OK, sorry for the delay. Real life intervened, and then this just kept getting more complicated? Thank you for the wonderful reviews!!
Warnings: if you've read this far, you shouldn't be surprised by anything.
Not mine.
Chapter 4
Abyss
"You need to eat, Kuchiki-san."
By Hueco Mundo standards, the room was quite pleasant. A single window, set high in the blank white wall, allowed white light to pour into the great space. It was smaller than most chambers of the palace, and emptier – only one white couch stood in the middle of the room. But somehow Rukia felt at home there. Safe. She sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to meditate. Behind her on the couch, Inoue Orihime lay on her stomach, her feet dangling in the air.
Rukia sighed. "I'll eat later," she said, "Hunger will help me stay in control."
Inoue sat up, folding her slender legs beneath her. "Ano. . . "
Rukia's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Just come out and say it, Orihime," she snapped. "I'm deluding myself. I'm not a shinigami anymore. I should just accept ... " she broke off, not trusting her voice any further. This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. She could hold together, usually, with Aizen-sa. . . with Aizen and the others. It was only when she was alone with Inoue that she melted down.
"I wasn't going to say that," Inoue said, looking away and scratching one ear. "I just... I don't think you're right. Hunger is emptiness, you know. I think it feeds the hollow side."
Emptiness. With one finger, Rukia traced the hole in her chest, a gesture that had become an unconscious habit in the last few months.
When she had first touched the Hougyoku, she had expected ... she didn't know what she had expected. To lose her mind, to lose her soul. Instead she had lost something else, something she couldn't identify. What was it? There was no memory loss – she knew who she was and where she had come from. She remembered her friends, though she couldn't let herself think about them too much.
But something was missing. She didn't know what, but its absence tormented her. Wild gusts of fury would bubble up from the void, waves of anger and hatred and despair. Rukia fought, day in and day out, to keep that blackness in check.
She smiled up at Inoue's concerned face. "I think I will take a little something," she said faintly.
The young woman clapped her hands and bounced. The next instant Rukia was holding a bowl of steaming ramen, topped with unidentifiable lumps of – Rukia chewed cautiously – meat?
"Hot Dogs!" Inoue crowed, then waved her hands frantically as Rukia gagged. "No, no, not dog! It's just called that! One of the arrancar that I healed last month brought it back for me. It's pretty tasty! It kinda reminds me of naruto, only not quite so chewy, and not nearly as pretty either, and I really prefer ramen with some eggs and mustard sauce, but that I could not get so?quot;
While her friend prattled happily on, Rukia dug in. It was ... interesting, but actually not bad. Of course, this place hadn't exactly refined her culinary tastes.
"... and WHY does Robin in that Teen Titans show sleep in his uniform, do you think? I mean, mask and all!" Inoue took a deep breath. Her hands held her bare feet as she sat on the couch, humming to herself. Despite her determined cheerfulness, though, Orihime looked worn and tired. Her golden hair hung limp around her face, and her shoulders sagged a little. Six months of captivity will beat down the most buoyant soul.
"Inoue," Rukia asked suddenly, looking up from her meal, "how do you know... about the emptiness?"
"Oh," the honey-brown eyes opened wide for a moment. "Well, I've just picked it up, here and there. From the others, you know." The other arrancar, Rukia thought grimly, lowering her eyes. "Just things that Ulquiorra or Grimmjaw say from time to time.
"It's funny," the girl continued dreamily, her eyes lifting to the window above them, "I think they have a hard time of it too. Coming from the other side, I mean. All they knew before was the emptiness. When their masks break, they have to suppress all of these emotions for the first time. Little things ... gratitude, sympathy. Kindness." She giggled into one hand. "It kind of wigs them out."
Inoue looked down at Rukia, who was once again tracing the vacant place where her heart used to be. The dark head was bowed; Inoue didn't even know if she had been listening. "Kuchiki-san," she said, summoning up all the gaiety she could muster, "I don't think you're deluded." She smiled down into the great black eyes, suddenly rimmed with tears. "If anyone can hold on, Kuchiki-san, it's you. Kuchiki-san is strong."
"Thank you, Inoue," Rukia murmured, wiping her eyes with one sleeve. She reached up and pressed her friend's hand. What would I have become, she wondered, without Orihime? Better not to go there.
She turned away and closed her eyes again, forcing herself to concentrate. I will stay strong, she decided. I will eat. I will bow and obey and let them think that I'm one of them.
That way, she thought, I'll be able to help Ichigo and the others when they come for me.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
"We LEFT her there!" Nothing will be accomplished by shouting, Ichigo told himself. He turned around, drew his sword and beat down on his chair, splintering it into pieces. Then he continued shouting.
