While many things about Kusajishi Yachiru had changed over the years—she was now a sweet-faced, rosy haired girl with lightly freckled skin and a nose that turned up in an almost elegant, dainty way—one thing was iron clad and permanent. The little wench was in the middle of everything.

When the only other female in the eleventh division did not turn up for morning rotation, the good vice-captain sensed there was something afoot and went to investigate.

Hakumei was not sleeping. Hakumei was not hung over. Hakumei was not even sick. This last saddened Yachiru considerably; her hope was to be exposed to menstruation for the first time. The last time she had inquired about it, Hakumei had given her a sour look and said something a good deal more crude than Yachiru was used to hearing from even the bald one. This served two functions in the annals of the history of the eleventh division: First, it intensified a curiosity that before then had been fleeting. Second, it set Hakumei at the top of Yachiru's list of females to observe and emulate. She was now kicking her underlings in the balls with impunity and particularly enjoyed using binding kidou to assist her in her misdeeds. Zaraki-taichou, whose continued nonchalance masked a growing horror, was forced to turn to Unohana-taichou for guidance. Her response was to threaten him with old classroom "My Body, My Self" videos and then to chuckle at him maliciously. She'd clearly been waiting for this.

In any case, on that particular morning, Hakumei was awake, dressed, and sitting cross-legged in the hazy morning light pouring in from her window. She opened one eye, gave Yachiru a nod, and asked her to sit. "My old sensei taught me this. It's good to clear your head in the morning. Maybe you can learn to sit still for more than five minutes," she said.

Yachiru sat close, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap, an exact copy of Hakumei's pose. "Why do you have to clear your head? Does it hurt?"

"A little. I've been thinking."

"Why?"

"I think something stinks here."

Yachiru sniffed her armpits. If anything stank, that was the first place Yumichika checked on himself.

Hakumei chuckled a little. "Not like that, fukutaichou. I mean that there's been some screwing around going on."

Yachiru's eyes widened. "But Hisagi-chan hasn't been here lately."

Hakumei groaned. "Do you get all of your information from Madarame?"

"Not all of it. But whenever he says your name and Hisagi-chan's name together he always mentions screwing." Yachiru frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"It probably wouldn't be, if it ever happened," Hakumei snorted. "But there's two different kinds of screwing, fukutaichou. The one Madarame talks about is the kind you need to have Zaraki-taichou explain to you. The second is where people do things behind someone else's back. I'm talking about the second kind."

"Someone's been doing something behind your back?"

"It looks that way."

Yachiru tilted her head. "Firehead?"

Hakumei gave her a look, and her face was indescribable. "What's Abarai got to do with anything?"

"Madarame said he's pathetic and he needed to just kill you." Yachiru crouched on all fours. "Yumichika said he got laid and they both laughed at him." Her face went serious. "I'll kick him in the balls if he tries to kill you, Tats-chan. But why would he do that?"

"When did you hear this?"

"Hmmmm... it was a while ago. Yumi-chan said it wasn't for little girls and made me leave, but then we listened at the door."

"Was this before I got here?"

Yachiru was examining her hakama. "Oh yeah. A long time ago. Cue-ball said to push you in front of a bus or something." A pause. "What's a bus?"

Hakumei shook her head. "Nevermind it, fukutaichou. Let's go down and make some guys roll around."

Yachiru leapt to her feet. She was bored already, anyway. On the way out, she paused and turned. "Are you sure you're not on your period?"

"I'm not," Hakumei said, pushing her out the door, "but that doesn't mean I can't act like it."

Adolescence had its upside. With the advent of the dreaded time of the month that Yachiru was so curious about, Tatsuki learned she could pretty much lay the onus of any crime she cared to commit at the feet of female problems. Not that she was inclined to do so all the time; she understood that overuse of such a trick would only render it ineffective. So, she only pulled it out as a last resort. Twice, actually. Both times, incidentally, she had done harm to Kurosaki. He was usually the easiest target, anyway, with that ridiculous hair. The first time they were both thirteen and he'd accidentally knocked Inoue down in the hallway. It was an accident, and Inoue had been quick to defend him, but Tatsuki was halfway into a bad morning and wanted to hit something anyway. The second time, she put him through a window. Asano and Kojima were quick to cover her for her by assigning her rage to PMS. Tatsuki was too irate then to deny it.

The fury she felt at the moment her knuckles connected with Abarai's jaw made that incident fade in comparison. But that emotion faded, and rather quickly. Two nights of sleeping on the event had given her enough clarity to understand why.

