Waking to his white, sunlit room, Ishida blinked away the remaining feelings of the dream he'd already forgotten. Something about catnip? His blurry vision was instantly remedied with the donning of his silver, rectangular glasses. He noted the time--around ten in the morning--and pulled back his covers to get out of bed. He walked across his white carpeted room and through the door into the hallway before he sensed it.
"Y-Yoruichi-san?" he stammered as he turned to see the woman standing casually in his living room, observing his homemade drapes with a look of mild interest. Hearing her name, she dropped the intricate fabric and turned to face Ishida with a playful smirk, "Are we going without shirts today? If so I can--" and she began to lift her shirt over her head.
"N-No, ah, Yoruichi-san," he gestured his disagreement with an outstretched hand, "I-I wasn't expecting company," he said, leaking some of the annoyance he felt at her intrusion into his words as he retreated to his room. Retrieving a shirt and a pair of pants for good measure, he dressed himself. When he pulled the shirt over his head he noted Yoruichi had followed him into his room. He was somewhat flabbergasted by her informality, although he vaguely remembered Kurosaki saying something about her not having much modesty.
Yoruichi picked up a trinket on his desk and acutely examined it as she said, "I wondered just how long you were going to sleep. Granted you're a growing boy and all that, but still," he blushed somewhat at the comment.
"You came by because I was sleeping too long?" he asked her, "You couldn't have called or-- wait, how did you know where I lived?"
"I followed you home last night," she told him, not the least bit embarrassed, as he gaped at her in disbelief, "Well, seeing as how you never noticed, I'd say it's a good thing nothing attacked you. Lost in your head as you were," she scolded and he looked somewhat abashed. She was right. He sighed.
"Gomenasai, Yoruichi-san," he said quietly, looking at a random object across the room. Luckily the silence didn't last long.
"Nee, what's there for food in this place," he noted her expression didn't differ greatly from that of a hungry cat.
"Oh, um, I suppose I can make us breakfast," he said, motioning for them to move to the kitchen, or at least out of his bedroom. Yoruichi replaced the trinket to its original position before sashaying out the door.
After cooking up something delicious and satisfying, the two ate in near silence as Yoruichi gobbled down her food, contrasting completely with Ishida's elegant dining poise. She finished and replaced her bowl in the sink before plopping back down in the chair with a smile and patting her flat belly appreciatively.
"You sure can cook," she told him, sipping her tea and leisurely glancing around the apartment, "And those are nice curtains. You made those yourself?" he nodded and she shook her head, letting out a little sigh with a smile. He was a boy of many talents, she thought.
"If you had any requests I'd be more than happy to make something for you, Yoruichi-san," Ishida said, adding his own bowl to the sink. He turned and watched the warm smile spill across her exotic features at his offer.
"How generous of you, Ishida-san. I'll have to think about it," she looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing with renewed vigor and excitement, "So. I was thinking we start with simple hakuda, the high speed version of course, and once we get a feel for each other's combat abilities, we could move on to kidou and weapons. What's wrong, Ishida-san, you're looking a little green."
At the mention of kidou Ishida had paled. He didn't know the first thing about demon magic. That was shinigami territory. He wasn't even sure how it worked. He'd seen it used in battle before by Abarai-san and Kuchiki-san but he'd never actually thought he could use it. This opened up a whole new world of possibilities he had yet to consider or comprehend.
"Yoruichi-san," he searched for the right words, "I'm afraid that when it comes to shinigami kidou, I am a complete novice. I apologize if it will be a great inconvenience for you." He looked up when she began to laugh somewhat lightheartedly. It was a beautiful sound, momentarily dissolving his discomfort in its wake. That's odd, he thought, usually laughter at his expense wasn't comforting.
"Ishida-san, there's no need to worry about that, particularly with your avid learning ability and audacious determination. I doubt it will become a problem," she waved a hand dismissively, "However, there was one thing I was curious about. I heard from a contact in Soul Society of a certain Quincy ability I think would be invaluable to this project. That is, if you haven't lost it. Are you still able to perform the Heavenly Wild Suit Puppet?"
Ishida's blue eyes widened at the name he believed only Kurotsuchi Mayuri and his daughter Nemu knew about. He wondered if the bastard had leaked every detail of their fight to all of Soul Society. Probably.
"I can but I don't see why that would be essential to the training," he furrowed his delicate black brow in confusion.
"You didn't think I'd be going easy on you, did you?" she chuckled mischievously at his shocked look, "Oh, no, Ishida-san, I'm afraid when we enter the battlefield, you're all mine," she had the look of a wildcat stalking prey. Ishida shivered slightly, "But as Urahara stated, you'd be no fun dead," she let him mentally squirm at that idea and walked over to the front door. Hand on the handle she asked, "Coming?" and walked out of Ishida's apartment. He promptly donned his shoes and followed.
They'd been going at it in Urahara's basement for what felt like hours. The adrenaline in Ishida's body felt on the verge of depletion as he dodged yet another lightning-speed attack from Yoruichi. She grinned and came at him again, loving every minute of it. So far he'd managed to land a grand total of three blows: one to her shoulder, two to her back. She had dealt at least four dozen blows to various parts of his sore, exhausted anatomy, and his strength was draining as rapidly as his reiatsu. He'd never Flash Stepped more in a single battle. He felt at his limit, and that was frustrating as hell after what his father had put him through. The memory of helplessness was still excruciatingly fresh in his mind.