When his store of curses was finally exhausted he calmed himself, willing himself to breathe. "No," he said through gritted teeth, "You left her there." He turned to face Yamamoto. The hollow in his heart was screaming for release. "How did you know that they were alive?"
The question echoed around the room. Every face turned to Yamamoto, the high commander, the eldest of the community. He did not stir under their scrutiny, nor did he rush his answer. "Four years ago," he said finally, "I received a message from Aizen, offering to return both Kuchiki and Hitsugaya for a price. I refused."
"That's all?" Ichigo croaked, his eyes red-rimmed and furious. "What price could Aizen possibly have asked that we couldn't afford?"
He caught a glimpse of bright eyes behind the massive eyebrows, a glint that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "He asked for you, Kurosaki-taichou."
"ME?!" Ichigo looked wildly around at the other captains, whose faces mirrored his astonishment. Then he turned back to the commander, his hands shaking on the handle of his zanpakutou. "I would have gone! You know I would have!"
"Of course." Yamamoto rubbed his eyes with long, knobbly fingers. "That is why I did not tell you."
The air around Kurosaki Ichigo's body began to waver slightly, as his reiatsu churned against his self-control. "You . . ." he snarled, inarticulate with rage. Then he heard a light snap, beside him. Renji had pulled Zabimaru from its sheath. The redhead stepped towards Yamamoto, his eyes dark under tattooed brows.
"No!" For the first time, Matsumoto released Hitsugaya and threw herself forward. She grabbed at Renji's arm, trying to restrain him, but he pulled away. Desperate, she drew Haineko and moved in front of him. "Don't, Renji," she pleaded, panting slightly. "This won't accomplish anything!"
"Get out of my way, Rangiku," he said quietly, not looking at her, "or I'll go through you."
Matsumoto glared at him, tears starting to her eyes. Stubborn bastard. She shifted her stance and grasped her zanpakutou with both hands. She knew how he felt about Rukia, of course. They had comforted each other, after the Hueco Mundo raid; they had drowned their grief in each other.
It didn't matter. He was hers, now. She wasn't about to let him fight here -- the commander was too strong.
"Come now, children," Yamamoto chided gently, a deadly edge to his voice. "Do you really want to play this game?"
Before they could answer, the old man seemed to vanish behind a giant blur. Kommamura's huge body, larger than life and armored to the back teeth, had materialized in front of him. "Put away your weapons," the giant growled. "This is treason."
The next instant the hall shook as Kommamura skidded sideways and crashed to the ground. Renji and Ichigo looked at each other, each thinking that the other had acted. Then they noticed the pink wave that flowed like water over the floor, spilling from Kuchiki Byakuya's chair. The Captain of the 6th had not spoken all evening, nor did he now. He sat, bolt upright, expressionless, as his tiny, deadly slivers engulfed the fox-captain.
Kommamura scrambled to his feet and shook himself like a dog, scattering sakura blades all through the room. Then with an eerie bay, he jumped towards Captain Kuchiki. No one saw Byakuya rise or draw his sword, but everyone heard the clash of steel on steel that followed.
"Stop this, all of you!" Unohana cried, aghast. She looked up at Zaraki, pleadingly. "Do something!"
Zaraki blinked at her, honestly at a loss. He was all for a melee, generally speaking. Problem was, he didn't know what side to fight on ... the geezer'd be a treat, but he had two on him already, and as for fancy-pants and dog-breath...
"Take Kuchiki-taichou," Unohana snapped at him. "Hisagi-taichou, Kira-taichou," she ordered, turning to the newest and most petrified captains, "try to restrain Kommamura-taichou, if you please." As they scrambled to obey her, she glanced towards the two senior captains, wondering what they would do. She found herself wishing that Soi Fong were still among them. Though the ninja woman could be ruthless, she was, at least, predictable. From his corner, Kurotshuchi giggled madly.
Ukitake closed his eyes. He could feel his lungs fill with bile, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand on his feet much longer. "Shunsui," he said faintly, clutching at his haori. "We should calm down Ichigo and Renji. They're going to do something desperate. And they might be strong enough to hurt Yama-jii, by now."
Kyouraku leaned back in his chair, tilting his flowery hat over his eyes. "You know what?" he murmured, folding his hands behind his head. "I don't much care."
ooooooooooooo
The arrancar twisted and howled, his long spiky frame shaking with pain. "Calm down, please!" Orihime chirruped. She cupped her hands over the wounded leg, covering it with a glowing field. Within a few seconds the arrancar had stopped yelling, and was watching the procedure through slit eyes.