Hakumei realized she'd been had. Multiple times. And not just by Abarai. The whole lot of them knew, from Kurosaki to Yumichika's feathered eyelashes, that a chunk of her life had been deleted from memory. And instead of telling her, they'd toyed with her. Abarai with the hovering, Yumi and Ikkaku with the nudging and giggling, even Rukia with her controlled and anxious silence. Abarai—Renji—loved her. For whatever reason, he had done his best to smother his own heart. And the others, apparently too bored to leave it alone, had a vested interest in keeping his wound open. All of them were waiting, trying to wait, or outright attempting to force something to happen. Poor Abarai, hounded, drunk, and weary, had simply given up.

Once she had digested this information, it was all too easy to see Renji as the injured party. Perhaps it was the remnants of maternal instinct. To see him in pain was awful and to know every time she flexed her fingers that she'd left an intentional mark on him made her feel guilty. But was that guilt because of what he'd done for her—to her?

The memories had all come back in a jumble. As they sorted themselves out, the most prominent ones involved sparring—not too shocking. But then there was the kissing. And the other thing.

The other thing was something she knew without hesitation that she wanted to do again. And again. Hell, by the time she reached the eleventh that night, she was boiling with it. Desire. If it hadn't been so completely mixed with shock and indignation, she might very well have flown right back to him, dragged him somewhere, and molested him. The thought amused her after all the fantasizing about Hisagi, but the scenery behind it made her sick to her stomach. Renji was now the one person who occupied her thoughts. And in most impure ways.

She had never lusted after her husband in that manner. She thought she did. Thought she did.

Had Renji been as selfish as she was at the time he left, wanted to keep himself in her heart, left her to her own devices. . .

She would never have looked twice at Hakumei Mokoto. Would never had married him, never given birth to those three she considered more precious than her own life. And she knew, without even having to ask Abarai Renji, that he was all too aware of this. Because he knew her. Because he loved her. How she was able to brush off his original confession, looking back on it now, was beyond her.

Regardless, he had remained silent. Again, for her sake. To not see her hurt or confused over it.

But this was, of course, his worst mistake. She had not lived for ninety plus years without learning to reason things out. It took her all of an hour and a half to analyze the situation, and day after that to come to terms with her evaluation. She was not entirely certain, of course. But she was enough like that abominable redhead not to care.

Thus, she was obliged to put on her best "female irritation" face as she marched behind Yachiru into the eleventh squad dojo. Madarame took one look at her, visibly shuddered, and told her to go back to her room. Yachiru's eyes went wide in amazement and worship. The rest of the sparring men dared not comment. "I'll see you tonight, fukutaichou," Tatsuki told the girl before marching right back out.

Yachiru, the preternaturally sharp child, did not follow her.

Hisagi-taichou, glad to be pulled from his paperwork for even a moment, listened as he walked with her. He had been smiling a little before, but now that was long gone. Apparently he was the only person in the whole of Sereitei who was completely unaware of the true story of the Renji Wrecker. How this was even possible, considering how close he was to Madarame and Yumichika, was unfathomable but beside the point. She told him everything she knew in exact detail. Including the inevitable outcome. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Hakumei, did you come here to say goodbye to me?"

"Better you hate me for being honest than you despise me for lying," she said. "I'd never forgive myself if I misled you. You did call me an adult once, remember?" She tilted her head. "Are you saying we can't be friends anymore?"

"Dumbass. I'd never say that, but we probably shouldn't talk for a while."

She stopped, he stopped with her. "I'm sorry, Shuu."

All the dignity of a reasonable man who had just been blindsided, he sighed. Laid a gentle hand on her neck. "Are you sure, Hakumei-san?"

Her look was grim and determined. "It's Arisawa," she said. Hakumei had no place here anymore.

He nodded at her. "Good luck, Tatsuki." She thanked him before speeding off to hunt down the redhead.

Which took longer than anticipated. He was not in his office, nor was he anywhere in the sixth squad compound. She dared not go back to the eleventh to plumb the wonder twins for information—that would only give them too much satisfaction. The fifth, inhabited by Kurosaki and his little cult of worshipers, was also an unappealing option. That left only the thirteenth. Tatsuki arrived unannounced, breathless, and a little scared.

Rukia's face was guilty again. Before Tatsuki could even ask, she shook her head. "He's gone, Hakumei. Since yesterday. He didn't tell me where."

Tatsuki huffed in exasperation. "When is he coming back?"

Rukia took in a breath. "He wouldn't tell me. I asked Nii-sama, and he wouldn't tell me either." Her voice oozed with guilt. Tatsuki was not feeling charitable enough to comfort her.

"Will he at least send some kind of message later?"

Rukia didn't know this either. And it was clearly torture for her, who, after all, was the indirect cause of the whole mess. But nobody deserved this kind of misery, any more than Abarai did when he willingly accepted it. So this was how he was going to act? He'd suffered long enough, now he wanted the whole world to suffer with him? While completely logical, this weird backlash was completely out of character for him. And it elicited the only possible response Tatsuki had left. "That asshole," she whispered.

At Urahara's, Renji sneezed.