From the moment she stepped foot into the eleventh division compound, Tatsuki felt odd. Not uncomfortable by any means—in high school she had been one of only two girls that even bothered to join the karate club, and the other had quickly dropped out. Sure, she managed to pass all the knowledge she gained onto Orihime, but in this interest, she was pretty much alone—though surrounded by men. So to look at the mostly ugly and often battered faces of the eleventh division as their eyes followed her foreignly feminine movement through the compound did not bother her at all. In fact, they were generally very courteous. Too courteous, given their image.

Sure, there was that one unnamed jerk who attempted to make an example of her when she was finally allowed to spar. She took the hits graciously to start with, but as his blows became harder, she found herself backing away. At which point Madarame, who was overseeing this round, roared at her. "You have a reputation to upkeep, Hakumei, and if you lose here you're done. The eleventh does not hold back!"

Reputation? Her arms crossed above her head to deflect a smelly foot aimed at her nose. What the hell? Without thinking, her hands untangled themselves, seized the offending ankle, and twisted it. The opponent fell with a grunt, and she was on him in an instant, prepared to connect her knuckles with his testicles. "Concede, and I'll let it go," she smiled broadly.

And the opponent smiled back. "Uncle."

Tatsuki looked up at Madarame, who nodded, unsmiling. "I understand it's sparring and you don't want to hurt anyone, but next time, you don't ask. You take him out, get it?" he told her when the sparring was done. "But you're doing good. Let me buy you a drink or something."

"I doubt that's a good idea," Yumichika said, breezing into the dojo. "A certain someone might see you and get the wrong idea, you know."

"She ain't got nobody's name tattooed on her, so I think she's free to decide that for herself," Madarame grunted. "So how 'bout it? I hear you ain't even been to any bars yet. You're missing out, you know." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

She promptly plucked it off. "Not interested, sorry. And what did you mean, a reputation?"

Madarame took a step back, his face suddenly blank. And then red. "I meant you're a good fighter. We've been told. . ."

"By Kurosaki?" It wasn't too hard for Tatsuki to fill in that blank. Dammit, how long was he going to keep interfering?

"Ah, no, actually it was—"

Madarame was stopped by Yumichika, who was smiling much wider than normal. "Kurosaki-taichou does treasure his friends, but he told us this a long time before you got here. He mentioned while he was still alive the two of you would patrol with Kuchiki and Aba—Sado-kun," he simpered. "That would never have happened if you were terrible." Then he giggled. Nervously. "So, why don't you come out with us tonight? We'll show you around and we'll have a beautiful time."

Madarame coughed. "We may even run into some folks." He then gave Yumichika a look.

The weirdness was too much for her. "Ah—I've got plans tonight," she said.

Both men froze for a moment, then seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh well," Yumichika twittered, waving a hand in that dismissive, metrosexual way of his. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah," Madarame agreed.

Tatsuki bowed and made good her escape.

It was exchanges like this that made her feel odd. Like a little kid in the middle of a game of keep-away. Only she didn't know what the hell the ball looked like, wouldn't be able to jump for it if it bounced off her head. They knew something. Something that concerned her. And they really, really wanted to tell her.

And she kinda wanted to know, too. Just out of curiosity. So she brought it up to Hisagi-sensei after kidou class a week later. "They're strange," she said. "Like I'm the punchline to some joke or something."

Hisagi gave her a look. "That's an interesting description. You know, they don't spend much time up close with women, besides Kusajishi-fukutaichou, and she's not. . . you know. Maybe they're just trying to figure out how to interact with you."

"I don't think that's the case. They talk about Matsumoto-fukutaichou all the time."

Shuuhei chuckled, a rare thing from him. "That's different. Matsumoto was a monster, and a guy knows when he's come up against one like that. All they can do is canonize her, because they could never beat or be her." He paused. "Maybe you remind them of her a little."

Tatsuki's gaze veered to her chest almost automatically. This brought a full-blown laugh out of Shuuhei. "No, not like that. She was strong. And a fighter. And she stood her ground. Just like you." He blinked. Tatsuki shifted her glance from his face. If he was a little pink, then she must have been crimson. He cleared his throat. "In any case, I think it's a good idea for you to take them up on that offer sometime. You're the only student I know who hasn't been into Rukongai yet, and you're going to need to be familiar with it when you start Local Rotation. Besides, maybe you can get some answers out of the weird guys."

The fact that she looked up to Hisagi Shuuhei in ways that may not have been mere admiration twisted this suggestion into a command. Within a week she was in a bar, wedged between Yumichika and Madarame, staring at a short cup of sake. One of them clapped her on the back. "We don't drink until you do," Yumichika said, propping his chin on his knuckles. "So bottoms up, darling."

Tatsuki raised the cup and stared at it. How long had it been since she'd drank, let alone been drunk? She knew what they wanted. For what reason, she had no idea, but she was certain they wanted her good and inebriated. Maybe it was some sort of initiation. Best to get it over with, right? They'd be more likely to talk to her if she played along. She frowned at the cup, then took the drink down in one gulp, slamming the cup back onto the counter. Both of her companions cheered loudly—then ordered her another sake, which she grimly took in one shot. They cheered again and ordered five more shots: three for Madarame, one for Yumichika, and another for her. She looked at them quizzically. They seemed pretty relaxed. Happy, even. She toasted with them and finished her third drink.