"Not bad," he said when she had finished. He fingered his shin-bone, which had so recently been fractured in five places.
"Got yourself a little beat down there, Vierro," Rukia smirked. She was leaning against the far wall, watching the operation. "What happened to all that big talk?"
Vierro scowled. "Trust me," he curled one lip, "the dragon-whelp got worse than I did."
The two women froze and looked at each other. Aizen would not let Rukia know where Hitsugaya was being held -- the one piece of information, it seemed, that he did not trust her with. But they had both heard blood-chilling stories. "Where..." Rukia began.
"Oh no," Vierro pushed himself off the couch, cheerful again. His broad sadistic smile had returned. "Not allowed to tell you that, you know. Can't have you trying to comfort the enemy. Heh," he strode towards the door, not even nodding his thanks to Inoue, "can't wait till it's your turn, Kuchiki."
Rukia slid down the wall, clasping her hands together. "How can you do it, Inoue?" she asked. "How can you heal them like that?"
Orihime looked down at her hands. "I don't know..." she whispered. "I know that they're bad. Mostly, anyway. But, when I see them bleeding and hurt -- I don't know how not to help them."
Rukia tried not to think about Hitsugaya, and she hated herself for it. She should look for him again. On bad days, they could hear him screaming even from their chamber. The weird echoes of the palace were too hard to follow -- the one time she tried; she'd been caught and punished. But maybe if... On the other hand, what was she going to do, if she found him? Feed him? Put him out of his... No. She shook her head and willed the darkness to recede. Don't think about it.
She sighed. "Maybe they're not bad," she said, bitterly. "Maybe there is no bad. The Seireitei brainwashes us, makes us see the world as black and white. Maybe there are only shades of grey."
Inoue stood and walked over to her, knelt, then hugged Rukia tight. "There's good," she said, "and there's evil. There must be, I think. After all, if there was no black and no white, there'd be no grey, either."
She smiled in her way, half ditzy and half sad. "We just get them so muddled, is all."
ooooooooooooo
Ichigo advanced towards the general, Zangetsu raised. Truth be told, he didn't have any idea what he was planning to do. It didn't really matter, though. Yamamoto had sidestepped his attack before he had even launched it.
"You are slow, Kurosaki," the old man rasped, dodging Ichigo's next swing. "I am disappointed." Ichigo feinted up and thrust forward, only to find Yamamoto behind him.
"What is the first lesson of the blade?" Yamamoto asked, sounding for all the world like a sensei in the dojo. "You must throw away fear."
Ichigo snarled at him. "I'm not afraid." He swung Zangetsu in a broad circle, releasing the hilt and taking hold of the long scarf. "I'm angry."
"Ah," Yamamoto ducked the blow. "Then you do not understand." Stepping forward into the wake of Ichigo's strike, he caught the young man's wrist. For a second they locked eyes, close enough to feel each other's breath. "Anger is just another kind of fear."
It honestly caught the old man by surprise when Ichigo dropped. He realized too late -- Yamamoto had stopped the hand but not the sword. With his fingers, Ichigo had flipped his blade by its sash in an arc behind himself, slashing over his own head to attack the general. Yamamoto barely skipped back in time, and he felt the tip of the black katana scratch the bridge of his nose as he did so.
The soutaichou raised one hand to the cut. "Much better," he said, examining the blood on his fingers. "I suppose I will have to get a little serious." He grasped his cane and tried to shift his stance. "Ashes to ash..."
His feet would not move.
Nor would anyone else's. Ichigo stumbled forward but could not fall -- he was encased in ice up to his ankles. Renji and Rangiku, who had been fighting at the foot of the dais, found themselves stuck to the floor, just out of sword range from each other. The five-man brawl was completely immobilized -- the sheet of ice wrapped them to their armpits. Zaraki, who had fallen to the ground, was covered entirely; only his hair spikes protruded.
"Hitsugaya-kun," Yamamoto growled, "Release me immediately."
Hitsugaya was on one knee in the center of the hall, both palms pressed against the floor. His breath was coming in little ragged gasps. Yamamoto noted, dispassionately, that the ice on the floor had already begun to melt. Not at full strength yet, the general thought. In the old days, nothing but Ryuujin Jakka or a month of sunshine would have cleared away Hitsugaya's ice.
The young man stood, his white hair gleaming in the twilight. He looked tired, but somehow more awake, as if the shock had forced his mind to the surface. "This is her mission," he said into the sudden silence.