He panted and gasped for air to relieve his cramping muscles, to no avail. Yoruichi was on him in an instant. He had no strength to move away so he tried to block; she was too powerful. Her punch landed square on his chest, knocking what little air he'd managed to suck in out of him and throwing him to his back with the force of it. He lay sprawled in the sandy dirt near a rock. When he didn't regain his stance Yoruichi paused, standing over him in concern.
"Ishida-san, have I been too hard on you?" she asked him seriously. He didn't reply, but lay there and caught his evasive breath, eyes closed tightly and a pained expression coloring his features. He looked up at her and slowly nodded.
"Well, then," she said, crouching and helping him to a sitting position, "Why didn't you say so sooner? I was going all-out, just like I promised, Ishida-san, you were really holding your own. I thought you could handle it." The praise made him feel a little less useless but did nothing for his pained breathing.
"I think you broke a rib," he told her, grimacing as he lightly pressed the source of pain on his chest. She frowned and moved closer to lift up his shirt and inspect said wound. He fought the inevitable blush creeping onto his cheeks as she slid her hand over his bare chest. She didn't seem to notice, or was being too polite to mention it. Or she was possibly concerned about the bluish-purple, softball-sized bruise spreading across Ishida's pale chest.
"Damn. That's a nice one," she said appreciatively, "but I can't tell if anything is broken," she continued to delicately press dark, slim fingers around the area. The artist in him noticed the splash of color in the bruise, and the contrast between his and Yoruichi's skin tones. Vaguely beautiful, he thought. Then he gasped in pain as she pressed a certain spot that seemed a little more than just bruised.
"Ah, there it is," she muttered, "Sorry about that, and sorry we can't heal you down here. Healing kidou won't work in this place. Kisuke makes few mistakes but when he does they tend to be troublesome. Here," she helped him to his feet with a strong hand and provided herself as stability as they walked towards the exit. "Do you think you can make it up the ladder?"
This time he actually said it, "I'm a Quincy," and she didn't ask him again.
He concentrated on the feel of steel between his hands, the smell of the underground air, the tang of blood in his mouth, anything but the burning agony in his aching chest as he climbed rung after rung up the ridiculously tall ladder. He refrained from letting the vocal manifestation of weakness out of his body, not wanting to worry Yoruichi. She climbed at a steady pace a few feet ahead of him, silent but thoughtful.
The boy had really done well, surprisingly well for a human, no, a Quincy, she mentally corrected herself. She knew few shinigami who could move that fast for that long and with that much determination in a fight. She'd been pleased, and she had become overconfident in his level of endurance. Maybe she had gone a little too far. She hadn't been that rough in a fight since sparring with Soi Fong a lifetime ago. She glanced down at the silent boy, grimacing to herself when she saw his expression. He was struggling, valiantly, but still struggling. She fought the feminine urge to ask him if he was all right, knowing his pride wouldn't let him admit the pain his features only vaguely displayed.
Upon reaching the top she waited a little ways from the ladder, electing to save his ego the trouble of her help. He emerged gracefully and silently, standing as tall as he could without straining too much. They walked back to the guest room where she currently stayed and sat down to rest. She knew her healing kidou would suffice for his wound so she didn't need to call for Tessai-san.
Yoruichi sighed and approached Ishida. He didn't look up as she once again lifted his shirt to examine the wound. "Lie back," she told him, "This shouldn't take too long."
He gingerly relaxed against the hardwood floor and closed his eyes. As she expended her reiatsu into his body and began to heal him she could've sworn she heard the tiniest of sighs from the boy. He must have been in a great deal of pain, she realized.
When she finally finished she ran her hand over where the bruise had been, pressing lightly on the rib. When he didn't react she took that as a sign that she had successfully healed him. She pulled his shirt down and sat back, looking questioningly at the sulking boy. He seemed to need reassurance but she wasn't the sensitive type of woman to know what to say when these things happened; she left him to his thoughts.
After the silence grew to a point of ripening, Ishida plucked it, "I'm sorry I disappointed you, Yoruichi-san," and he slowly got up to leave.
Before he'd taken two steps she stood before him, "You're not going anywhere, Ishida, and you certainly didn't disappoint me. I haven't had a match like that in over a hundred years. You don't leave much to be wanted, I assure you."
He gazed into the vibrant yellow orbs and felt reassured by the truthfulness and admiration he saw there. He nodded solemnly and said, "I will do better next time, if you would continue our training, Yoruichi-san."
She smiled and put her hands on her hips, raising her head to gaze triumphantly at him, "Of course, Ishida-san, I'll be expecting you tomorrow. Now how about some well-earned lunch, courtesy of Kisuke?"
As Ishida walked home he considered many things. He thought about his fight with Yoruichi and how he could've done better, going over the battle in as much detail as he could recall. He scrutinized his weaknesses and fighting technique. He even thought of ways to surpass Yoruichi's overwhelming defenses. Most of all he debated whether he was as strong as he'd believed himself to be. Truthfully, he hadn't expected such utter defeat on his first try. He sighed.
Arriving at his apartment, he changed into his pajamas, or lack thereof, and collapsed into bed with a book. He tried to focus on the pages but kept returning to those same self-loathing thoughts. He fought in vain to dismiss the mental demons threatening to eat him alive. One defeat and he felt so useless, so weak. How could he take days of this and retain his sanity, much less his pride?
Such thoughts were eventually quelled as he became increasingly exhausted and gradually drifted into a deep, disturbing sleep.