Two drinks later, she felt herself swaying a little, but was determined to keep up with Yumichika, at least, who was finishing his seventh shot. She'd lost count on how many Madarame'd had. He was babbling something about how he had bankai and was willing to unleash it anytime, anywhere and so bleeping what? Yumichika was giggling. The room was beginning to spin, and there was a yellow shirt coming right at her. And grabbing her by the collar. "What's a little academy wuss doing in here?" Something close to her bellowed. Just as she wrenched herself free and landed unceremoniously on her ass, the bald one surged forward and without a word, punched the speaker in the face. Tatsuki climbed back onto her stool and turned herself around to watch, but it was not enough time to catch the swing that was thrown and missed at the suddenly shirtless third seat. However, she did have a prime view for the second punch he threw, which landed the yellow shirt on the floor, nose spurting. "Okay, assholes," Madarame squealed with glee, "let's get it on!"

As another two or three bar patrons launched themselves at Madarame, Tatsuki started to slide out of her seat. She needed to help him. Wasn't that what they wanted? But Yumichika, slowly turning in his seat, pulled at her sleeve. "'Not now, honey. He's having a good time and I'd hate to see you get into the middle of it. Just sit back and watch."

Which she gladly would have done, seeing as she could no longer feel her hands. But as the fight expanded, a shotglass hit the wall and exploded into a billion pieces, one of which nicked Yumichika on the chin. Before Tatsuki could ask him if he was okay he had flung himself into the brawl, screeching things she knew she could never repeat.

Oh God, she thought. Sooner or later this was going to swallow her whole. She'd only been dead six months and now she was about to get murdered. She slowly slid off her barstool and was halfway to the door before someone grabbed her by the back of her shirt, spun her, and was about to do serious damage to her eye when a gloved hand blocked the swing. There was a grunt, and the body blocking her way collapsed upwards. Or maybe she just fell down, dizzy. Brown eyes loomed in front of her. Four of them, topped by black zigzags pretending to be eyebrows. "Hakumei. What are you doing here?"

She blinked up at them. "Ikkaku wanted a drink, sir."

Hands gently hauled her up, pushed her out. The sudden intake of fresh air made her even dizzier, but strong hands clasped either side of her waist, holding her up. "Don't call me that. How many have you had?"

"Huh?"

"Drinks. How many cups?" He was turning around, she found herself being positioned on his back. "You're stinking drunk."

"I know that," she said half-irritably. There was flaming red hair in her face, caressing both of her cheeks.

He was moving, and his pace was quick and steady. "I can't believe you let them take you out to a bar on your first outing to Rukongai. Come on, Hakumei, you know them. All they come out to do is fight."

"I was curious," she murmured. His back was warm. His hair smelled nice. And his neck was pale and soft.

He twitched a little. "Couldn't you have asked them at the eleventh?"

"I thought about it, but Hisagi-sensei said I should come out with them and get to know Rukongai."

His back tensed, just a little bit. "Hakumei, I understand that you admire Hisagi and all that, but have you ever considered he might be wrong sometimes? He hasn't spent time with them like he used to. Maybe he's forgotten how bad they are since we lost Matsumoto."

She was silent.

Renji sighed. "Don't be mad at me. I know you don't care for me much, Arisawa, but I—I worry about you sometimes. You're lucky I was passing by. I knew Ikkaku and Yumi were in there, but when I sensed you in there, my nerves just went crazy. You could have been really hurt, you know? And I'd hate to see that happen." His heart was pounding now, not just because he was running. Did she hear him? Did she know what it meant? Is that why she was quiet?

And then he heard the snore.

The hands that were only lightly gripping his shoulders went a little limp. He slowed down, smiling to himself. This brought back memories. He'd only carried her once on his back before, and she was awake and excited then. But this. . . her warm breath on his neck, her comfortable weight on his back. . .this was nice.

He didn't dare take her back to the dormitory. The training grounds beneath where sokyoku once stood had been equipped with a livable bedroom since the war. There was as good a place as any. It was a good thing he didn't have anything to do the next morning. No way in hell was he just going to leave her there. As he laid her gently down on the futon, a tiny sigh escaped her lips. Complete with the unladylike reek of booze. He ignored her breath, smiling at her. She was still the same, right down to the mole just under the right side of her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered. "Hey there," she smirked.

"Hey yourself," he beamed back at her.

"You have gorgeous hair, you know. And a pretty nice body."

He opened his mouth to reply when the eyelids stopped fluttering. Now she was truly out. Still kneeling, he nuzzled the pillow next to her hair. This was nice. What had he been afraid of all this time? The tattoo was tingling again. He knew it was a losing battle, anyway. So why not give in? Okay, he thought. Tomorrow. Before she freaks out and pushes me away again. I'll tell her everything.