It was the most anyone had heard him say since he had returned. Unohana, whose feet had not been frozen, moved towards him with concern in her eyes.
"Brat's got a point," Zaraki growled, shouldering his way out of his ice cocoon. "Aizen ain't fussed about any prisoners. Just wants to watch us fight each other." He sighed as Byakuya recalled the scattered petals into Zenbonzakura. Oh well, he thought. It was fun while it lasted.
"Aizen's not the problem here," Ichigo still glowered at Yamamoto, black fames licking the corners of his eyes.
"Ichigo," Histugaya murmured. His voice faded. Exhausted, he bent over and rested his hands on his knees. Unohana stood beside him, unspeaking, one hand barely touching his shoulder. Without Hyourinmaru, she would not have thought such a technique to be possible.
"Ichigo," the boy repeated, looking up at the orange-haired shinigami, "He was right."
For a moment the others could only stare at him, dumbstruck. "Right?" Ichigo protested. "He left you to... How can you say ..."
The bright green eyes bore into his, no longer confused, even a little defiant. It took a few seconds for Histugaya to find the words, but they were devastating. "I chose my prison," he whispered.
No one knew how to answer this. Yamamoto walked creakily back to his high chair, suddenly elderly again. "Rukia and Toushirou were soldiers," he rasped, settling himself in. "They were lost in battle and I honored them for it, though it was against my orders. Should I have undone their sacrifice, and traded a human child to retrieve them? You were barely seventeen at the time."
Ichigo's fingers flexed on Zangetsu's hilt. "Don't give me that bull$#!+" he spat. "I suppose it didn't matter that I'm stronger than the rest of your #$&# captains!?! That you need me for your damned war?!!"
"Of course it mattered!" Yamamoto snapped. He turned to Ichigo, his red eyes wide open, and Ichigo took an involuntary step backwards. "How many times have you saved your home town these last four years? How many human and shinigami owe their lives to you?" His voice dropped to a low snarl. "I have half the army in the real world now -- before the morning they will have pulled at least three hundred thousand souls, alive, out of Karakura. There is only one reason that is possible. Because I did not let you dance to Aizen's sick little tune!"
"Not your call to make," Ichigo said through grit teeth.
"I am the Commander of the Gotei 13."
Ichigo could only shake his head, speechless.
In the stillness, Unohana stepped forward. "Yamamoto-dono," she said quietly, "is it true that arrancar prisoners are being experimented on in Division 12?"
Yamamoto grunted. "I cannot imagine that this should surprise you. What do you think we would do with them?"
"I would think that we could have traded them for our thirty-two lost soldiers," the woman said pleasantly. "Or are we ... how did you put it ... 'honoring their sacrifice' as well?"
Mayuri spoke for the first time, wringing his hands. He sounded genuinely concerned. "I think I should point out, perhaps we are losing perspective – time of war, you know .. those experiments have greatly advanced our understanding ... Vital to the development of weapons, vital, oh yes, very ... not possible to withstand the siege without ..."
Unohana did not spare him a glance. "These things are evil, Commander."
Yamamoto lowered his ancient head. "These things are necessary, Captain. For the greater good."
"Do you even hear yourself?" Renji cried. Even though his feet had been freed, he had hardly moved. "How are you any different from Tousen? Or even Aizen?"
This time, Yamamoto had no reply.
"This will not do," Unohana said at long last. "As Zaraki-taichou has pointed out, we are playing into the enemy's hands. Let me appeal to the senior captains," her eyes raked Ukitake and Kyouraku, "to arrest Kurosaki-taichou and Abarai-taichou. Until they have calmed themselves."
Kyouraku shrugged but stood, walked over to Renji, and put one hand on his shoulder. Ukitake did the same with Ichigo. "Fine," Ichigo muttered, putting Zangetsu on his back.
"Renji," Matsumoto pleaded, putting one hand to her lover's face. He shook her off and turned away. "Let's go," he growled at Kyouraku. An instant later, they had disappeared.
Unohana put her hand in Hitsugaya's white hair. She had to get back to her quarters, she thought, before she broke down in front of everybody. "Thank you, Hitsugaya-taichou," she said, "for putting an end to that chaos."
He looked up at her, his eyes overbright. He didn't say anything and didn't need to. Understanding passed between the two like a kind of natural telepathy. The chaos, they knew, was just beginning.
TBC
Whew. That was kind of a marathon. I am tired.
Once again, any and all criticism welcome! I'm also a little curious whether people agree with Ichigo, or with Yamamoto. If I've done this right, it shouldn't be that easy to choose. No wimping out, though! The thing that sucks about being in charge is, you have to decide one way or the other.