the bench. "We're on vacation."

The venom in his voice when he enunciated the word "vacation" wasn't lost on the white-haired man who raised a perplexed brow.

"Nine captain-level shinigami appearing in the mortal world for a vacation is too outlandish a pretense."

"You can go ask the witch who came up with this cockamamie scheme herself."

The man was silent as he contemplated Kurotsuchi's moodiness which seemed as genuine as it could possibly get. And he was an expressive man, perhaps a little too easy via his visage alone although he more than made up for it with his unpredictable actions and methods.

"You don't seem like you've been enjoying your stay so far."

"That's an understatement. Though if you want, I can tell you where we're crashing. So if you're ever in the mood to take out a bunch of shinigami in one fell swoop, these two weeks are your only chance."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I don't think I want to stir another genocidal war."

"You sure?"

The Quincy tossed away his spent cigarette as he lifted himself from his seat.

"Very sure," he exhaled tiredly before turning in the direction of the hospital and stalking off under the rows of streetlights that now burned brightly against the blackish-blue sky. Watching his retreating form, Mayuri scoffed before getting up himself. He really needed those nicotine patches, and maybe a couple of morsels of French cuisine in his stomach if he felt hungry. Stuffing a hand into his sweatpants' pocket, he squeezed the broken pager briefly, growing slightly impatient for the next day to come around so he'd finally be able to search for parts and get it working again.

"This is garbage," Yoruichi declared, tossing the pamphlet over her head. Unohana caught it before it drifted to the floor and placed it neatly on the table in front of her. "It reads like a student field trip or something. Did you guys even plan anything before you came here?"

"Not really," Ukitake shrugged. "I mean we all had some idea on what we wanted to do, but nothing like a solid vacation schedule or the like. We don't know much about this place to make one."

"It's a good thing I bumped into you guys so soon, you're practically wasting away your break. How many days you got left until you head back?"

"10…-ish?" Kyoraku guessed and looked toward Kuchiki whose nod confirmed that he was more or less right.

"Perfect. 10 days. That's plenty of time to see everything you need to and have a baller time. Trust me on this, okay? I know how to make your vacation work."

"Alright, so when do you suppose you'd be able to come up with a decent schedule?" Byakuya queried.

"I already have one that I'll let you guys in on tomorrow. For now, here's your swimming wear," Shihoin said, shoving the row of shopping bags she had barricaded her side with in the direction of the shinigami seated around the table. Hitsugaya and Kyoraku leaned out of their chairs to peek into the contents of the bag before exchanging an uncertain glance. "Ukitake had to guess sizes for the folks that didn't come along, so make do with what you get. We're going to the beach. 11 am. On the dot."